Page 98 of Fire to the Stars

He inhales, as if mustering courage. “I believe Diu is choosing his dragons not on the basis of greed, but on something else.”

The ballroom fills with uproarious voices.Heathen. Blasphemous.The same words they use against dragons. Queen Danielle raises a silencing hand.

“What do you claim is the basis?” she asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” Abel admits. “But if slayers point the needle on Florent’s moral compass, then it is vital that we operate at the highest moral standard. All dragons must die, but I believe the Slayers Guild needs to abandon our punishment mindset toward them.”

“Quite the assertion. Even lowest-ranking priests preach no mercy.”

Abel hesitates, but only momentarily. “I believe the Council of Cardinals would be important leaders within this cultural shift.”

“That would be met with resistance.”

“Do you have proof that your perspective is beneficial to society?” King Philippe asks.

Abel points to the skeleton. “My perspective resulted in that dragon’s complete cooperation. He made no attempts to run or evade the gendarmes.”

“And how do you propose other slayers replicate that cooperation?”

“By treating dragons like the human beings they are.”

Angry jeers rouse the spectators. I hold my breath. Another hand raise from King Philippe silences them.

“I am not one to discourage innovation,” the king says. “But I cannot dismiss any bias you might possess toward your brother. Even if that’s not a factor, I’m hesitant to believe such historically greedy individuals would surrender themselves to die.”

“If I may,” Abel prompts with a glance to me, “I plan to test my method on more targets to prove that dragons are more willing to cooperate than we think. If it works consistently, I would like to seek an audience to make a case for a new royal decree that would make Florent safer.”

“What would you propose?”

“Outlawing cruelty toward dragons who surrender themselves.”

A hint of a smile finds my lips. Abel is clever to frame compassion as a safety measure. He’s not wrong, either. People like me are bound to turn themselves in earlier that way.

The king considers Abel thoughtfully, then shares a nod with his queen. “You saved us once. That alone warrants a futureaudience,” he concludes. “A round of applause for Monsieur Estellio!”

Applause fills the ballroom. It’s hesitant, but it’s a start. I join as best I can with the champagne flute in hand.

A small crowd corners us with a barrage of questions about Gérard’s capture and the hunting method Abel is testing. He casts me apologetic looks, but I understand. He has an image to maintain if he hopes to earn support for his desired change.

After my fourth round of champagne, though, my patience wanes. I confiscate his flute and lead him away from the courtiers.

“Teach me how to dance?” I ask.

He gladly follows, much to the disdain of the women he abandons mid-conversation.

“Did you see her scar?” one of them mutters in our wake.

“Hideous.”

“She doesn’t know how to dance.”

Abel pulls me flush against him, where their judgment can’t hurt me. Since he leads with his weaker shoulder, he holds our hands lower than the other couples, but he doesn’t miss a step.

“Court can be unkind,” he says eventually. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. I know you take pride in your scar, but—”