The Golden Gryphon and the Bear Prince: An Epic Fantasy Romance (Heirs of Magic Book 1)

by Jeffe Kennedy

Even they hadn’t used the word “normal.”

  He sympathized with Rhy’s restlessness, but Ursula had pounded into his head the value of resting when possible, to be in the best possible condition when the enemy finally attacked—or when rescue became possible. So, Astar stood on the balcony of his elaborate set of rooms, the ones Groningen occupied while in residence, and stared out over the water, spinning Zephyr’s golden feather between his fingers. It was cold, yes, but oddly much less so than it had been up top. The lack of wind helped—and the air felt nearly balmy compared to the wintry chill they’d been enduring. Possibly that’s why the lake didn’t freeze.

  Zephyr was right, though—the difference was uncanny.

  A strange flaming color in the sky caught his attention, and he stared at it, wondering what it might be, hoping it heralded Zephyr’s return. It looked like fire. Could something below be burning, casting the reflection into the night sky? If so, that would be a huge fire, devastating the landscape—and possibly settlements—in its path. That was all they needed.

  His alarm began to bleed away, however, as the color changed, sifting into blues and greens that danced in ever-larger patterns across the sky. They were extraordinary, achingly beautiful, and his chest tightened with grief, wanting nothing more than to have Zephyr wrapped in his arms, watching too.

  Stella eased through the doorway so quietly he didn’t hear her at all—she had a knack for moving on silent cat’s paws even in human form—but he sensed her approach. Slipping up against him, she ducked under the arm he lifted to put around her, and leaned her head against his chest.

  “Jak’s sky lights,” she murmured. “We did get to see them.”

  Of course that’s what they were. He’d kick himself for being a fool, but Jak’s description hadn’t captured the sheer otherworldly quality of the experience. “I didn’t realize they’d move.”

  “Like flames, but cold,” she agreed. “Lena and Zephyr will be all right.”

  He hugged her to him, taking a moment to choke down the surge of emotion at her words. “Foresight or optimism?”

  “Some of both,” she admitted. “In all honesty, I see futures with both possibilities.”

  Unable to speak, he nodded. That was what he got for asking.

  “But I see them coming back more than not. Also, I believe in you, my brave Willy.”

  “What do I have to do with it?” he asked hoarsely.

  She was quiet, her silence fraught with indecision, and he waited patiently. It wasn’t easy for her and Aunt Andi, wrestling the dubious gift of seeing the possible futures. Saying too much, or even the slightest hint of the wrong thing, could twist fate into ugly turns.

  “When the moment comes,” she finally said, “take wing.”

  His already low spirits sank even lower. “You know I don’t have a winged form.”

  “Yet.”

  “What do you—” He stopped when she shook him off.

  “I can’t say more. Just remember what I said. When the time comes…”

  “Take wing,” he murmured. What kind of wings? It must be possible, or Stella wouldn’t suggest it. She’d seen that future, so he had it in him. Zephyr was certain of it. You’re so locked down, so determined to be a mossback prince in every way, that you stop yourself from embracing the ferocity of your nature—or of taking on any other form. “How will I know the time has come?” he asked, more of himself than his sister.

  “You’ll know,” she replied firmly, a wealth of unspoken significance there.

  “Soon?” he ventured.

  She looked up at the dancing colors in the sky, her eyes silver, blue, and green in the reflected light. “Very soon.”

  You know you’re tired when giving yourself over to the tentacle things begins to sound like a good idea. At least Zeph still had the spirit to be sarcastic, even if only in her own head, but she was nearing the phase of exhaustion where she’d begun to doubt her ability to stay aloft. She also really hated not being able to voice her caustic comments, or make suggestions aloud.

  Aunt Zynda often remarked that she could stay in animal form for days if it wasn’t unhealthy. Zeph—much as she enjoyed her various forms—had never quite understood her aunt’s fascination that way. And now she knew, with absolute certainty, that she hated being voiceless.

  She liked talking through problems. Circling the same argument in her head for the last several hours, much like her endless circling above the featureless forest canopy, had gotten her exactly nowhere.

