The Gryphon's Lair

by Kelley Armstrong

  As I stroke Tiera’s head, I think about the nightmare. I’ve tried to be brave about letting her go, but inside, I feel as if I really am abandoning her. I’m the closest thing she has to a mother, and she’s not yet grown, and I’m about to walk away from her forever. Just thinking about it makes my chest hurt and my eyes fill, and I want to hug her and tell her I won’t abandon her.

  But what are my other options? Tell my mother I’m keeping her? That’s reckless and irresponsible and immature. I’d need to keep her in a permanent cage, and I’d never do that.

  The only other choice would be to run away with her and live in the forest. Which would be just as reckless and irresponsible and immature. I am the royal monster hunter. Giving that up would mean turning my back on my family and my kingdom.

  Both options are unthinkable. So I must do something almost equally unthinkable. Abandon Tiera.

  No, not abandon her. Give her back to her own kind. What happened in those nightmares is no more possible than me standing by and watching Jacko drown. I would have found a way to save him. And I won’t leave Tiera until I’m sure she has a good home, with gryphons who accept her.

  What if they don’t?

  Then I’ll find gryphons who will. Or I’ll come up with an alternate plan. I can say my only choices are to cage her or run away with her, but that’s not entirely true. Ideally, she should be with other gryphons. If she cannot, then I’d need to figure out a way to keep her isolated in the forest with caretakers until she’s able to fend for herself.

  What I cannot do, though, is keep her as a companion. I know that, and yet I don’t think I’ve fully understood what it will be like to leave her forever. I do now, and as we sit by the fire, I prepare for a time, mere hours from now, when all I will have of her are memories.

  Over the last three months, I’ve taken pages and pages of notes on Tiera. Her habits and her growth and her changing appearance. Scientific observations. Now I don’t just study her—I commit her to memory. What does her fur feel like? Her feathers? Her talons and beak and tail? What does she smell like? What does her heartbeat sound like? Her shrieks? The odd little noise that tells me she is content? Most of all, what is it like to be here with her now, by the fire?

  I curl up against her, my nose buried at the line between her head feathers and body fur. Then Dain clears his throat from the cave entrance. I glance to see Malric lying there, as if the warg has been silently watching over us all along.

  “Is it your shift already?” Dain whispers as he walks over.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I took over early.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I slept really well, and then I didn’t. I guess I’d had enough rest.”

  His gaze studies mine. He knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t call me on it.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask.

  He shrugs and only says, “May I join you?”

  I nod.

  As he sits, Jacko hops over, stops a foot away and stares at Dain.

  “Really?” Dain sighs. “I save you from drowning, and you still don’t want me near your princess?”

  “I haven’t thanked you for that,” I say. “I’m not even sure how to thank you for it. You risked your life for a beast.” I manage a wry smile. “One you don’t even like very much.”

  “I wasn’t going to let you watch him drown, princess. Or jump in yourself after him. I would, however, appreciate a little gratitude from him.”

  I lean to look at Jacko’s eyes, which are still fixed on Dain. Then I chuckle. “He’s not glaring at you, Dain. He’s asking permission to come closer.”

  “Why would he need that?”

  “Uh, because of that whole ‘you don’t like him very much’ thing. He isn’t going to hop onto your lap and risk being thrown off. That’s just humiliating.”

  “I think you’re wrong but…” He puts out his fingers. “If he bites these off, it’s your fault.”

  Jacko sniffs the outstretched fingers while Dain holds himself very still, as if he expects a nip. Jacko sniffs and then takes another hop, bringing himself close enough for Dain to touch. Dain reaches out and tentatively strokes Jacko’s head.

  “He likes to be scratched at the base of his antlers,” I say.

  Dain tries it, still cautious, and while Jacko doesn’t exactly hop onto his lap purring, he does settle in, a handsbreadth from Dain, and allows himself to be petted.

