On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  Kera could not help but laugh either. Still grinning, she wrapped an arm around Aiden’s waist and held the reins with one hand. Stretching her back as much as she could, spine cracking into place as she straightened as much as she could. She twisted a little to the left, a little to her right. Her heels pressed into Holly’s sides, but the old war horse ignored it and kept plodding along. She had probably fallen asleep again. Poor girl.

  “I never met John.” Kera said. “I knew his father of course. Everyone knew his father.” Even Aurora nodded. It was hard to ignore the obscenely rich, and the Sarren family was obscenely rich. “However, I didn’t have the privilege to meet most of Mori’s comrades until after the war was over. Even during our wedding he claimed no guests. An embarrassment he apologized for several times over.” He had been charming at their wedding though. Nervous and uncertain, but still filled with the same desperate desire for everything to go right. To fall into line just so. “But he danced quite well at the wedding, against all odds. Refusing one misstep. He never danced as well ever again.”

  Hunger bit at her stomach. Adjusting her hold on the reins once more, she slid her hand into the nearest saddlebag and felt around for something to eat. She found an apple first, and she handed it to Aiden. “Hold that,” she commanded, before fishing out some of the salted meat they’d wrapped in linen a few nights prior.

  He did as she asked. His small hands cradled the apple to his chest like a relic to be protected. When she finally was sitting properly again, mission complete, he even hesitated before returning it. “Just a moment . . .” she murmured against his head. Using her nails, she clawed out a few decent sized pieces that he could eat on his own. These she handed back to him, smiling when she saw his appetite seemed to allow for it. He ate them without complaint. Chewing and swallowing at a decent speed.

  For herself, she finished the core in four solid chomps: swallowing seeds and stem and all. Then she peeled open the linen and separated some of the meat out. She passed over more than enough for both Aurora and Faith, then continued from where she’d left off. “You know, Amit told me afterward that John had Mori dancing for hours, practicing steps and memorizing formations. And apparently John took his duties as teacher quite seriously.”

  Mori had caught Amit telling the end of that particular story and had flushed so dark she had thought he’d asphyxiated. The true lord had laughed at Mori’s embarrassment, teasing him far more than was appropriate in mixed company, but finding no shame in doing so. “They had wrapped the arms of Amit’s coat about John’s waist to provide for the skirt hem, and apparently John would stamp on poor Mori’s toes in recompense every time he blundered. He even threatened to find heels to make sure, ah, his . . . point sank in.”

  She had managed to make Faith and Aurora both laugh again, and Kera was surprised by how good it felt to be surrounded by laughter. It had been too long since she’d had an occasion to share this story. Her children and family members had heard it already. Multiple times. And she had few other friends or companions to whom she could tell it aside from Najah Zakaria, but they lived too far apart for such casual reminiscences.

  “The general happened upon them near midnight. They’d been making such a racket that he’d been beseeched by the young soldiers to please see to his aides’ disorderly conduct.”

  “No!” Aurora gasped, still laughing.

  “Yes!” Kera continued. “So there was Isra Zakaria, uniform in perfect placement, hat tucked under his arm, striding into their lodging and being presented with John dancing as a lady, makeshift skirt and all, and Mori stumbling about indecently with toes swollen from repeat chastisements.”

  “What happened next?”

  Swallowing her final bite of meat, Kera wiped her fingertips off on her trousers and fetched her canteen. She drank a swallow, then helped Aiden do the same. “The good general was far too pragmatic to find fault in John’s tutelage. He looked at Amit and informed him that if John or Mori ever found which one was leading, to have him report for command promptly in the morning. He then turned around and walked out. The poor boys were quite distressed with embarrassment.”

  Aurora howled with delight, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

  “Zakaria did offer to teach Mori afterward, but he was far too stubborn a man to accept such . . . patronizing patronage.”

  Sometimes her husband’s stupidity had been as rampant as his intelligence. Losing Zakaria had been another great blow to their family. And one that had not been easily replaced. Zakaria, then her first son, then her husband . . . all back to back within five years of each other. Mori had received the news with little fanfare. Had thanked the postman for delivering Najah’s letter to them, then sat in his study, pen in hand, and failed to write a single word. “His life would have been so much easier if he’d only accepted Zakaria’s favor.” Kera sighed.

