by J. C. Owens
A pang shot through him at the thought of Gretnel finding out his mate had been taken. The true bonds of history had been broken by this man’s own ancestor. The current king was clearly of the same caliber. He had the time to wonder, albeit briefly, whether Daren would actually miss him. Then they were descending.
He braced himself, but the grifs set him and Ceris down with infinite care before landing themselves.
Uniformed soldiers stepped forward, quickly and efficiently working Ceris free of the netting. Andon wanted to do it himself, wanted to swat away their invading hands, but instead he stepped free and stood to one side, with his hands clasped behind in rigidly formal military pose, his expression stony.
He could feel the weight of stares upon him, but he never took his eyes off of Ceris. When the netting was at last pulled free, he stepped forward, laying a hand upon her great head. Then he turned to face those grouped around the landing area.
The king was front and center, a large, corpulent man of middle years, whose dissipation, by all accounts, followed in the lines of all three kings of his line.
Andon eyed him, a feeling of scorn and revulsion growing inside him. This was the man who refused to give better funding to the corps near the borders, leaving them scrambling for enough supplies, enough new riders. This was the man who sought to eliminate those who stood against him.
It was clear he neither understood nor cared that with Farfall understaffed, the threat of wyvern attack was a matter only of when. With the capital so dangerously close to the border, Andon now realized how truly foolish the man must be to believe the population safe when all that stood between them and disaster was a force of exhausted men and women.
Then he spied an all-too-familiar figure among the courtiers. Habnin, who gave a small, victorious smile. Andon clenched his fists and fought back the fury.
The monarch had waved others back, but three guards accompanied him, their stares sharp upon Andon. These men, at least, seemed to realize he had no reason to love the king and that his skills could be easily used against the ruler.
The king’s eyes were fastened upon Ceris, his expression fascinated. He walked around her slowly, once reaching out to touch her with a blatant disregard for etiquette. One did not touch a rider’s grif without permission. Even the smallest child was taught that. Yet this man, this so-called ruler, did so without a blink. Did he think that being a voice for the gods made him immune to a simple courtesy?
Andon kept silent, waiting, watching expressionlessly, though fury hummed below the surface. He kept his temper in check, imagining how very different this scenario would have been with Ceris awake. King or no, she would have radiated a danger that even the most ignorant of individuals would have picked up on.
Now, however, the king’s actions only soured Andon’s perception of him further. This was the king they answered to? The one who they revered, fought for, obeyed his commands? The one that the cadets had to salute to as they entered their classrooms?
He tensed as the king approached, brown eyes finally leaving Ceris to settle upon Andon.
Andon made no sound, did not move to bow or show any reverence. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, one where he had no idea of the rules, but he could not make himself back down.
At this rate, he was going to get them both killed.
If their future was imprisonment and captivity, then perhaps death was not such a horrible destiny after all. Folding his arms over his chest, he met the king’s stare with implacable strength.
King Platten walked around Andon, exactly the same way he had strolled around Ceris, with the inquisitive eye of someone who had just purchased a curiosity and was not quite sure if the item was worth it.
“Does he speak, Byrant? Or have you brought me a mute? Is he not intelligent enough to understand who I am?”
Andon saw Byrant approach and bow deeply and with a flourish that made Platten smile. “He speaks, Your Majesty. Not very much or very well, but he does speak.” His sharp gaze swung to Andon. “This is King Platten, Andon. Your king.”
Andon raised a single brow and did not move from his stance.
Behind Byrant and the king, he could see Habnin and courtiers whispering among themselves, shock on several faces, anger and disgust on others. It was obvious this was not how they expected someone to react to their king.
Andon could not say that he cared. If they followed this man after seeing for themselves what he was, then Andon had no reason to care for their opinions. They were obviously fools.
Platten stepped closer, into Andon’s personal space, looming over his shorter form.
Andon almost smiled at the blatant intimidation technique. After what he had undergone in his life, this held no power over him.
It was the king who stepped back, a frown of consternation upon his brow and confused anger in his eyes.
Andon could only hope that his position as Ceris’s rider would afford him a degree of protection. If his enemies held any intelligence at all, they would realize that they would have no control over a powerful, wild, grieving grif. He wished he could believe that they were truly intelligent. Nothing he had seen in these few moments led him in that direction.
“You are a pretty one, I’ll give you that.” The king tilted his head, looking Andon up and down. “I find it unbelievable that Lasrem respects you, yet he is constantly informing me of your great purpose on the front lines, a mentor without equal in the teaching of cadets.” He shook his head, those dark eyes boring into Andon’s. “Still, Habnin and Byrant tell me you are really of much more value here.” He grinned, small and mean. “No matter, we will find uses for you. Whether they involve teaching fighting remains to be seen.”
Several of the courtiers, who had been inching forward with curiosity in every inch of their bodies, tittered at the king’s words.
Andon turned his head slowly and met their gazes with cold warning. He had learned well upon the streets. Never show weakness, never cower, never show fear of any sort.