  A few moments pass, then Dain says, his gaze on Jacko, “Earlier, when I went hunting, I didn’t want you along because Alianor had asked for some time alone with you. I said I needed to talk to you, too, and I’d hoped that’d mean she’d give me some time in return but…” He shrugs. “It’s Alianor.”

  True. Alianor isn’t good at interpreting hints. If he wanted time alone with me, he needed to come out and say it.

  “I wanted to talk about…” He rolls his shoulders, shifting in discomfort. “What Branwyne said.”

  “Did you tell her I’m only fit to be the royal zookeeper?”

  “Not…exactly?” His voice rises at the end, as if this is a question. “I…” He trails off again and rubs his mouth, his gaze slinking toward the fire.

  “Was she giving you a hard time about me?” I ask.

  He looks over sharply.

  I pull my knees in. “Rhydd is the diplomat. He knows how to dig around a problem to unearth it. I only know how to attack it straight on, and sometimes, that means being too blunt.”

  I shift, tucking my legs under me. “Earlier, Alianor said that her father wants her to befriend me and Rhydd because it helps her clan. Political advantage. She said she’d rather I hear that from her than have someone whisper it in my ear.”

  “Okay…”

  “I’ve been told you’re probably dealing with the same thing, but I shouldn’t ask you outright, because you’ll get defensive. I don’t think that’s helping matters, though, so…Are people giving you a hard time about being my friend?”

  He squirms, as if wanting to duck back into the cave to avoid answering. But then he meets my gaze and says, “Yes.”

  “They’re saying that you’re trying to ingratiate yourself with me because you’re thinking of becoming a monster hunter, and I’m the royal monster hunter.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they also teasing you because I’m a girl?”

  His cheeks darken. “It’s not teasing,” he mutters. “They mock me. Especially—” He cuts himself short and shakes his head.

  “Branwyne?”

  “She wants to be queen. But Rhydd isn’t on the throne yet, so you’re her target. She wants to make you look incompetent.” He shifts again. “I don’t understand court life. All the”—he flails his hands—“layers. Underhanded tricks and hidden motivations.”

  “What did Branwyne do?”

  “I thought it was me she didn’t like. That’s how she acted. Who was I really? Where did I actually come from? What was Wilmot up to?”

  He glances my way. “Alianor’s dad wants her to get close to you and Rhydd. Branwyne made me feel like I was doing that for Wilmot. I defended myself, and then she said maybe I liked you in a different way. You’re a princess, and you’re the royal monster hunter, and you’re pretty, and that’s why I was always hanging around you, and I was a fool if I thought you’d look twice at me.”

  His fists clench. “She made me feel like some dirty peasant boy and…”

  “And so you insulted me. To prove her wrong.”

  “I didn’t—” He bites the word off with a sharp shake of his head. “Yes. I wanted her to leave me alone, and I said things I shouldn’t have said, things I didn’t mean. I grumbled about you and your monster companions. I said I didn’t think you’d make a good monster hunter, that I didn’t think you were pretty, that I didn’t think you were as clever as everyone
says…”

  He rubs his hands over his face. “I was a jerk. I said awful things, things I don’t believe, because I wanted her to stop making fun of me. That’s all I thought about. Not that she might go around saying I don’t believe you’re fit for the job. I think you’ll make a great royal monster hunter, Rowan. I really do, and I’ll start telling people that.”

  “Then they’ll think you have to, because I found out you’ve been saying otherwise.”

  He winces, his whole face screwing up. “Right. Okay. I…” He throws up his hands. “I’m no good at this court stuff. I’m going to cause trouble for you, Rowan. That’s what I’ve been thinking ever since Branwyne. When you chose Alianor over me, that seemed to prove it. Even you knew I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  “I chose Alianor because of what you’d said. Because I presumed you believed it.” I meet his gaze. “I can’t have a companion who’ll insult me to save his dignity, Dain.”

  He buries his face in his hands. “I know. I’ve messed up so bad.”

