Page 95 of Dragon’s Ending

“What I have seen, however, suggests that you may be a little impulsive, with a penchant for levity and a desire to provoke.” His eyes held mine compellingly. “But you are loyal, intelligent, have a shrewd political brain, and are capable of assuming authority when needed. Also, it has become clear to me that you are able to control yourself perfectly well even under emotional pressure.”

It took me a moment to put the pieces together. But when I did, I was furious. “You threatened Ben just to see how I’d react?”

“I believe being invited to accompany me to London is usually seen as a boon, not a threat,” Mortimer said.

Even though anger was still flickering inside me, I couldn’t help huffing a laugh at his utter shamelessness. “You wily old sod.”

“It’s been said.”

I relaxed suddenly. Not completely, because I needed to navigate whatever this was. I still didn’t understand what Mortimer wanted, and he was several steps ahead of me. But it wasn’t Ben he was after. Ben was safe.

“It appears your difficulty is not so much with control as it is with those who exercise it rigidly,” he said.

I snorted. He might as well have come out and said your father. But I wasn’t sure he was right. Oh, he was right about my problems with Rhodri, but the rest of it? I was unstable. My dragon came through in human form way more often than anyone else’s, even though I was in control enough these days to be allowed to mix with humans.

From careful questions that didn’t sound like questions, I’d gathered that no one else’s dragon was always so close to the surface. It seemed to me that we’d been knocked out of balance when I was a kid and had, over time, negotiated a new one. One that both my dragon and I were happy with, even if it wasn’t normal.

Mortimer regarded me steadily. “The current structure of dragon governance is too dependent upon singular authority,” he said calmly. “Mine most of all.”

That startled me enough that I actually said nothing.

“When I die, there will be instability.” Mortimer folded his hands loosely in his lap. “My heir is knowledgeable. But knowledge does not confer ability.”

Talk about damning. I felt sorry for his heir.

“So,” Mortimer continued, “I intend to establish a council drawn from the principal dragon families before my death. A structure capable of continuity independent of any one dragon.”

I stared at him. “You mean you’re recreating the Round Table.”

One corner of Mortimer’s mouth moved faintly.

“That,” he said, “is one way of looking at it.”

I rubbed a hand across my jaw. “That’s the most unhinged thing anyone has said to me this week,” I informed him. “And that’s allowing for the fact my boyfriend told me you were plotting to prove Mordred was the rightful king of Britain.”

“An imaginative young man.”

“He’s a menace.”

“So are you,” Mortimer observed.

I opened my mouth automatically, then stopped. Because annoyingly, that hadn’t sounded entirely like criticism.

“And you’re telling me this because?” I asked.

“I want you on this council.”

For an instant I actually gaped at him. Then reality reasserted itself. He must be having some kind of age-related psychotic break. Because that was totally a thing that happened.

“Sorry,” I said. “I think my hearing must be going.”

“Humour is useful, but there are moments when others must be able to see that you understand the weight of what is being asked of you,” Mortimer said. “You would be one of a select few dragons with responsibility for the safety of every dragon in this country.”

Yet again, I was glad I was sitting down. “You’re serious,” I managed.

He inclined his head.

Bloody hell. I wanted to ask what he thought he’d seen in me that could possibly have led him to this. But I didn’t want to give him that much leverage.