Clans of the Skye & Sea vol i - The Shadow Staff

5.

Damini felt as if the ground would open apart.

Chief Drakin and Lord Vlrassel were grumpy, and she did not see them as understanding leaders who would listen to their subject's dilemmas. She reminded herself that this was why Chahell had never demanded a meeting; not only did the other Chiefs look upon him with frowns, but the manner in which they addressed Chahell was insolent. Admittedly, Chahell was young and inexperienced compared to the other Chiefs, but he had earned the respect of his clan, unlike the others who were perhaps not even respected at all.

Damini was grateful for the vastness of the round table. The four chiefs were spaced far apart, and Damini realized that if this wasn't so, the heat of the meeting would get them throttling each other. More so, she was afraid that they wouldn't believe Chahell's proposition that a millennium old rule was violated.

I shouldn't be here, she thought. But Chahell had insisted; Damini could see beyond his cold eyes and confident stature, and she saw that he was incredibly nervous. Now, as she eyed the other chiefs, all eyes fixed to Chahell, scrutinizing him, her stomach felt sick with anxiety.

Lady Roop was the first to speak. "Three calls."

Her voice was loud in the quiet tenseness of the meeting. She kept her feline eyes on Chahell. Damini always felt a predatory vibe exuding off her; Lady Roop was the Chief of Changelings. She could transform into any animal she willed, but Damini couldn't figure out whether she chose to remain as a faerie-tigress hybrid, or if that was her natural appearance. She had eyes with slitted green pupils, fur on some parts of her hand and face, and she always wore this peculiar looking headgear – a jumble of gems and feathers to go with her feathery earrings and necklace. She was tall; much taller than Damini, and her limbs were equally long. Her fingers ended in claws.

Chahell was the only one standing. "Yes. This is an urgent matter."

A snort came from the direction of Lord Vlrassel's seat. There was shifting, a bit of complaining huffs and puffs, before a figure rose and stood on the table. Lord Vlrassel was the Chief of the Trooping faeries; they were small, and Vlrassel was no exception. He stood tall, which for him was only about the length of a finger. But he was muscular; a large, weighty coat made of leaves sat on his shoulder, making him appear larger. His light green translucent wings fluttered a bit before he caught himself. He gripped the Leaf Staff, green smoke floated around it. Damini smelt the scent of leaves.

The Lord cleared his throat. His voice would surprise a stranger; it was deeper and louder than one would expect from a tiny person. "Is it so urgent that it couldn't wait until midday?"

Chahell remained still; the red around his eyes striking vibrantly. "It is so urgent, that if I could inform you the second I found out, I would."

Damini stood silently in the shadows, holding her breath. Chahell's eyes flickered towards her, and she returned him a confident expression, despite the black anxiety looming in her stomach.

"Then why do you stall?" Chief Drakin's fist was balled tightly on the table, while the other hand seized the Autumn Staff so tight, his knuckles were white.

Chahell wasted no time. "A faerie has been taken."

Damini looked at the other chiefs' expressions, and found that the statement had not brought the desired effect. In fact, it had brought the exact opposite.

Chief Drakin laughed; it was a rough, grumpy sound. "Taken, you say? Taken by whom?"

Chahell's expression was unreadable.

Suddenly, Chief Drakin's open-mouthed guffaw dissolved into a heavy frown. "You dare," he growled. "You dare accuse the Seelie?"

Damini was taken aback by his sudden presumption. It was Drakin's character to believe everything was about the Seelie.