“Gabriel is correct,” Drake said slowly. “A sárkány is called for a specific matter of business, and was done so in the correct fashion by Bastian in order to receive official recognition of his right to the title of wyvern. If you wish for the weyr to consider the matter of the black dragons, you must proceed via proper channels, Kostya.”

“This is a foolish waste of time. He was named by Baltic to be his successor; thus, he is wyvern. I move for the recognition of Kostya, and reinstatement of the black dragon sept into the weyr,” Bao said, snapping off each word.

“I concur,” Fiat said quickly. “The blue dragons are officially prepared to recognize Kostya and his sept.”

“You have no right to speak for my sept,” Bastian said quickly, a little wisp of smoke escaping him.

“And you have no right to address an issue that did not call the sárkány,” Gabriel told Bao.

She bared her teeth at him in what I assumed was meant to be a smile. Covertly, I reached for the dagger I keep strapped to my ankle, my fingers curling around the reassuringly solid length of its handle.

“These rules are antiquated. Why should we not deal with all weyr business at once?” she countered.

“It is not the way of the sárkány,” said Gabriel, turning a fearsome glare upon the two blue dragons. “The sooner we attend to the matter at hand, the sooner we can all leave. Shall we get started?”

“It was your mate we were all forced to wait upon,” Fiat snapped. “Clearly, you fear the arrival of Kostya and his sept and are doing your best to keep them from the weyr, but the rest of us have no such problem. Let us deal with the matter here and now, once and for all while we are all gathered.”

“I vote yes on Kostya,” Cyrene said, making herself more comfortable on his lap.

Kostya looked like he was thinking about dropping her onto the floor, but at a raised eyebrow from me, he stopped fidgeting.

Gabriel, however, was as tense as a snake about to strike. I gave his knee a little squeeze to remind him that fighting with Fiat would serve no good purpose, no matter how much he deserved to be punched in the face.

“He is too afraid of what might happen should the black dragons be recognized,” Kostya sneered, his expression as dark as night. “He knows the silver dragons should never have been recognized in their own right.”

“You know, I think I have to agree with Kostya on this,” Cyrene started to say, but I had had enough.

“I realize that I’m new to the position of wyvern’s mate, and I’m probably speaking out of turn,” I said, standing to gain a slight height advantage over everyone sitting, “but I’ve just about had enough of this crap. What part of no do you not understand, Kostya?”

Kostya looked startled, both at the fact that I was addressing him in such a discourteous manner, and at the fact that I held a wickedly sharp dagger.