  He lowers his hands just enough to look over his fingertips. “I’m not meant to be part of a monster hunting troop, Rowan. I belong in the woods, like Wilmot, where I don’t have to deal with…” A hand flail. “People.”

  “Is that what you want? To be left alone?”

  “No. I want…” He lowers his hands and looks at me. “I’m not sure what I want. To be a monster hunter, I know that. But with the royal troop or on my own? I don’t know yet. Right now, I want to learn more. Wilmot is a good teacher, but he doesn’t have all the skills I need. I want to train at the castle.”

  “Alone?” I lock gazes with him. “You can say yes to that, Dain. You don’t need to hang out with me to get royal training. If you want to be left alone…”

  “I…” He trails off, panic flitting across his face as his mouth opens and closes. Finally, he shuts it, squares his shoulders and says, “I don’t.”

  I struggle against a laugh at how hard it is for him to make even this small admission. He glares at me, and I wipe a hand over my mouth.

  “It’s okay to say you want to be around other people, Dain. It’s okay to say you’re fine being around me. You don’t even need to say you want to be. Just that you’re fine with it.”

  I think my tone is gentle, but he fidgets like I’m shouting at him. I remember what Wilmot said about Dain’s family.

  Dain says he had to go into service, which makes it sound as if he’d been dragged from his sobbing family. But he never mentions them. Wilmot bought Dain’s freedom, so after that, there was no reason he couldn’t go home, at least to visit. He doesn’t seem to, though, which means…

  It means he doesn’t want to go home. Or, worse, they don’t want him.

  I just had those horrible dreams of abandoning Jacko and Tiera. What would it be like to be the one who is abandoned?

  Is that what happened to Dain?

  My stomach clenches so hard I want to throw up. When I do leave Tiera, it will be with a new family. That wasn’t what Dain’s parents did. They left him with a horrible person, who expected him to live in the barn and work for a living when he was five. Five.

  I’ve thought before about how different my life has been from his. That’s one reason I don’t just walk away when he’s being a jerk. Even with Wilmot, Dain’s life wasn’t exactly princess-style luxury. But I haven’t thought of how different it was in other ways.

  When I was five, my parents had to go south for a winter wedding, and they decided Rhydd and I should stay home, where it was safe and warm. I’d howled, flying into a rage and accusing them of abandoning me.

  Thinking of that, shame washes through me, so thick I almost choke on it. Berinon had taken me aside and told me, gently but firmly, that parents often have to go away, and if I was going to behave like that, maybe they’d need to go away more often until I got used to it. That shut me up fast. Then, after a week, they returned with presents and stories and hugs, and for two days they were with us from morning until night to make up for it.

  What if they’d actually left for good? I cannot even imagine it. But Dain lived it. Even if it wasn’t his parents’ fault, he would have felt abandoned, and that’s what mattered.

  So now I’m amused because he struggles to admit he doesn’t want to be alone?

  I remember Wilmot laughing at Dain’s version of how he came to stay with him. To Dain, he’d made a fool of himself, begging to be allowed to apprentice with Wilmot. In reality, he’d barely said a word. He just felt as if he’d begged. Because even saying, “Train me, please” had been hard. Like saying, “No, I don’t want to be alone.” Admitting that you want something from another person. That they have the power to say no, and it’d feel like your parents walking away all over again.

  “Dain?” I say as he fidgets. He lifts his gaze, not quite meeting mine. “I usually call you my companion. Do you know why?”

  More fidgeting, and a one-shouldered shrug.

  “Because I’m afraid to call you my friend,” I say. “I’m not sure you consider me a friend, and if I admit I think of you that way, and you don’t feel the same, it’d be weird and awkward and embarrassing. But…” I shrug. “I need to get over that. Unless you don’t want me to call you a friend…”

  His gaze meets mine, and he shakes his head. Then his eyes widen. “I mean, no, I don’t not want you—” A deep breath. “You can call me that. I’ll never be weird about it. I do consider you a friend, so you…You know.”

