by Ann Hunter
“I said ‘Leave him alone’,” Glory growled.
“Glory—” the gryphon whispered.
Glory stepped to his side and knelt beside him. His wing lay twisted on the ground. Blood oozed from his withers.
Glory covered her mouth. “This is my fault.”
The gryphon’s breath was shallow. “Get … please get Xander.”
Glory leapt to her feet and took off toward Blackthorn.
Torchlight danced along the stone wall. Glory pressed her back against the stones just outside of the chamber where the gryphon was being tended. She heard muffled voices and winced as the gryphon roared in pain.
“Where is she? Where’s Glory?”
“Calm down, you lummox. It cannot hurt that badly.”
The gryphon’s breaths were quick and labored. “Is she safe? Please, Xander, tell me she’s safe. Glory!”
“She’s fine. Hold still.”
The gryphon screeched. “That stings! Glory?”
Glory dug her fingers into the mortar.
“Glory! Why will she not come to me, Xander? I want to see her. Glory!”
“Stop thrashing about, you infernal beast. She does not wish to see you.”
Glory swallowed hard and sank to the ground.
“She could have left me for dead, but she came back. She loves me.”
“Stop it,” Xander admonished. “You’re being overdramatic.”
“She must. She must! She came back for me. I nearly died. Glory!”
Glory choked as tears slipped down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands upon her lap.
The room behind her quieted with time. She dashed her tears away when the door creaked open. Xander emerged and towered over her.
“He’s feverish, but he’s resting now. I think you should go to him.”
Glory rose slowly and locked eyes with the surly man. Without words, she turned her back to him and strode away.
A soft knock fell on Glory’s bedroom door.
“Glory, it’s Xander.”
Glory lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling with her hands clasped over her stomach.
Xander knocked again. “Glory, it’s been two days. He asks for you. Will you not go to him?”
Glory rolled on to her side, back to the door. Xander sighed.
“Why will you not go to him?”
Glory curled into a ball.
“It would do him good if you would just see him.”
“Leave me,” Glory finally answered.
“You cannot stay in there forever, Princess.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You’ll starve.”
Glory let silent tears slip down her face.
“He doesn’t blame you for what happened,” Xander said quietly, “if that is what’s bothering you.”
“I will not abide it,” Glory sobbed.
“Please, think—”
“I said, ‘Leave!’”
***
Colin waited up all night for Glory and the next night as well. Not that he could sleep anyway. He hadn’t been sleeping well ever since the brigands had nearly killed him. Illyndiil helped calm him at night as she turned over and over in his hands, reassuring him that he was the hero, he was invincible, and his happily ever after was attainable. Ilyndiil whispered of the gryphon, how he was holding Glory prisoner and treating her roughly. He needed to be dealt with. Ilyndiil wanted his blood. Dark circles began forming under Colin’s eyes. He hid behind flagons of Bitterbrew and Fireblonde at the inn on the nights he did not see Glory. His brain began to hatch a plan. He sent a message ahead ‘from a friend’ to the princess to meet him in the garden the following night.
***
Glory slipped into the room where the gryphon was recovering. He lay silently on a bed, the setting sunlight tinting his tawny coat and feathers with gold. He almost seemed to glow.
“I knew you would come.”
Glory’s hand tightened on the door; she started to leave.
“Come closer.”
Glory hesitated, then obeyed, shutting the door behind her.
The gryphon’s tail tuft thumped against the bed. Glory crossed the room slowly. She reached the bedside and peered into the creature’s dulled amber eyes.
“What took you so long?”
Glory sank to the edge of the bed, sitting inches from the gryphon’s talons. Her hands rested on her lap, and she stared at them mutely.
“I begged for you,” he murmured.
“I do not love you.”
“Then why do you continue returning to Blackthorn… to me?”
Glory shook her head, for she knew not.
The gryphon rustled uncomfortably, moaning a little with pain.
