Up In Smoke (13 page)

Kostya sat down with a comical look of disbelief tinged with resignation. Cyrene, not seeing a chair forthcoming, simply plopped herself down on his lap and spread a smile around at everyone.

I sat down as well, sighing to myself. This day had all the signs of being one I suspected I could do without.

Chapter Nine

“I'd say Kostya deserves every little bit of discomfort Cyrene causes him, but I'm going to end up the one she comes to when he breaks her heart,” I whispered to Gabriel.

He nodded but was obviously focused on what he felt were more important things.

Drake, rightly interpreting Gabriel's meaningful glance, said with reluctance, “Kostya, you know the laws of the weyr as well as I do. You have not been named wyvern, nor has your sept been recognized and accepted. You do not have a place at the
sárkány
table.”

“I am willing to recognize both the sept and the wyvern,” Fiat said suddenly, smiling at Kostya. It wasn't a nice smile in the least, but at least he wasn't ranting or baiting the ever-volatile Kostya.

“I knew I liked you,” Cyrene told Fiat, beaming at him. “Not enough to leave Kostya for you, you understand. I'm not fickle at all, despite May saying the opposite, but that is very kind of you to show such support for Kostya after you were so snarky to him earlier.”

There was silence for a moment while everyone stared at Cyrene.

“You see?” Kostya finally said. “Fiat is ready to recognize my right to be here. A simple vote will end the matter once and for all.”

“The issue of recognition of a black dragon sept is not why the meeting was called,” Gabriel countered, a frown darkening his expression. “This
sárkány
is to establish which of the two blue dragons who claim they are wyvern should be acknowledged as such, nothing more. You have not petitioned the weyr in the proper manner, Kostya.”

“You break the rules when it suits you to do so,” he answered with a pointed look at me. “Why should I not do the same?”

“Damn straight!” Cyrene said.

I tried to catch her eye, but she was clearly enjoying herself too much to allow me to rain on her parade by appealing to her reason . . . what remained of it.

“Gabriel is correct,” Drake said slowly. “A
sárkány
is called for a specific matter of business, and was done so in the correct fashion by Bastian in order to receive official recognition of his right to the title of wyvern. If you wish for the weyr to consider the matter of the black dragons, you must proceed via proper channels, Kostya.”

“This is a foolish waste of time. He was named by Baltic to be his successor; thus, he is wyvern. I move for the recognition of Kostya, and reinstatement of the black dragon sept into the weyr,” Bao said, snapping off each word.

“I concur,” Fiat said quickly. “The blue dragons are officially prepared to recognize Kostya and his sept.”

“You have no right to speak for my sept,” Bastian said quickly, a little wisp of smoke escaping him.

“And you have no right to address an issue that did not call the
sárkány,
” Gabriel told Bao.

She bared her teeth at him in what I assumed was meant to be a smile. Covertly, I reached for the dagger I keep strapped to my ankle, my fingers curling around the reassuringly solid length of its handle.

“These rules are antiquated. Why should we not deal with all weyr business at once?” she countered.

“It is not the way of the
sárkány,
” said Gabriel, turning a fearsome glare upon the two blue dragons. “The sooner we attend to the matter at hand, the sooner we can all leave. Shall we get started?”

“It was
your
mate we were all forced to wait upon,” Fiat snapped. “Clearly, you fear the arrival of Kostya and his sept and are doing your best to keep them from the weyr, but the rest of us have no such problem. Let us deal with the matter here and now, once and for all while we are all gathered.”

“I vote yes on Kostya,” Cyrene said, making herself more comfortable on his lap.

Kostya looked like he was thinking about dropping her onto the floor, but at a raised eyebrow from me, he stopped fidgeting.

Gabriel, however, was as tense as a snake about to strike. I gave his knee a little squeeze to remind him that fighting with Fiat would serve no good purpose, no matter how much he deserved to be punched in the face.

“He is too afraid of what might happen should the black dragons be recognized,” Kostya sneered, his expression as dark as night. “He knows the silver dragons should never have been recognized in their own right.”

“You know, I think I have to agree with Kostya on this,” Cyrene started to say, but I had had enough.