  He makes a face and then shifts. “I’m hard to get along with. Wilmot tries to teach me how to be friendlier, but that’s like…”

  “A warg teaching a jackalope to fly?”

  We both laugh softly.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Wilmot isn’t exactly the friendliest person either. That’s why we get along. I can be moody. Cranky, like you say.”

  “Nah, it’s more…” I scoop up one of the nuts scattered over the ground. It’s encased in a thick, spiked husk. “Prickly, like this. But the spines are meant to protect the nut, and once you get past them, you’ll find a very sweet—”

  “No,” he says, glaring at me.

  I grin. “Very sweet center. You just need to peel back…” I dig my nails into the green covering, but it’s nearly as hard as a shell. I put the nut down and lift a rock.

  “Smash it?” Dain says. “I don’t think I like this comparison, princess.”

  “Crack it open gently.” When a light smack doesn’t do anything, I smash the rock hard, and both the husk and shell break, the nut flying out, pieces shooting everywhere.

  “Really not liking this comparison,” he says.

  “You get past the prickly outer husk and the hard shell within, and then there’s a sweet—”

  “Princess…” he says, his voice heavy with warning.

  I grin, pop the nut into my mouth, bite down and—

  I spit it out so fast Jacko leaps up in alarm.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you, princess,” Dain says. “A nut with that prickly green husk means it isn’t ripe yet.”

  “Oh, oh,” I sputter as I spit. I jump to my feet, flapping my arms and screwing up my face as I look around for something, anything, to get this horrible taste out of my mouth. And Dain is laughing, laughing like I’ve never seen him, rocking back and sputtering and shaking as I glower at him and finally locate a waterskin. I gulp and then spit. Gulp and spit.

  When I finally sink to the ground, gasping, Dain says, “So if I have this right, I’m a prickly, unripe nut, and if you ignore my spikes and smash me open, you’ll find I’m bitter and gross inside.” He glances over. “Close enough?”

  I glare at him. He laughs some more. When he catches his breath, he tosses me an honest grin and says, “I appreciate the effort, princess, but I might suggest dramatic comparisons are really not your thing. Prickly is a good way
to describe me, though, even if I hope ‘bitter and gross’ isn’t. I appreciate that you’re making the effort to get past the spikes, though.” He meets me gaze and sobers. “I really do.”

  I duck my head in a nod.

  He continues. “I promise to be a lot more careful with what I say about you to others. I learned my lesson, and I’m truly sorry. I mean that. I will never insult you in front of anyone who wouldn’t know I’m just teasing.”

  “Or you could just not insult me at all.”

  He stretches his legs. “I could. Let’s make that a pact, then. We will never say anything even mildly insulting to each other again. That means you can’t tell me when I’m being prickly or cranky or difficult. You can only tell me I’m awesome. You can’t push me to spar with you by telling me I’m a lousy swordsman. You can only say I’m an amazing archer, and you hope to be as good as me someday.”

  He glances at me. “You could start practicing now. I’m ready for the compliments.”

  “You have really nice fingernails.”

  His brows shoot up.

  I point at his hands. “Your fingernails are always clean and smoothly cut and really nice.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nope. That’s all I’ve got. But they are nice fingernails.”

  He throws back his head and laughs.

  “Okay, I get your point,” I say. “Friends tease one another, and sometimes, that’s a way to prod them to improve. You’re free to tell me when I’m being reckless or irresponsible, because I am sometimes.”

  He makes a face. “You’re never irresponsible, Rowan. That’s not the same as reckless—not unless your recklessness endangers others. If you were like that, we wouldn’t be returning her”—he hooks a thumb at Tiera, sleeping wrapped around me—“to the mountains.”

  “Okay, but sometimes when you tease me, it doesn’t feel like prodding. It feels like an actual insult. As if I am irresponsible. Immature. Not terribly bright. Not worthy of this.” I lay my hand on the hilt of my sword.