Tyree spun on her
heels, her long hair lashing around her as she faced the council. "You
want me to be a what?"
Thirteen elderly
Inc-Su met her scream of outrage with angry stares. The last syllable echoed
around the chamber. If sound could penetrate metaglass, it would have scattered
the saurian lowri gliding past the panoramic windows on membranous wings.
Tyree swore G'vorek,
one of her former mentors, winked at her, and her irritation eased a fraction
at his silent support. Some of the other council members shifted in their hover
seats as she cast her gaze over them. Several scowled. Beyond the oval table
and the council members, clouds drifted past the window obscuring the slender
sky towers of Refuge, a serene background that conflicted with the turmoil
suddenly seething in her chest.
"I didn't
think the phrase 'co-delegate' would be considered such an offensive term even
by you, Tyree," Great Mother M'roc said.
Tyree latched her
attention onto the matriarch. Unlike the majority of the Inc-Su, M'roc had a
generous, matronly figure and caramel-colored skin. Dark braids tinted with
gray framed her broad face. There was a saying among the Inc-Su, twisted from
the old Terran phrase—as solid as M'roc. Unbending, reliable, consistent, and
strong. Good traits in a leader, but it meant once she'd made a decision,
nothing could change her mind. If she'd chosen this role for Tyree...
"I'm an
assassin, not a frigging diplomat," Tyree retorted, but the initial fire
of her resistance had guttered. Arguing already felt like a lost cause, but she
had to make the point.
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