“I realize that I'm new to the position of wyvern's mate, and I'm probably speaking out of turn,” I said, standing to gain a slight height advantage over everyone sitting, “but I've just about had enough of this crap. What part of no do you not understand, Kostya?”

Kostya looked startled, both at the fact that I was addressing him in such a discourteous manner, and at the fact that I held a wickedly sharp dagger.

“Mayling!” Cyrene said, outraged. “How dare you threaten my boyfriend!”

“For the love of the twelve gods, will you stop it,” I ground out through my teeth. “You are here merely as a courtesy—both of you—and I for one would appreciate it if you'd let Gabriel and the others get to the business they came to deal with.”

Kostya puffed up like he was going to snap out a reply but said nothing, contenting himself with a glare that could have cut steel.

I sat down, sliding Gabriel a worried glance. I had a feeling that I'd greatly overstepped the bounds of what was proper behavior in a mate, but I didn't care. We'd be here all day if Kostya and Fiat were allowed to carry on.

Gabriel's face was impassive, but I saw amusement in his eyes, and he took my hand for a moment to give my fingers a reassuring squeeze.

“It would seem your mate is going to act as referee for this
sárkány,
” Drake said dryly.

“Such behavior is not proper—” Fiat started to say, but Gabriel cut him off with a sharp, “Shut the hell up, Fiat. Let's get this done. Bastian, you called the
sárkány
; present your case.”

Behind us, I heard Maata muffle a snicker. I straightened my shoulders and prepared to keep my mouth shut while Gabriel dealt with the weyr business. Four hours later, I was sagging in my chair, wanting nothing more than to sink into a hot tub and soak away the tedium. Bastian evidently had used his time well while I had been in Abaddon, for he presented a thoroughly documented case against Fiat, bringing forth not only sept documents and affidavits, but witness after witness who attested to the fact that it was he and not his nephew who was to have been made wyvern.

Fiat shouted, swore, argued, and threatened the entire time, but in the end, justice was upheld.

“The weyr recognizes Bastiano Giardini Blu as rightful wyvern of the blue dragon sept,” Gabriel pronounced. He, too, looked a bit worse for the wear, the strain of having to keep everyone in line starting to show in grim lines around his mouth and eyes.

Bastian smiled and thanked the wyverns present. I was a bit surprised that Bao didn't fight the decision since she had seemed to favor Fiat, but after only a token protest, she agreed to go along with the majority and declared that the red dragons would recognize Bastian.

“It is not important,” she had shrugged, and voted with the rest of the wyverns.

“This is not ended,” Fiat shouted, jumping to his feet just as I knew he would. Half the room rose with him, his supporters glaring across the aisle at the blue dragons who were under Bastian's banner. “I do not accept this ruling! Bastian is incapable of ruling the blue dragons! You will rue the day you allowed him to take power!”

“Clearly the concept of gracious defeat has escaped him,” Cyrene told Kostya in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear.

Fiat certainly heard, for he snarled something rude at her before he leaped onto the table and glared at Bastian. “Do not believe you have won, old man. You may hold the day, but I will win the battle!”

“I name you ouroboros,” Bastian said, slowly getting to his feet, his eyes narrowed as he turned to look at the standing dragons. “As I will so name all who follow you. What say you? Will you remain in the sept with your friends and families? Or will you turn your back on it all and be cast out? Will you follow one who has brought the noble blue sept close to disaster with his treacherous dealings of other septs? Will you stand by while he strives to ruin all that we stand for, all that we worked to rebuild? Or will you return to sanity and reclaim that which Fiat has tried to destroy?”

A couple of the blue dragons glanced hesitantly across to what were assumedly their relations, but none of them moved. They were almost all male, each of them silent as Fiat postured and Bastian pleaded.

“They have no stomach to serve under you,” Fiat said, jumping off the table to stroll with studied nonchalance to his uncle. “It is you who will destroy the sept, you who will alienate everyone, but by then it will be too late. You think naming me ouroboros will harm me?” He laughed, the sound harsh and grating as his gaze slipped to Gabriel. “We will prosper. For we will not be alone. Have you never thought to wonder who was behind the actions of two months past, old friend?”

