Mal cleared his throat. Time to bring this meeting to a head. “What’s more, new information suggests the existence of an underground network of Dragon Kings. They work in secret and are unaccounted for among their clans. More than that, they have reached across clan boundaries. No politics. No allegiances other than to our people as a whole.”

Gasps of surprise and disbelief met his words. Every senator believed that he or she held sway over their territorial, increasingly bureaucratic governments. They likely thought it impossible for clansmen to escape entrenched lore and self-importance. Managing Council meetings even twice a year was becoming more and more difficult. No one was willing to compromise for the greater good.

Not even this small group.

Yet out there, he believed others might see the world—and their pending extinction—with more pragmatism. That gave him as much hope as Nynn’s letter.

“They don’t have a name,” he said, with all of his calm and focus. “No codes. No way of getting in touch.”

“Then who delivered the letter? Carrier pigeons?” Wearing a sneer, Pendray Youth made as if he were ready to retire for the evening.

Mal paused, looking the rebellious senator in the eye. “It was Tallis of Pendray.”

No one spoke. Mal could see them processing this new information, testing it for truth. Finding it lacking.

“The Heretic,” Tigony Youth whispered. “He’s been dead for years.”

“He hasn’t been dead, because he’s been a Pendray myth all along.” Sath Wisdom shook her head. “Some legendary assassin? I don’t believe any of this.”

Mal smiled coldly. “Careful. Calling me Trickster is one thing. That sounded very close to calling me a liar. I refuse to discount any possibility.”

The pair of Indranan senators shared a glance before their Youth spoke. “We’re with Sath Wisdom on this. He doesn’t exist. Never has.”

“Pendray Youth?” Mal stood, placed both hands on the table, and let it take his weight. The senator’s natural golden color had drained to a sickly pallor, as if he’d seen ghost. “He’s of your clan, so tell me. Is Tallis of Pendray a myth? Is he dead?”

“The Heretic is not a myth,” he said, his voice hushed and monotone. “And as far as the Pendray government is aware, he is not dead. We would’ve seen the celebratory fires from here in these mountains. Our people have hunted him for decades.” Although he appeared to have aged in a matter of moments, he snapped out of his daze. “And he just delivered this letter? Like some Good Samaritan?”

“Don’t think me so generous,” came a shadow-dark voice.

Mal stood to his full height, pleased with Tallis’s timing.

Guards materialized out of nowhere. The Council’s Youths jumped to their feet. Only the crackle of electricity from Mal’s fingertips silenced the chaos. “Stand down, senators. Now. And I suggest you introduce yourself. Quickly.”

“The Council spoke of the devil, so I appeared. I am Tallis of Pendray. I assumed you’d want to have a little chat.”

Everything about him, from his posture to his words, was laced with sarcasm. He radiated an impression of complete disregard. He was a man who didn’t care about a thing, not even dying. As with any Dragon King intent on blending into the world at large, he wore inconspicuous clothing—a pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt layered with a black sweater. The casual, almost sloppy disregard for fashion was meant to detract from, not accentuate, the classically handsome features of their people. His hands were in his pockets, as if interrupting the Council’s twice-yearly meeting was as common as going to a cinema.

Shock and curiosity layered in the Council meeting room like smoke twining with clouds. Despite having brought the man to the fortress, Mal held no respect for the Heretic. The man’s list of crimes was nauseating. “Tell us, then. How did you come by Nynn’s letter?”

“You’re near to the general idea of it,” Tallis said. “Which is impressive for a Council. Well done.”

Mal gritted his teeth. In the midst of fighting ten recalcitrant senators and the slow-wash tide of extinction, this bastard was testing the last of his patience.

“Yes, there exists a collection of rebels who refuse clan associations. They found the letter. Reed of Tigony wasn’t a kilometer from the Asters’ complex when he froze to death. They’d known its general vicinity.” He chuckled softly. “Only when your cousin blew the roof off the lab did they know for sure. Reed escaped in the aftermath.”

“You dare laugh about this?”

“Save it, Giva. You need them to hear what I have to say. I was willing to deliver that letter when none of the rebels could. Anonymity is their great asset. My asset is to become anonymous when I will it.”

“There are other rumors.” Mal stepped forward. He lifted his chin and prepared to kill a fellow Dragon King upon Tallis’s next answer—not there in the Fortress of the Chasm, but wherever the deed needed to be done. “There are rumors you killed Nynn’s husband, then handed her and her son to the Asters.”

Tallis stared at Mal, emphasizing their impasse. Under the flippancy was a flicker of something deeper. Flash and gone. “Funny things, rumors.”

“But you are a killer.”

Tallis nodded.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t keep you here and force you to stand trial? Or, more fittingly, return you to the Pendray who despise you?”

Pendray Youth practically growled his agreement with that idea.

“They do hold grudges, my beloved clan.” He shrugged. “But you, Giva, would rather believe me in hopes of saving Nynn.”

Mal felt as if he held the weight of his people in his hands. The entirety of his race depended on his next decisions. Luckily, his great weakness was an overabundance of tenacity, not a lack of resolve.

“Nynn and her son are in pain,” he said. “For now, for me, that is enough. With all due respect, senators, I’m adjourning this meeting. None of us are leaving until we reach a consensus. Take action against the cartels? Ignore them and hope Nynn’s fate is a single event? Follow this man’s lead? We owe our respective clans the answers they’ll surely demand.”

The crackling energy in his blood could stay. It was the purest part of him, giving him strength from inside out, providing a reminder to remain stronger than his gift.

“Take the night,” he said, his words spoken with deep confidence. “Take days if need be. Find it in yourselves to put away this petty bickering and lead our people. It’s your Dragon-damned duty and I expect nothing less than your full cooperation.”

He turned to the Heretic. With a flick of his wrist, Mal signaled the guards to take him into custody. “As for you,” Mal said, “I will listen to what you have to say. I may even accompany you to a stronghold—the Asters’ or otherwise. But first you will answer every question I have about my cousin.”

Audrey was exhausted—body, mind, soul. But she couldn’t sleep.

She lay on the rugged ground and stared at irregular shadows distorting the depth of her cell. Training room, he’d called it. Sleeping quarters. She knew better. Bars and keys meant imprisonment. A breath of free air had not been hers in more than a year. Each one she drew was tainted with acidic pain. Helplessness should’ve become part of her after such demoralizing captivity.

It had been.

She’d nearly given up in the labs. Another few months, maybe weeks, and she would’ve done anything to end her life. And Jack’s.

Every morning, she’d wondered if murder-suicide would be better than another day of torture. She was scarred, inside and out, but she could place blame where it belonged. A child, though . . . Jack wasn’t even six. He would never outgrow this cruelty.

In the end, Audrey’s survival instinct had been too strong. Over and over, she’d decided to give them one more day. One more chance. She hadn’t been able to abandon hope. She’d cursed it almost as often as she clung to it—almost as strongly as she’d clung to her little boy.