  She’d managed to get aloft—hooray!—but they hadn’t found the fold. And she was tired. Had she mentioned being tired? No, because she couldn’t say so. She had no voice. And there would come a point where she simply could no longer fly. The ongoing blood loss certainly didn’t help. The branches of the upper canopy were too flimsy to hold her weight. The branches lower down were infested with the monkey-lizards, which had proved to be nasty little scavengers who’d watched them with uncomfortably avid hunger as she and Lena climbed.

  Below, of course, was tentacleland.

  And all of this meant she needed to fly somewhere that wasn’t this horrible forest—if this world wasn’t entirely covered with it, which was a distinct possibility—so that she and Lena could rest. But that meant flying away from the one location where they knew there was a fold to take them home. With the utter lack of distinctive landmarks, she might never find this place again.

  In truth, a cold dread in her very empty stomach warned that she might’ve lost her point of entry anyway. Her brain had gone foggy—had she mentioned she was tired?—and she had no frame of reference for where she’d been.

  Lena had tried to find the atmospheric fold, with no luck. For a while, Lena had kept up a steady monologue, describing what she was doing, trying different techniques, cheering and encouraging Zeph, speculating on the nature of the creatures beneath the detritus, but she’d long since fallen silent, rather grimly clinging to Zeph’s back. Soon she would’ve lost too much blood to stay conscious. If she passed out and fell, what then?

  Zeph had to confront that giving them both over to the tentacle things might be the best option. She’d rather be blood-sucked dry by a tentacle thing than nibbled to death by a horde of monkey-lizards. Though, really, being immolated or eaten in one gulp by a dragon would be the fastest death. At first, she’d been happy that she hadn’t spotted any more dragons. Now she bitterly reflected that it just figured that the source of a quick, clean death would be withheld.

  With death a looming inevitability, she just wanted to get it over with. Except that she’d promised Astar she’d return to him. What was he thinking at this moment? Though she knew he’d mourn her loss, maybe a part of him would be relieved. He’d be free to move on and marry a princess off his list. Maybe he’d keep her feather in a glass box, honorably and nobly mourning the love of his youth, and then be all pleased with himself for marrying the right woman instead.

  Someone like Dina.

  The thought made her burn with fury, giving her a short burst of energy. Not that it did them any good.

  “Zeph,” Lena said wearily. “You have to find somewhere to land. You’re not bleeding as badly as I am. If you rest, eat something, you can keep searching for a way home.”

  Zeph shook her head, tired enough that the movement made her bobble midair.

  “You know I’m right. Thank you for risking your life to come after me, but I’m soon going to be a literal dead weight.” She sounded so sad. “You’ll have a better chance without me.”

  Uh-oh. This did not sound good.

  “If—when you make it home, would you tell Rhyian that…” She sighed heavily. “I don’t even know what my last words to him should be. I wish I could say I forgive him, but I haven’t yet. Maybe I never can, but now I won’t get that time. Maybe just tell him that I never stopped loving him, and I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to… Something. Make it sound good. Whatever you think he needs to hear.”

  Zeph clacked he
r beak in what she hoped sounded like a bracing rhythm, then crooned comfortingly. She changed direction, too, flying in a straight line at random. Surely if she flew long enough in one direction, she’d reach something besides forest. Lena could still heal. Zeph would find a safe place for Lena to sleep, and she could hunt for them both. With food and rest, they’d feel better and could make a plan.

  “Tell the others something good, too,” Lena added, so quietly that even Zeph’s sharp ears had to strain to hear her. “Make up some story about me going down fighting. Jak should know that his dagger lessons saved me.”

  Ah, so that’s where she’d learned it. When had they been doing lessons?

  “And tell Mom and Muku and Bethany I love them.” She was quiet for so long that Zeph thought she’d passed out, which was good, since she still clung to Zeph’s back. “I wish I’d gotten a chance to do at least one heroic thing,” she said in a whisper. “Some Salena I turned out to be.”

  Except that the first Salena had sacrificed herself.

  And Lena did, too, flinging herself to the side and off—too fast for Zeph to counterbalance. Folding her wings, she dove after Lena’s falling body. Her caramel hair whipped like a banner in the wind of her fall, her eyes closed, expression almost peaceful as she gave herself over, arms outstretched.