  There was a pause, and then Aurora shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  Irritation bubbled in Kera’s chest. She frowned at her companion, disbelieving and disapproving in turns. She understood her husband very well. Of course she understood him.

  “He came from nothing, Lady Montgomery.” Here, the name sounded every bit as vulgar as a curse or a threat. Kera scowled at the sound of it. “Had he accepted the general’s patronage, everything he did would be in question.”

  “It already was; could he not have found some measure of peace in knowing he was loved?” Kera never doubted the general and his wife’s love for their family. She had delighted in tea with Najah. She’d penned letters to both parties. She’d sent and received tokens that were always addressed to her, but were also always meant as a gift for them all. Mount Maladh had been a paradise for the children to spend their summers in, and the general had never been shy in offering paternal affection. For all the general’s familial kindness toward them, however, Mori responded with stiff formality before both Zakaria and his wife. He was cordial and humorous when required, occasionally he could even be tempted to tease, but he conducted himself in a strictly professional manner more often than not.”

  “If he found life difficult without Zakaria’s patronage, could you imagine how hard it would have been with it?”

  “The general never would have allowed such talk. It would—”

  “Have happened no matter what. His merit would’ve been all on Zakaria’s word. Not his own.”

  “But what would that have mattered?”

  Aurora sighed, long and drawn out. “As I said. You don’t understand.” Kera wanted to press for more information, to ask what more she needed to know. What else was there to understand? Patronage had been a part of their society for as long as Kera had known. It had always been there. Without a patron, you meant nothing. So why not accept a champion? Older and wiser? More practiced? “Don’t you ever feel invisible?”

  Kera paused. She needed to analyze and reflect. She had no time to do so.

  Aurora continued, “It’s never good enough to have someone say you’re the best. Not for you, not for them. Someone’s always doubting. A patron could go up and say ‘Morpheus’s the best dancer there is,’ and folks’ll repeat it ’cause that’s what the patron says. Don’t make it true. Don’t change the fact that Morpheus’s the worst dancer this side of the city river. And folks know that. Know full well that what a patron says don’t make things right. They be looking at him like he’s gonna mess it all up anyway. And they be right to do it. Patronage means nothing. And on top o’ being called a loyalist and a traitor. He’d be a fraud.”

  That wasn’t how patronage was supposed to work. Kera brain tingled at the notion. That was not what patronage was meant to be. She could see how it could be perverted to such an extent. But . . . it was love. Trust and belief. Assistance and support. She told Aurora as much, and Aurora rolled her eyes once more.

  “No,” Aurora argued. “You gotta listen to patrons. Gotta do what they say because they know best. Gotta respect ’em and treat ’em right. And t
hey’ll do the same to you in the end. Ain’t you ever had someone put words in your mouth you don’t mean? That you don’t want to say. But you gotta because who they are is more important than who you are?”

  Yes. All the time.

  When she sat in her own home and was incapable of speaking for herself because no one listened to her, because she was not the one that mattered in the conversation. Her father, or brothers, or husband knew better. She was the grieving widow in black dress. Her place wasn’t in those conversations. It was anywhere else.

  “Sometimes you just wanna talk for yourself, you know? Using your own words. Doing your own thing. Being who you are. Without someone else telling you how to talk or how to dress or how to wear your hair. Say all you like about not being lords and ladies, but you’ve got your patronage horse shit stacked higher than a cathedral. So don’t you be blaming him for saying no. I’d’ve said no too.”

  It was going to take Kera time to unpack that. She needed to analyze each part of it and come up with an appropriate feeling or assertion. She nodded to show she’d heard Aurora’s words, but couldn’t otherwise reply. Searching for the right words, she fumbled with an offer. “I . . . can teach you how to dance if you’d still like to learn.”

