The (Not) Satisfied Dragon - Colette Rhodes Page 0,75
the hard shell I had formed around myself. It was like he could see into my mind, see the sacrifices I was willing to make and was letting me know how strongly he disapproved, all without saying a word.
“Flight Mentrus. Flight Galon. Your presence is required on the floor,” Nerio called, drawing everyone's attention.
This time we just released our wings and flew down over the stands. Seff had assured us there were no rules against it and clambering awkwardly down the rocks was one of my least favorite parts of these Council excursions. I'd rather face the ire of all the grumpy old Councilors than fall on my ass in front of everyone.
Priorities.
“Nice of you to join us,” Jason, the Mentrus Alpha snarked, even though they'd just walked onto the floor about three seconds ahead of us. None of us dignified that with an answer. We didn't know how they'd done on the first task — Seff had tried to get some information out of his fathers when he visited them last night but they were irritatingly fair. We were confident in how we'd handled ourselves, though.
“Flight Mentrus, Flight Galon.” Nerio stood, his mouth set in a grim line that only got grimmer as his eyes passed over me. “Thank you for joining us. We have another task for you to complete—”
“Aren't you going to tell us who the winner was of the last one?” Jason interrupted, giving his father an affronted look.
“The results will be determined at the completion of all three tasks. This is not about winning or losing, it is about assessing who is the best fit for the position,” Uri interjected before Nerio could reply.
“It would be about winning or losing if it was a challenge,” Jason muttered, not all that quietly considering how good the hearing was of everyone in attendance.
“Perhaps there is something to be said for taking a more strategic approach to Council positions. Aptitude in battle does not necessarily translate to leadership skills,” Uri said scathingly.
“Uri,” Nerio chastised, looking appalled. Hope bubbled in my chest. Even if we walked away from this without a seat on the Council, maybe we'd done some good anyway.
“As I was saying,” Nerio thundered, giving his son a warning look not to interrupt again. “We have decided on your second task. The Scribe is dying and we need a new one. It is an important job and we cannot leave the position open.”
“Easy,” Jason scoffed.
“The Scribe is a lifetime post held by an unmated male. It provides them with accommodations at the Records Keep. They need to have a high level of literacy,” Nerio droned on, reading off a list.
“What's wrong with him?” I interrupted.
“Excuse me?”
“What is wrong with the current Scribe?” I said more slowly.
“Queen’s Fever,” Nerio snapped, looking annoyed to even be speaking to me.
“How old is he?”
“In his forties,” he sighed. “Any more pointless questions?”
I smiled at him sweetly, not dignifying that with an answer. A lifetime post? Most dragons lived for at least a hundred years. The current Scribe should be in the role for another fifty years, perhaps sixty. Giving up on him wasn't just wasteful; it was callous.
There were many things I didn’t know, especially in this unknown world of the Council I’d found myself in, but I had a good understanding of herbalism and which plants could treat ailments.
Queen’s Fever was an unfortunate condition, but hardly untreatable if anyone bothered to go to the effort. The Scribe was single though. Without a flight, there was probably no one who cared enough to bother.
“We will see you here in a week for the next meeting,” Nerio finished. “Bring your replacement candidates then.”
Flight Mentrus gave us a variety of smug parting looks as they walked off the floor.
//Fly to the ledge,// Ezra ordered.
Eyes shot up as we each released our wings and took to the air, shooting over the crowd to land on the uppermost ledge where we could undress and shift fully. A petty part of me hoped we looked impressive as we flew over them all in formation, all six colors of the flight glinting in the sunlight.
We undressed silently; me hidden behind Oren and Ezra, before letting our dragons free and flying back over the rough ocean and desolate cliffs to our mountain. My mates were unusually quiet in my head. I thought they'd be making suggestions or planning our next steps. Perhaps they were thinking of all the candidates they knew for the Scribe’s position.