  Exhaustion forgotten, Zeph plummeted to catch Lena before she hit the canopy. Almost there.

  And then Lena was gone. Vanished. Into a fold?

  Hoping against hope, Zeph followed exactly. At the last moment, she saw the narrow slice of nothing. Too small for her gríobhth body to fit through. Too late to avoid it.

  Hitting the nothing, she screamed, the edges of two realities tearing off her wings. Scraping her raw, turning her inside out, then nothing at all.

  Tentacle things would have been better.

  Astar held vigil, watching the dancing lights, the chill invading his bones. Stella had long since gone to bed, cryptically observing that she’d need her rest, but to wake her at once if anything happened.

  So Astar waited for whatever was to happen. Every once in a while, he caught a glimpse of Rhy prowling the lakeshore in wolf form, occasionally pausing to sniff the air, then glumly resuming his rounds.

  When the spark of light caught his eye, at first Astar thought it was part of the dazzling display of sky lights. But Rhy also noticed, the wolf’s black silhouette freezing in a fierce attitude, followed by a long howl of urgent warning. Then he was the raven flying into the night sky, straight toward…

  Lena. Falling through the sky like a shooting star.

  And Zephyr, in human form, right behind her.

  When the moment comes, take wing.

  Stella was right: He knew the moment had come. With his gaze fixed on the two women tumbling through the sky—Rhy in raven form valiantly flying to reach them, as if he could do anything to stop their fall—Astar flung himself from the balcony with two thoughts in his mind.

  Big wings.

  Save Zephyr.

  So intent was he on reaching her, that it never occurred to him to worry that he might fail, that he’d hit ground and die before she did. When his body exploded around him, massive wings grabbing the sky like claws to bark, he only climbed. Climbed the air like a tree, straight up to catch them.

  He reached Lena first, catching her by tumbling her onto his broad back, trying to balance her there even as he stroked toward Zephyr. Rhy zoomed in, shifted to human form, and flattened himself over Lena. Shouting incoherently, Rhy nevertheless made it clear that he had her. Good to know, as Astar barely felt either of them. Whatever he’d become, he was enormous.

  No time to think, he pumped toward Zephyr, tumbling in an uncontrolled fall, naked, bloody, and clearly unconscious or she would’ve shifted by now. Reaching for her, he found he had hands. Scaled and taloned, but good enough for catching.

  He caught her in cupped hands—paws, whatever—as gently as possible, wheeling in midair back toward the manse. Lights once again blazed in the windows, people pouring out to point at him in wonder. Stella, in nighthawk form, shot out of a window, circling him. Finding a clear spot on the lakeshore, he flattened himself as much as possible so Rhy could jump off, Lena in his arms.

  Astar laid Zephyr on the ground, then shifted to human form, picking her up again to hold against him. Then Stella was there, easing Zephyr away from him, her green healing energy swirling around them. “Lena, too,” he muttered brokenly.

  “Alive, and will stay that way,” Stella muttered. “I gave her a jolt, and Rhy is taking her inside.”

  He was afraid to ask. He had to know. Zephyr was so cold. So still. “And Zephyr?”

  “Hush. Let me work.”

  Stella was so rarely terse, and never with him, that he made himself be as still and quiet as possible. Zephyr looked so fragile. Even when she’d broken herself before, she hadn’t looked so shattered, so pale and lifeless. Is she dead? The question rose relentlessly, pounded at his throat to be spoken, and only Stella’s demand for silence kept him from asking. A good thing, as some deep instinct—Tala superstition, perhaps—warned that admitting the possibility aloud would seal her fate.

  What would he do if Zephyr died? Go on, he supposed. Finish the quest. Eventually ascend to the high throne and rule to the best of his ability. Mourn Zephyr for the rest of his life.

  He wouldn’t marry, he realized. No power in all the realms—not even Ursula—could force him to do that. Just as she’d found another heir, he would, too. Stella’s child, perhaps. Or Rhy’s, if he managed to keep track of the children he sired.