  Aurora lips curved upward in a beautiful smile. “Then I can dance proper without anyone speakin’ out for me, and no one’s going to question what I know, ’cause I’ll know it.” She nodded, clearly satisfied with her proclamation, drawing herself up so her back was straight. Something stirred in Kera’s chest as she watched. “I think I’d like to learn how to dance with you, Lady Montgomery.”

  And though it was her own idea, Kera couldn’t help but blush at the words. She nodded. “Yes . . . me too. It’s settled, then.” That pretty smile grew, and Kera shifted her position in her saddle as she dreamed idly of exactly which dance they’d learn first.

  She thought, maybe, they’d start with a waltz.

  Faith started to fit sometime in the late afternoon just as dark clouds moved into position over the sinking sun. She managed a tiny groan, before her head lolled back onto her mother’s shoulder. Her body stiffened and jerked. Unlike Aiden, who Kera could hold with reasonable ability on top of Holly’s sturdy back, Faith was far too big to be flailing on Aurora’s gelding. The horse startled, head twisting about in an attempt to see what was happening.

  Kera snatched the reins from Aurora’s hands. She gave them a mighty jerk, shouting “Whoa!” as Aurora tried to dismount. The gelding’s hooves danced, little hitching hops that threw Aurora and Faith forward. She couldn’t dismount. Not like this. Faith thrashed. Moaned. Her voice keened, wet wind smacking harsh against the rocks.

  Kera wrapped her own reins around her pommel. “Stay still,” she ordered Aiden as she threw herself off. Her son’s tiny hands clenched around the swell of the saddle. He stared at her with wide eyes filling with tears, chin quivering. His skin looked bloodless. The gelding stomped his front feet, forcing Kera back. She stumbled between Holly and Aurora’s mad beast. It danced worse than her husband, its steps nearly crushing her toes.

  Kera pushed the gelding’s shoulder, urging it to the left, but he ignored her. She pushed harder. Faith kicked at the same time. Whinnying fury whipped through the horse, and he jumped forward. Kera jerked at his reins. “Woah! Woah!” Aurora shouted. Teetered. The gelding bucked and kicked, and both women fell.

  Aurora’s skull crashed against Kera’s cheek. Pain blossomed beneath Kera’s skin. She bit her tongue, and copper filled her mouth, hot and sticky. Aurora had managed to hold on to her daughter, but she had just barely gotten her feet under her in time. Still the girl twitched. Aiden whined. “Mama, mama, mama!”

  Then Holly was moving. War horse or not, she didn’t want to get jostled about. The mare started down the path, ears flicked this way and that. Aurora tried to steady her daughter. Kera reached for Holly’s reins again. “Woah, woah, woah, easy, boy—girl! Easy!”

  Aiden’s lips twisted in a sob. Great tears ran down his cheeks. Dirt smudged under his nose and over his lips. He reached out to her. Grabby hands reaching across a span he would never make. The gelding jerked in Kera’s hand, and she snapped the reins again. “No!” she barked.

  Aurora cursed—“Great buggering shit!” She dragged her daughter away. She reappeared in a flash and threw her hands out just as Aiden leaned too much. Pitched over.

  Aurora caught him before Kera could scream in horror.

  She caught him and held him to her chest, cradling Kera’s heart close to her own. “Let’s not do that again,” Aurora told him gently. “You hear?”

  He gaped at her as she pulled him from Kera’s line of sight. But then Aurora returned empty-handed, fetching supplies without saying a word to Kera about how close she came to losing her son right there on the road, until she said: “Aiden’s by the trees, he’s all right for a few minutes while you tie them, Lady.” Kera realized that Aurora was the real lady between them. She hadn’t panicked. A lady should never panic.

  Kera breathed out. Relief flooded her system. She clicked her tongue twice in her cheek and walked both horses off the road. Holly didn’t tend to wander or stray, so Kera dropped her reins and kept her mind on the gelding. Trees were difficult hitching posts, but Kera managed. She did up the knots, proud of how her fumbling fingers didn’t bungle too much.