“Why did you save me?” Glory rose. “You could have been rid of the burden I am to you. Yet you fought off three barghest so I could get to safety.” Glory pressed her palms into the bed and leaned over, very close to the gryphon. “Why?”
The gryphon’s eyes lit up a little. His feathers ruffled. “What sort of husband would I be if I did not protect you?”
Glory straightened. “Husband? Need I remind you, I am betrothed to your master, Prince Eoghan. Just because you are attracted to me does not make me yours.” She folded her arms. “You are not my husband. I will not be your wife.” Glory pivoted and stormed toward the door.
“Wait.”
Her hand halted inches from the door lock. The room was growing dark.
“I wasn’t always like this.”
Glory’s brow creased.
The gryphon continued. “Eoghan was born like any other baby. Well, that is if any other baby had a tail and furry feet. Xander tried to hide him, to protect him. He didn’t want the world to know that the gods had placed a curse on them. He didn’t want Eoghan to be laughed at or scorned. However, the harder he tried to hide Eoghan, the more animal the prince became. That room… that room where you were searching for Eoghan is mine. That awful room is where I had my first molt… and my first kill. It was where I changed from boy to monster. I am Eoghan. This gryphon body is my deformity. And the longer I remain under my curse, the more animal I become. I am losing sight of the man. Please… please, Glory, stay. You remind me of who I could be.”
Glory remembered the anger and denial she had felt the first time she had heard the name Eoghan. How could she have been so blind, so utterly naive all of this time? She had not been kidnapped. She had been ably placed into the hands of her suitor’s steward. Maybe this gryphon was not such a horrible monster after all. Glory felt like such a fool. She looked over her shoulder. “Why should I stay?”
"All of my bad memories stem from the dark." Eoghan’s soft twill came in a whimper, “I fear the night.”
Glory turned back toward him. “Why? Will you turn into a marrow squash next?”
“Perhaps. Please, Princess, abide with me. Tis eventide. Just having you here makes me feel braver. With you near, I feel whole.”
Glory opened the door to summon a servant to light a fire in the hearth. She settled into a high-backed, red-velvet chair, watching the flames dance. When they were alone again, Glory heard Eoghan sing softly, “Thank you.”
The smell of warm food caused Glory to stir. She yawned and stretched, blinking in the morning light that filled the room. A small cart was parked beside her chair laden with meat, cheeses, and fresh, sweet rolls. She reached for a roll, but paused.
“Eoghan, there’s food here. Are you hungry?” Glory stopped mid-sentence. She looked at the bed where the gryphon had been last night. It was now void of its occupant.
“Eoghan?” Glory rose and went to the bed. A small lump lay near the pillows. She pulled the covers back and gazed upon a bright, green marrow squash. The blood from her face drained, first from horror, and then from anger as the practical joke sank in.
“Eoghan!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Man and the Monster
Later that evening, she lay on her bed in the darkness. Sh
e stared at the ceiling, feeling empty and listless. The room started to take on an ominous green glow. Glory looked at the ghost that she knew was waiting for her. She sighed and followed her down the hall, wondering what she would overhear this time. She crouched and peered through a keyhole.
“There is a stranger in our keep, Xander.”
Glory’s heart swelled. Eoghan! He was pacing with more agitation than she had ever seen before. His tail swung wildly.
“I believe him to be Colin, King Balthazaar’s royal falconer. He has come for Princess Glory,” Eoghan said. “I believe she was trying to go to him the night of the attack.”
“And you are merely going to let him take her?”
Eoghan’s ear twitched, as if a fly were buzzing inside. The ridge of fur along his sturdy back bristled. “She loves him, Xander. It is a war I can not win.”
“Try.”
Eoghan let out a low rumble.
“What girl worth having,” Xander reasoned, “has ever been won over without a good fight?”
“She has told me she has no love for me.”
Xander raised a finger, “Ah! That much may not necessarily be true. She came back, remember?”
Eoghan’s eyes fixed on Xander as he circled him.
“Give her the opportunity, and she may have something different to say.”