  But Astar would never take another woman to bed. Grizzly bears and gríobhths had that much in common—they mated for life. Did Zephyr realize that they’d mated? His bear knew. So did whatever winged creature he’d become.

  He’d flown. And perhaps would never do that again, either.

  In the still, dark, and cold hours before dawn, Astar sat on the shore of that ancient lake, watching the blue, green, and gold lights in the sky play over Zephyr’s deathly still profile.

  ~ 30 ~

  “You should try to sleep,” Stella advised, stroking a hand over Astar’s head.

  Though his eyes felt like rocks in his head, Astar knew he’d never sleep. He stared hard at Zephyr’s unmoving body in the bed. “I can’t. Not until I know she’ll wake up.”

  Stella sighed and came to crouch before him, careful not to obscure his view of Zephyr. Taking his hands in hers, she gazed at him with soft gray eyes. “She’ll live. I promise that.”

  He risked looking at her, studying her face for clues. “But will she wake?”

  Stella glanced away, confirming his worst fears. “Maybe,” she admitted.

  Taking a deep breath, he held it, forcing the need to rend and tear, to sob and scream, deep inside. “I’m in love with her,” he said instead.

  “I knew that.”

  “Probably before I did.”

  Stella cupped his cheek with one hand. “Yes. You always have loved her.”

  He tried to smile, couldn’t manage it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Rolling her eyes a little, she shook her head. “Some things you have discover for yourself.”

  “I won’t marry anyone else,” he said, declaring it aloud, so all the world would know.

  “I know that, too,” Stella replied, so somberly that he knew she must see a future where he was the lonely high king, solitary in his rule. “So, do you want to talk about how you took dragon form?”

  “I don’t have answers.” A dragon. He’d shifted into dragon form without knowing the trick of it. All those times Gen and Zephyr had argued, debated, and analyzed how Zynda had done it, and he’d managed the feat without really trying. No—that wasn’t true. A different sort of attempt, where only doing mattered, and nothing else.

  “This might be a thing where we need to figure out the right question first.”

  “Nilly—I love you, but I can’t think philosophy right now.”


  “No.” She patted his cheek and rose. “I’m going to check on Lena.”

  “You said she’ll be fine—and you need to sleep, too, after all that healing.”

  “She will be fine, but Rhy hasn’t left her side either. I’ll sleep, after I make sure you and Rhy do.” She set a cool hand on the back of his neck.

  “Rhy is stubborn,” Astar replied, his gaze focused again on Zephyr. “And acting like a man possessed. I doubt you’ll get him to budge.”

  “I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Stella replied.

  Her smug tone should’ve warned him—in fact, did warn him—but before he could escape her touch, the crash of sleep dragged him under.

  Zeph came awake all at once—which was all wrong. She never woke up like that. Afraid to open her eyes, she searched her memory. Tentacles, monkey-lizards, or dragons? The image of a dragon zooming toward her through a night sky confirmed it. Death by dragon.

  Well, it had been her first choice.

  Though she didn’t feel dead. In fact… that was Astar’s scent, in the bedclothes around her, along with his living presence. And the heat of his body.

  Rolling her head on the pillow, she cracked open one eye, terrified to hope. But there he was. Sound asleep on his back, mouth a little open as he snored in soft grizzly growls. And, for once, he slept peacefully, with none of his usual restless thrashing. Leaning up on one elbow, she gazed down at him, memorizing his face in repose, as it so rarely was. Astar. Hers.

  Looking around the room, she wondered where they were. Not at Elderhorst. The scent of lake water edged around the corners of tapestries featuring Lake Sullivan’s famous sea monster. All she remembered was diving after Lena, then that slice of nothing and scraping through the doorway too small to admit her gríobhth form.

  With a stab of panic, she lifted a hand. Definitely in human form. And she felt good—like Nilly’s brand of healing good—so they’d made it back. At least, she had. What about Lena?

  Needing to know, she eased out of the bed, doing her best not to wake Astar. He didn’t stir, which was so unlike him that she felt a stab of worry. He’d also fallen asleep fully dressed, though in the simple clothes he wore returning to human form.