  When both horses were secure, she rushed to Aurora and the children. Aiden was sobbing huge tears, and Aurora was doing her best to balance him and ease her daughter’s pain at the same time. Kera lifted him from Aurora’s hold. His arms encircled her neck and she rocked him. She told him it was all right. They were fine. Faith was fine. They would all be fine.

  Faith, was in fact, not fine. Her back was arching up off the ground, eyes rolling back in her head; she was gasping for breath, limbs flailing left and right, shaking all the while. Aurora spread the eucalyptus about Faith’s body. She drew a line under Faith’s nose and around her mouth. She dabbed it along her chest.

  They were nearing the quarter hour mark since the fitting started, yet it showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it grew worse. Aurora pled with her daughter to stop. She begged. Each request only encouraged Aiden to cry harder when he realized Faith wasn’t stopping.

  This was it. This was the end. Kera hugged her son and shook. She shivered. Her cheeks felt wet. She rocked Aiden and did the only thing she could think of. She hummed. The tune was meaningless. The words inconsequential. It was a piano piece that she’d learned during technique classes, a small and simple ditty that everyone made up their own words to, with the original lyrics lost to time.

  Sitting down next to Aurora, back leaned against a tree, Kera hummed the song as best she could. She rocked Aiden and prayed with each note that Faith would settle. Aiden’s arms tightened around her neck. His crying slowed, but his wet cheeks marred her skin with a brand. She half expected him to start fitting too; she continued to hum.

  Then Aurora added the words. “Up inside the little house, down along the road. Mrs. Mary little mouse, runs her way back home,” she sang, voice cracking with tears of her own. It was a common variation of the tune. Ciara used to sing it to the children as they practiced needlepoint in the parlor. “Winter willow cold and tired, winter swallow flies away. Mrs. Mary in the briars, sings her song each day.”

  It was a round. One verse meant to roll over the other before culminating in a unison at the end. She stopped humming as Aurora continued, finding her place to join in as Aurora began the next verse. It helped. If nothing else, it kept Kera from thinking too hard on the futility of their situation. It distracted Aiden from his tears.

  “Up inside the little house, where spring flowers grow. Mrs. Mary little mouse, find the water flow. Winter willow melts so slowly, summer spring comes near. Mrs. Mary, aren’t you lovely, heralds in good cheer.”

  Call and response. The song started up again. Circled back in and around itself. Minutes passed. The sun shifted out from behind the clouds
. Faith’s flailing slowed. Her eyes rolled back to where they belonged. Her sweat-stained face no longer seemed to be balancing on the edge of death, and some of the color returned to her lips. Aurora let out a long breath. She hunched over her daughter with her hands bracketed on either side of Faith’s head. Leaning down, she kissed Faith’s brow and whispered quiet words of thanks to anyone who could be listening.

  Aiden’s fright abated too. His tears stopped. He still clung to Kera, but she felt his muscles relax. Kera looked back up at the sky. The sun was lower now. They had precious few hours remaining before night fell and they were left outside in the dark.

  “Aurora . . .” she whispered, not sure how to discuss the inevitable problems that awaited them.

  “I know,” Aurora said. “I know.” She closed her eyes, then settled back on her heels. She looked up from Faith’s still body and met Kera’s eyes. She was just as scared as Kera. Perhaps more so after Faith’s sudden decline in health. “We’re not gonna make it to town before dark.”

  No. They were not. The map hadn’t shown any settlements or outposts in this area. And wandering aimlessly in hopes of finding a hutch would be akin to courting disaster. They could not lose themselves in the wilds. There must be an alternative that they could look for.

  Standing up, Kera walked to Holly’s bags and felt about inside until she found the books. She pulled out the Bestiary and flipped through the pages in hopes of finding something she might have missed in regards to the nightwalkers. She knew there wasn’t anything, but desperation was a powerful motivator.

  She turned the pages in clumps, often needing to go back and double-check she hadn’t missed something. But all she found were pages and pages of documentation on gremlins, gnomes, faeries, selkies, centaurs, and minotaurs, with Mori’s shorthand notes filling each corner, and not a damn thing on the dead. All his entertaining commentaries with the other researcher on a few topics were useless. There was no guide in the book for how to manage the night.