Eoghan’s ceres flared in a deep breath.
“Come now, boy,” Xander implored, “you cannot have anything beautiful or worthy in life without a fight. She knows you are her prince. The ruse is over. Now end hers. I believe she only pretends to loathe you.”
“What about the falconer?”
Xander’s expression darkened. He smiled.
Glory put her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. Colin was in danger. Not catch–and–release–somewhere-else danger, but very real, tangible, mortal danger. Glory had to warn Colin. She found him in a corner of the garden waiting for her as his letter had said, well hidden from passerby.
“Colin, you have to leave!”
“What on Earth for?”
Glory pushed him toward an exit. “You are in danger.”
“I told you that I would not leave without you.”
“Colin, now is not the time to be an idiot.”
“What in the world are you blathering on about, Glory?” He grabbed her arm firmly. “What’s gotten in to you lately? I see you less than I ever have before, and I feel like you are pushing me away.”
Glory tried to pull her arm from his grasp. “The gryphon has discovered you. If you do not leave now, you never will.”
Colin laughed. “Is that what this is about? Some mangy, old gryphon?” He took both of her arms in his hands, but more gently now. “I am not afraid of that big, bumbling creature.” His hand went to his black, jagged dagger. “I have Illyndiil!”
Glory swallowed and shook her head. “You do not understand.”
“What more is there to understand?” His grip tightened on her elbow momentarily. “I will get you out of here, Glory,” he said hoarsely.
Glory fought his hold on her. “We do not know what he’s capable of, Colin. Please! It is too dangerous. He’s dangerous.”
Colin let go. “I do not care, Glory. Can you not see that the gryphon has gotten into your head? You think you’re bound here, but you’re not. That monster has you convinced you are his prisoner. We are leaving tonight.” He paced, his hands running through his champagne-highlighted hair. “We only need to remove the gryphon from the picture to convince you of it.”
Glory watched him stress. What had gotten in to her anyway? You’re protecting him, Glory assured herself. However, something deep down told her it was not entirely Colin that she was protecting. The more agitated Colin became, the more concerned Glory was growing about which one of her two suitors was the more dangerous one.
Colin stopped. “I’ve got it!”
Glory raised her eyebrow.
“I am a falconer, right?”
“The last time you told me, you still were.”
Colin started pacing again, the cogs in his head obviously smoking. “And a gryphon is a really big bird.”
“I suppose.”
“Sooo…”
“So?”
Colin pivoted, facing Glory, his face manic and alight. “So you and I will kill him.”
The world stopped. Glory’s lungs felt as though they had been filled with iron. There was no breath to be had.
“We will kill the gryphon,” Colin reaffirmed.
Glory’s head shook. It was not some old gryphon that Colin was planning to kill. It was her gryphon. It was Eoghan. He was a prince. Assassination of a prince in any land was punishable by public humiliation, torture, and death, in exactly that order.
Glory’s words were barely audible. “We cannot do that, Colin.”
“Do you have any better ideas? Do you happen to see any other way out from your circumstances?”
Again, Glory’s head shook no. But this was not for lack of better ideas; it was a stronger no. Killing a living soul was wrong.
“Right, then. It will be easy in his weakened state. I will set a trap in the woods. I will hire men to help me bring him down.” Colin looked at Glory. “I know you are on speaking terms with the beast. You can get close to him. Mention a morning hunt in the woods. Oh, and it would be helpful if we could finish him off easily. You could poison him.” Colin shoved a small satchel into Glory’s shaking hands.
“What is this?”
“Ivyburn, ground down in to a fine, tasteless powder by way of mortar and pestle. I give it to any small prey that young falcons in training bring back alive to me, in order to finish them off quickly. It is very humane. Put it in to the gryphon’s supper tonight… all of it. It will bring him down easily when I spring the trap on his morning hunt.”
