The Dragon's Slave

Chapter 10

 "You're late."

The man who spoke—the Archon was the title I had been given—lounged on a velvet cushioned chair that sat on a dais at the front of an immense hall. Fat wood pillars lined the path from the double doors, where we entered, to his seat and a long runner softened our footfalls as we approached.

Windows lined the walls on both sides of the room; the west side still clothed in darkness, but the east let in the first rays of dawn. In between windows hung tapestries depicting vivid scenes of battles and what looked to be victorious moments in history, though I recognized none.

Surprisingly no guards filled the chamber at all, simply stools and books.

The Archon himself was a middle aged man, with silver at his temples. His black hair was longer, and bound. A firm jaw and pronounced cheekbones with a hint of stubble highlighted his amber eyes.

Another Dragon Lord then.

But he did not wear the tight black shirt and pants that Firestriker favored, his clothes were a charcoal gray, highlighted with amber embroidery. The embroidery thread shimmered when he shifted giving the illusion that flames flickered within the fabric.

"I ran into some difficulties."

Firestiker walked before me—three steps—as we approached. He had dressed—blessedly, because otherwise my concentration was shot, I kept imagining...things, instead of trying to discern what was going on with my future. Despite his anger Firestriker had not laid a hand on me, and I didn't know whether to be relieved, or worried that some worse form of punishment was to come. He had flown me, firmly clutched in his dragon claws, back to the aerie, and walked me to my original confinement room. Then he tossed me what looked to be one of his own shirts and ordered me to cover up. Then he left, not returning for hours as I sat, nerves strung, at the end of the bed.

I nearly stumbled over my own feet twice as we approached the Archon, exhaustion pulled at me. When it didn't appear I was to be punished immediately on Firestriker's return my anxiety subsided, but it left me drained.

The Archon's brows rose at Firestriker's statement, a silent question, or command to present his excuse.

"Kurath and his pack were in the aerie."

The Dragon Lord's lips turned downward, his forehead creased. "They were banished for a reason. You caught them before they did any harm?"

"They caught me actually," Firestriker explained as we came to a stand at the foot of the dais. "He challenged me to Konois-gar."

The Archon straightened in his seat. "Impulsive dog," he muttered. "And now? Can I expect vengeance from his pack for the next twenty years?"

Firestriker shook his head, "I did not kill him. His adherence to the rules was non-existant, I was not bound to honor the challenge."

"Yet it seems like we have traitors in our midst again," the Archon rubbed his temples. "It is unfortunate that we rely on the shifters so much, and I worry that it will be our downfall." He sighed, "we need that orb Dynarys, did you fetch a suitable slave for me?"

"Yes sir," Firestriker stepped aside and waved a hand my direction, and for the first time the Archon's eyes moved toward me. His gaze was cold and assessing. It was like being back at the choosing house, and his look said he was not impressed.

Not that he should be, Firestriker's shirt was too large and though it pressed against my breasts nicely it would only hide the rest of my figure, and the pair of pants he had shoved at me when he returned were no better. I had to roll the waist six times before they would stay put on my hips, giving the impression of an unsightly bulge beneath the loose shirt.