The courtiers flushed, looked aside, even Habnin, the betrayer. Vren would be spinning in his grave if he knew what his youngest brother had perpetrated.
Andon’s lips thinned grimly before he turned his attention back on the king, the nearest and perhaps greatest threat of the moment.
“You know why you are here?” The king’s tone was goading, a challenging light in his eyes.
Andon nodded briefly. “I do. However, I am confused as to why you would wish to try to sever a true bond, especially when Captain Phalnir is one of your most loyal and decorated riders.”
Platten waved a dismissing hand. “True bonds…the results of an overly possessive male grif guarding a single mate. No more than that.”
Andon raised a brow. “So you have encountered a true bond before? Seen what it does to both grifs and riders?”
“I don’t need to see an event to understand the ridiculousness of it.” The dismissiveness of the words made Andon grind his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “If Captain Phalnir is as loyal as I have been led to believe, then he will do the best thing for the country. That is having this female grif breed, to strengthen our lines.” He paused. “You can aid us in this, Captain Grazon, or you can be labeled a traitor. The female will breed under the influence of drugs. As long as you are not dead, she will survive in a dream world. So your stay with us can be one of luxury and comfort, or one of imprisonment and misery. It will be interesting to see which side you choose.”
“Where Ceris is, I will be.” Andon’s tone was flat and cold. “I have no need of comfort. Her room will be fine.”
“Such a fine, upstanding rider!” The king whirled to face the courtiers, face alight with amusement. “Give applause to Captain Grazon’s magnificent love for his grif! This is what we seek in our riders, the defenders of the realm. Welcome him to our ranks!”
The applause felt like the edge of a knife to Andon, a polite response bel
ied by the jeering faces and half-hidden scorn.
The king turned back to him. “Don’t imagine that I will ignore your lack of respect, Captain Grazon.” The smile was all chill warning. He turned and strode away, back to his courtiers, who flocked around him instantly.
Andon shivered. He had known the capital to be a nest of vipers. After all, he had been in the academy, a repository for all the chosen children of these people. It was obvious that the cadets’ behaviors were an almost perfect representation of their parents.
They had tortured him, both mentally and physically back then. Looking at these nobles, he felt like he had slid back into the past.
It was several hours until Ceris finally began to rouse from the drugs. While she was still groggy, they ordered Andon to direct her to her room within a vast wing house.
He walked at her side with his hand on her shoulder, speaking softly to her, ignoring the crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered, come to see the famed wild grif.
Andon’s heart hurt, watching her like this, wings half trailing, eyes dull and unfocused. This was not his proud Ceris. This was the beginning of what they would make her, a breeding machine, no more than that.
He bit back his rage. They would find a way out, but he had to make his enemies think he was dutifully resigned to this change in circumstances.
An obedient puppet.
They had honed him into a rider, taken his rough edges and planed them into a mold of their making. But he was much more than that, and their very lack of understanding was what he hoped would lead them to underestimate him.
They thought he was a dull, rather stupid commoner.
Then that was the part he would play.
* * *
Hours later, when Ceris finally shook off the effects of the drug, she became almost feral, tearing at the bars that enclosed windows and the two-part door. Nothing Andon did could soothe her. Her cries rang through the building, her pacing becoming ever more frantic.
The realization that she had been taken from her mate, perhaps for good, maddened her into a creature that Andon barely recognized. She would not accept his touch, did not listen to his words.
At last, he retreated to one side of the room, near the door, and slid down to sit upon the spotless floor.
“They are preparing the drugs for her.” Byrant’s voice made Andon start and reach for a dagger that was not there. “Soon, she will forget she ever had a mate.”
Andon snarled, crouched against the wall, hoping that Byrant would make the mistake of opening the door and trying to reach him. At this moment, there was nothing of mercy within him. Watching his Ceris, her pain and despair, produced a rage within him that desperately needed an outlet. He would gladly take it out upon Byrant.
The griffon master leaned against the door frame but avoided coming any closer. “You see, Andon, I have the power to make this much better for you. Perhaps I can persuade them to let her out—on a tether of course, but still, she would be outdoors for a time.”
“Yes, you are all fucking generosity.” Andon spit upon the ground, his blazing eyes fixed upon his enemy. “You know what it is like out there on the base! Now you have left, taken me as well. They will be shorthanded and vulnerable. And for what? For some idea of possible power? If you think the king will support you, you are more crazed than I ever believed. After one meeting, I can see he is a man who works for himself and only himself. You are a fool to believe any promises he might toss your way.”
Byrant shrugged. “We will see. I have no illusions about our monarch. Unlike you, I grew up in court. I know the ways and means to get whatever I desire, and at the moment, that is you. You have always drawn me, Andon, from the moment you came to the base. Strong, yet entirely vulnerable, cold, yet with such ferocity, chillingly intelligent, yet so naive. You are a paradox.” He gave a small, slow laugh that made Andon’s lip curl with revulsion. “You, my boy, along with your grif, are my ticket into a more prestigious position than griffon master on a dusty military base. With time and a little effort, I can work my way into royal griffon master and remain here in the lap of luxury. In comparison to that, the base and its occupants mean nothing.”