Glory stared at the satchel of poison while Colin continued wildly plotting. It seemed so surreal to Glory. Colin had arrived with none of the fanfare she had imagined him with; no valiant steed, no shining armor, no army, but with every intention to kill. She had dreamed of this moment, planned on it, hoped for it, prayed it would come, only a short time ago. Now she stood on a great, gaping precipice. Here in her hand was Eoghan’s demise. He may not have always been kind to her, but Eoghan had saved her life. Slowly, her palm turned over, and the bag slipped from her hand and fell to the ground. “No.”
Colin stopped.
Glory squared her shoulders and held her head high. She kicked the small bag back at Colin.
Colin stooped to pick up the bag. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”
“I loved you, Colin, once upon a time. You were a noble hunter who cared for me and loved me as well as you did Father’s prized Merlin falcon.” Glory clenched her fists resolutely. “But now I see a killer, bent on conquest and me as the prize.”
Colin approached her, his expression turning from crazed executioner to softened lover. “Glory, what are you saying? This is our happily ever after.”
“Do you love me, Colin?”
He took her hands in his. “You know I do.”
“Set me free.”
Colin’s shoulders hunched. “I thought that was what I was trying to do.”
Glory shook her head and stepped back. “Leave.”
Colin’s mouth hung open a little. “Glory, I would do anything…” he dropped to his knees.
“Then leave.”
“You do not mean that.”
Glory’s eyes narrowed. She turned her back to him and walked away. “I do not love you. I cannot love a monster.”
Glory’s heart was heavy. She found the winding staircase to the tower she had climbed her first morning and ascended it once more. The door was stuck again, but she got it open with the first try. The walkway was breezy. Glory sat in the middle and pulled her knees to her chest. The wind gently whipped her hair back. She gazed at the first early-evening stars that were starting to spark above a fiery sunset. It was a good place to be alone with
one’s thoughts. Glory heard music close by. She rolled her eyes and grimaced. Had she not told Colin to leave? She rose and followed the notes. They were coming from the other side of the opposite tower. The door opened willingly, and she moved through the tower to the walkway. The music grew louder. She moved along another walkway through another tower. Blackthorn Keep faced the ocean from this vantage point. Waves beat off the nearby cliffs. She opened the door, ready to cowl Colin. In the middle of the walkway sat a familiar harper.
Eoghan. Glory smiled, all thoughts of Colin vanishing.
Eoghan’s small Celtic harp hung from a leather strap over his shoulder and across his neck. He gazed at the strings, plucking them gently with a single, careful, polished talon. He seemed very deep in thought. Glory leaned against the tower, watching him play. For extra emphasis, he used his beak on the strings a few times. Eoghan shook his head as if something were not quite right. He plucked the same chords over, progressively. He paused and gazed out at the sea. The sunset cast orange lines of fire over the waves. The breeze rustled Eoghan’s burnished feathers. His free foot strummed the stones beneath him like the drumming of impatient fingers in a tired tutor’s schoolroom. Then he began playing fervently and raised his voice in song.
“Croí uasal milis,
gearrtha ag grá agam,
Míshásta agus tá mé ciúin,
Ná aon áthas nó pléisiúir dóigh liom gur.
Le haghaidh a thabhairt duit
mo anam cara is grá,
Tá mé mo chroí a thabhairt dá bhrí sin.”
Eoghan gazed in to the sunset. His head held high and allowed the breeze to smooth over him. He seemed satisfied at last.
Glory stepped toward him. “That was beautiful.”
Eoghan’s wings spread defensively, and he leapt to his feet. When he saw Glory, his wings folded, and he relaxed again, turning his view to the sky.
“What did the words mean?”
Eoghan’s tail drummed the stones. His eyes shifted, as if to decide whether or not to divulge such information. He spoke softly. “Sweet, noble heart, I am wounded by love, so that I am sad and pensive and have no joy or mirth.” He turned his head and looked at her. “For to you, my sweet companion, I have thus given my heart.” Eoghan stared out at the sea once more, the sunset outlining his body with an elysian glow. “But love is blind to me.”