"As you all know, the taws regarding the rights of a wyvern's mate are few but absolute in nature: A mate must be formally recognized by the wyvern and branded such, a mate must be present at negotiations and approve any acts that have bearing on the welfare of his or her sept, and a mate must under no circumstances have initiated or caused any action to the detriment of the sept to which he or she belongs. You would all agree those laws, set down by our forefathers many centuries before, have stood us in good stead?"

Several heads nodded. The ones owned by green dragons were oddly still. A little whip of Drake's fire flicked along my back, causing me to look at him in surprise. Usually his control of his dragon fire was absolute. His eyes were steady, his body language relaxed, but I sensed the feeling in him of tautly held anger. A matching anger rose within me. Fiat's smooth voice and practiced demeanor might fool some of the dragons, but this mate wasn't buying any of it. I just wanted him to get on with it.

"And yet, despite the fact that every wyvern here has sworn an oath to uphold the laws of the weyr, one has violated them." Fiat's head swiveled to look at Drake, his smile so obnoxiously smug, so triumphant I wanted to smack it right off his face. "Drake Vireo, do you deny that your presence here is an abomination to the laws that we all hold sacred?"

"Yes, I deny it," Drake said calmly, his voice as bland as vanilla pudding. "I have done nothing to violate either my oath or the laws of the weyr. If you have proof of either. I demand you present it now, so that I might dispute your claims."

Fiat strolled around the table to where I sat to the right of Drake, Pal flanking my other side. Fiat's cool fingers trailed along the back of my shoulders. Involuntarily, I shivered, jerking forward, away from those cold, cruel fingers. "Is it not true that your mate, Aisling Grey, did call you to a challenge last month, a challenge in which she fought you for control of the sept?"

"Hey!" I said, twisting around to glare at Fiat. "If you have a problem with something I did, you come to me about it. You don't go running to Drake to blame him. Besides, it's none of your concern what he and I did in the privacy of... uh ... Paris."

"Ah, but sweet Aisling, your actions concerning the sept are of a concern to me. They are a concern to all wyveras, as you sit in a position of power within the weyr. And as I have just stated, our laws—with which you seem to be sadly unfamiliar—state that mates are not allowed to conduct actions that could harm the very dragons they represent."

"Aisling was not formally recognized as my mate when she challenged me," Drake said, his voice still smooth but a green fire now visible in his eyes. "Thus, she could not have impact on the sept, and your point is moot. We have other, more important issues to discuss, Fiat. Your attempts to cloud the issues have been many, but I hope that at last we have reached the end of them and will be spared any further abuse of our valuable time."

"Yeah," I said, feeling it important to show the other dragons that I supported Drake. He put a hand over mine and squeezed it in warning. I took that to mean he'd rather I kept quiet, and although heaven knew it wasn't in my nature to abase myself, I figured this was probably as good a time as any to learn how.

"Cara, your devotion is laudable, but alas, rather late in coming, is it not?"

"You will address me with your comments, Fiat, not my mate," Drake said, his voice a bass rumble. The heat in his eyes was growing, as was my concern that something would push him over the edge. I couldn't imagine what would happen should Fiat and he really lose their tempers, but I knew instinctively that it would not be a good thing for anyone concerned.

Fiat inclined his head in acknowledgment, and for once I was grateful for the chauvinistic tendencies of most male dragons. "In response to your claim that your mate was not, in fact, formally recognized by either you or your sept, I would like to point out that just a day before the challenge, indeed, hours before she called the challenge, she bore the brand of a mate of the green wyvern."

I touched the raised design on my collarbone. Drake had put it there last month, burnt it into my flesh. At the time I was merely annoyed, figuring it was his way of marking me, but I hadn't known just what sort of a mark it really was. Now I knew.

"Aisling was new to our world. She had no idea what a challenge entailed when she called it," Drake answered. "She used the challenge as a way to force out the person who was tapping into the dark powers to take over control of the Paris Caudela. She had no intention of seriously challenging me for control of The sept."

I nodded my agreement.

"And yet," Fiat said, moving around the table slowly, "if she had succeeded, she would have put the welfare of the sept at risk, since she possessed neither the skill nor the power to control it. Indeed, if she had become wyvern, she would have put the entire weyr at risk, since who knows what trouble she would have started."

Drake's fingers tightened on mine as I bit back a retort. Now was not the time to get uptight over my pride taking a little dinging.

"The point is moof. She lost the challenge, a challenge that I again state she never seriously called. It was nothing more than a ruse to capture a murderer."

Fiat smiled, and my stomach lurched. I was coming to hate that damned smile. Pal rose and silently padded over to the desk at the entrance of the restaurant, pulling from behind the counter a fire extinguisher, which he then carried around behind me. I swiveled in my chair. He flipped a lever and proceeded to put out a small fire burning on a wooden busing station. I turned back to face everyone.

"Sorry," I murmured, knowing full well the fire was a manifestation of my anger. "I'm having a few control issues at the moment, but I'm sure they'll be sorted out soon."

Not one single person there, not even Pal, looked like he believed me.

"You see what sort of havoc might be wreaked if such an inexperienced, uncontrolled mate were to take over as wyvern?" Fiat asked, brushing away the objections Drake started to make. He bowed his head to Drake, saying, "As you know your mate better than I do, I am willing to concede the point that she did not understand the full nature of the challenge when she called it."

Drake didn't relax one little smidgen. Quite the opposite. The feeling of coiled tension in him went up and over the top of my Drake-o-meter.

"However ..."—Fiat came to a stop behind his own chair, his long fingers caressing the black-and-gold upholstery—"that does not excuse you for responding to the challenge. You accepted her challenge. You ... I hesitate to use the word fought, since a game of darts seems to be a singularly nonviolent way to conduct a challenge—you fulfilled the terms set by Aisling and defeated her."