Andon leaned back, applauding with slow, mocking claps. “Oh bravo. The villain and his dark plan. Even as the king manipulates behind the scenes. I think your desires are all too plainly visible and that he will use them, as I heard he uses everyone. That is not a man to trust, whatever his position.”
“He will see the wisdom in letting me be your keeper.” The surety in Byrant’s voice was loud and clear.
Andon tilted his head, a cold mocking smile curving his lips. “Really? With so many others here who might want exactly the same thing? I hardly think you are the first to covet such a position. You have not been to court for several years and are hardly on the king’s mind. The choice plum of royal griffon master is not going to simply fall into your grasp.”
Byrant’s eyes flickered as though he had not considered that there might be others with the same plan. His hands clenched into fists, his expression darkening.
“We will see about that. You think me a monster, but believe me, if others take my place, you will beg for me to protect you. There are many far, far worse than I.”
“A pit of vipers. That is completely evident. How is one viper better than another? They hold the same poison, the same bite. Perhaps I will choose another, if only to see you lose out on this position you covet.”
Byrant snarled, striding forward to grip the bars, expression livid. “You will do no such thing!”
Andon grinned more widely, showing teeth. “Really? After all you have done to me, I would gladly see you fall. Who knows? Perhaps my new keeper will be jealous of your efforts and see you dead. Is that not the way it works here? Perhaps you should remember the past, if you grew up here, I doubt it was entirely pleasant.” He dragged a finger over his lip mockingly, watching Byrant’s hungry eyes follow the movement.
“No other is going to take my place. That I can promise you.” The griffon master swung on his heel and left, his footsteps echoing.
Andon slumped down, letting his head rest against the cold stone wall, feeling despair overtake his anger.
Ceris launched herself at the barred window once more, and he flinched, covering his face with his hands, unable to continue to helplessly watch as his grif veered toward madness.
It seemed hours until the men came with a dart attached on the end of a long pole. By that time, Andon did not even try to protest. At the rate Ceris was going, she would damage herself irreparably. He watched, fighting back tears, as they jabbed her.
They watched intently, completely ignoring Andon as she slowly succumbed. Soon she sprawled gracelessly upon the cold stone floor, eyes glazed.
Only then did the king make an appearance from down the corridor.
He strolled closer to the cell, peering in at Ceris with fascination and a degree of satisfaction that made Andon want to ram the bastard’s head into the bars.
Once the monarch had satisfied his curiosity over Ceris, he turned his attention upon Andon. “I am sure you are aware that Byrant has made an application for the position of your keeper?”
Andon rose to his feet, unwilling to meet this man on anything but an equal footing. He nodded, but offered nothing else.
“Well, he has plenty of competition,” the king said. “He is not nearly as dear to me as several others, and then a surprise competitor showed up just an hour ago, wounded and sparking mad.”
Andon watched him stonily, although his suspicions were rising…
“Imagine my surprise when Captain Vatner Krans shows up, wounded, crying foul against Byrant and asking for me to add him to the list of your potential keepers. The man was not in good shape and has been taken to the healers.”
Andon’s eyes widened, before he controlled his expression again.
The king smiled, a cold tilting of his lips, as he viewed Andon with the same calculated curiosity
he had bestowed upon Ceris.
“What? No protestations? No demands for justice, when both Byrant and Vatner have already sampled you? I would think you would be more worried about them possessing you without Lasrem to step in.”
Andon folded his arms over his chest and let his weight shift to one hip, his lips thin and tight. “Would that do any good? Having met you, I can’t imagine that mercy is one of your finer traits—Your Majesty.” The title tasted vile in his mouth, and he spit to the side before returning his steady gaze to the king.
To his surprise, instead of being angered or insulted, Platten laughed. “Now I see what Byrant spoke of, the dark, stubborn flame that burns within you that bows to no man. No wonder they want to break you. I am half tempted myself, but my current lover is possessive. Imagine his surprise when his youngest brother shows up voluntarily.”
It took very little to put the facts together. “Vatner’s oldest brother is your current interest.”
“He is, though he has me somewhat at his mercy. I don’t think I will be looking for another anytime soon.” The king’s smug leer made Andon feel deep distaste. “Perhaps I shall suggest that Vatner might like to join Havlen and me. He has the looks of Havlen, if not the power and force. Perhaps, as a reward for Vatner’s body, I will give you to him. Byrant might be my cousin, but I would enjoy the frustration and fury such a thing would create.”
“You don’t hold much loyalty to anyone or anything, do you?” Andon felt no regret in speaking the snide words. This man was not worthy of any respect, king or not.
“Should I?” The king tilted his head to the side, his smile widening. “Being king is a thing of uncertainty, everyone wanting to depose you. I have three brothers scattered to the winds, and they work against me, seeking the throne.”
“If you were a fine king, then your own populace would protect you, both noble and commoner alike. As it is, you have fostered nothing but despair and hatred and rebellion with your treatment of your subjects.”