Tiberon's eyes went the temperature of a glacier. Every sound on the training field died at once. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed.
Gavriel did not flinch. "This is a false parley. I have seen this happen before."
"You have seen this 'happen before'," Hyran repeated, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes," Gavriel replied. "I saw things in the coma that I cannot explain to you in the time we have. That is a false parley to lure you out of Drakenfell for ambush. They will be attacking Drakenfell as well." His voice dropped to something quiet and absolute. "I will put my rank and my family name behind every word I just said. I am not wrong, Alpha."
Tiberon studied him.
The studying lasted three seconds, during which the King of Drakenfell looked into the eyes of the Gamma he had raised beside his son, the boy whose training he had overseen, whose rank he had signed, whose potential he had measured against a standard only Dexmon had ever met.
The boy the ancestors had called his second son.