“I knew it,” I whispered, reaching for my dagger. “I told you he kidnapped them.”

Gabriel stayed my hand with a look, facing Fiat with a placid expression that I knew he didn't feel. I could feel the dragon fire building in him, threatening to burst free. “What are you implying, Fiat?”

Fiat laughed again, tossing his head back in an affected manner. “Just what I said—I will not be alone. Nor will I forget what has happened here today. I have a very long memory, Gabriel. And my friends, my
old
friends, have even longer memories than me.”

Bastian made an abbreviated gesture, as if he wanted to punch Fiat but knew he shouldn't. I gripped my dagger, wondering whether I could slip into the shadow world and follow Fiat without Gabriel noticing.

“No,” Gabriel said under his breath, having read my mind. “He is posturing, nothing more, little bird.”

“Very well. You have made your choice. What's done cannot be undone.” Bastian gave each of the standing dragons a long, steady look. “Your families will not suffer for your actions, but know that as of this day, you will be dead to the sept.”

Fiat rolled his eyes in an obnoxious display, stopping only to looked past us, directly at Kostya. “I'll give my friend
your
kind regards, shall I?”

Kostya pushed Cyrene off his lap, standing slowly, his head lowered, his eyes mere slits as he stared at the ex-wyvern. “You lie.”

“Do I?” Fiat smiled, looked as if he was going to say something else, but changed his mind. “We leave,” he told his followers, and they did just that. With their exodus, the air seemed to warm up several degrees, but whether it was due to the tension lightening or the actual physical removal of them, I had no idea.

I looked from Kostya to Drake and back to Gabriel. “Did he just say what I think he said?” I asked.

“What did he mean? Who is his friend? And why was he looking at you?” Cyrene asked Kostya.

“He lies,” the latter repeated, exchanging a look with his brother.

Drake didn't look too convinced.

“What is he lying about?” Cyrene asked, tugging at Kostya's shirt. “Who was he talking about?”

“His name seems to crop up with increased frequency,” I pointed out. “Are you guys really sure he's dead?”

“Oh!” Cy gasped, her eyes widening as she understood. “You're talking about that Baltic person, aren't you? The one who tried to kill Kostya? But I thought he chopped his head off or something.”

“I did,” Kostya said, turning to Gabriel. “I wish to formally petition the weyr to call a
sárkány
in order to grant recognition to the black—”

The lights suddenly went out. Instantly I shadowed, but before I could grab Gabriel, the double doors at the far end of the ballroom were thrown open, and a shower of automatic gunfire from four silhouetted figures who appeared in the doorway immediately followed.

There was instant uproar as everyone in the room threw themselves out of the spray of bullets. We might all be immortal, but being shot still hurt. Gabriel called my name, his hand closing tight on my arm as he yanked me to the side of the room, shoving me to the floor as he moved to shield me.

The people at the door lobbed in a couple of smallish objects. I had time only to wonder if they were bombs when loud explosions rocked the room, the noise deafening as smoke began billowing forth.

“Smoke bombs?” I whispered to Gabriel, keeping a tight hold on his shirt so as not to lose him in the darkness and confusion.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “Protect the phylactery.” I'd forgotten about that. I released his shirt in order to grope at my neck, pulling the large locket out to verify it was still safe.

“Don't use it unless—”

Another explosion filled the room, this one lighting the darkness with an intricate pattern of fire. Gabriel and Tipene moved off, leaving Maata to scoot over into Gabriel's spot.

“I don't need protecting,” I told her in a whisper, coughing as the smoke filling the room began to choke me. “Go help Gabriel.”

“Stop fussing. Can you see anything?” she asked, coughing between words.

The room was utter chaos—it was impossible to see what was going on, impossible to breathe without choking. Four men remained at the doorway, sweeping the room with bullets. Nearest the door, I could see outlines of overturned chairs, and now and again movement as someone crawled past. There were occasional cries and some swearing that indicated bullets, raking the room in a steady stream, were finding marks, but otherwise, it was beyond my means to see what was happening.