by K J Taylor
“Probably someone’s secret treasures,” she remarked to Oeka. “Wonder who stashed it up there?” She paused. “Looks like it’s been there a long time, so I might as well keep it. Maybe I can use it as a jewellery box. Once I get some jewellery, I mean.” She dug the stone out of her pocket and rolled it on her palm, admiring it again. “Bet I can find someone to set this for me. In a ring, maybe, or a necklace or somethin’.” She put it back into the box and closed the lid.
As she stood up to put it on the shelf over the fireplace, she noticed the scrap of cloth on the floor and bent to pick it up.
She was about to throw it into the fireplace when she noticed some odd marks on it, and stopped to turn it over, examining it critically.
“Looks like writin’.”
The words were charcoal, and badly faded, but she recognised some of the letters, and frowned to herself, suddenly feeling guilty at having pried into someone else’s belongings—even if the original owner was long gone.
Oeka thrust her beak at the piece of cloth, rasping in her throat.
“It’s got somethin’ written on it,” Laela explained, showing it to her. “A letter, I’ll bet. Got no idea what it says. Maybe I should show it to Yorath.”
Oeka stared at her. Laela couldn’t read the griffin’s expression, and looked away awkwardly. “It’s probably not very interesting anyway,” she mumbled, and went to stuff it back into the box.
As she lifted the lid, she heard the door open behind her. Oeka started up aggressively but backed down a moment later. Laela’s eyes narrowed.
“If yeh ain’t come to apologise, then yeh can go away,” she said, without turning around.
Arenadd stepped into her field of vision. “I have, actually.”
Laela closed the box and turned to face him. “Is that so?” She folded her arms. “Well, that’s good, because the next time yeh insult me or my mother, I’m leavin’. Understand?”
Arenadd rubbed his forehead. “Yes, perfectly. But listen, you don’t—”
“Yeah, I’m a half-breed,” Laela interrupted. “I think we all know that by now. But I thought it didn’t make a difference to you.”
“It doesn’t, Laela. Honestly.”
“Well, that ain’t the way it looks to me right now,” said Laela. She took a deep breath, to stop herself from outright shouting at him, but it only half-worked. “How dare you go sneerin’ at my mother like that?” she snarled. “Yeah, she was a Southerner, an’ I get that you don’t like ’em, but that doesn’t give yeh any right to be like that about it.”
Arenadd winced. “I know. I’m sorry. I was . . . I shouldn’t have joked about it like that. I was embarrassed.”
“Why, because the ambassador thought I was yer daughter?” Laela hesitated. “I . . . I’m not, am I?”
“No,” said Arenadd. “I can’t father children; you know that. And I’d never—”
“Never go with a Southern woman,” said Laela, more sharply than she meant to.
“I would never rape a woman,” Arenadd said in icy tones. “No matter who that woman was.”
Laela relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry. I’d never think about yeh like that. I swear.”
“I know.” Arenadd hesitated. “Laela, I was embarrassed because Vander isn’t the only one who thinks you’re my daughter.”
Laela frowned. “He ain’t?”
“Half the Eyrie thinks it,” Arenadd said baldly. “Haven’t you been listening? It’s everybody’s favourite piece of gossip.”
“Is it?” Laela didn’t know whether to be amused or horrified.
“Trust me; I make a point of listening to what people are saying,” said Arenadd. “But it’s an explanation that makes sense to people. Where did the King find this strange girl who looks like him, and how did she get to such a powerful position so quickly? Obviously, it’s because she’s his secret child. His secret half-breed child, which is why he won’t admit it to anyone.”
Laela’s heart sank. “Gods, I’m sorry. They must be sayin’ awful things about yeh.”
“They are,” said Arenadd. He smiled slightly. “You’ve made me quite unpopular.”
All of Laela’s anger toward him vanished and was replaced by embarrassment and a strange feeling of shame. “Should I just go, then?”
“No!” Arenadd shook himself. “No. I need you here.”
“Why?”
He hesitated, just for a moment, and then smiled—genuinely, this time, and put his good hand on her shoulder. “Where would I be without my chief advisor?”
• • •
In the end, Laela didn’t show the letter to Yorath. On the evening after their argument, Arenadd sent her a brief message, to the effect that the negotiations with Vander were done and that he and Laela would be leaving with him in four days.
When she went to visit Yorath that night, all she could talk about was Amoran.
“Isn’t it amazin’?” she exclaimed, bright-eyed. “We’re goin’ all the way over the sea! Half the people I knew when I was a girl thought Amoran was just a legend—it’s that far away an’ whatnot. An’ I get t’go there! An’ I’ll stay in the Emperor’s palace, an’ meet all his officials, an’ they’ll give me gifts an’ show me all sorts of amazin’ things, I just know it! I can’t hardly wait!” She stopped herself with an effort and looked at Yorath. “Ain’t yeh excited?”
He smiled uneasily. “I’m excited for ye, Laela.”
Laela took his hand. “But yeh get to see it, too, don’t forget.”
“I’m not coming, Laela.”
All her excitement drained out of her. “What? What d’yeh mean yeh ain’t comin’? The King said—”
“He asked me to come,” said Yorath. “But I said I’d prefer not to, an’ he said it was fine an’ if I felt that way, he’d teach you your lessons himself.”
“But why don’t yeh want t’come?” said Laela. “Yorath, I’m gonna be away for a year an’ all—how can yeh want t’just stay home?”
“I want t’come, Laela,” Yorath said unhappily. “I do, an’ I’ll miss ye something terrible, I know. But I can’t go away for a year, even if I’m paid well for it. My dad needs me to look after him. He’s not well, Laela.”
A quick memory of her own father flashed into her mind. “Well,” she mumbled. “If that’s how it is, then I guess yeh’d better stay.”
“Please, don’t be angry with me, Laela,” said Yorath.
She smiled and caressed his hair. “I ain’t, yeh daft bugger. I looked after my dad when he was sick, too, an’ I know what it’s like. I’d never want t’make yeh leave him.”
Yorath smiled back, with more than a little relief. “It wasn’t easy for me to decide. I don’t know how I’ll cope without ye for so long.”
“As long as yer waitin’ for me when I get back, I’ll be happy,” said Laela. She moved closer to him, her hand still on the back of his head. “Have a little somethin’ to remember me by, why don’t yeh? I got time.”
Yorath was more than happy to oblige, and they fell back onto his bed, pulling at each other’s clothes.
Laela loved it; she’d loved it more every time. Yorath’s touch helped dull the pain of knowing they would have to part, and she thrust the knowledge aside and lost herself in his body yet again.
• • •
Four days later, she and Arenadd were ready to leave. Laela had long since packed, and waited while the King got his affairs in order—appointing different people to take up his various duties, giving orders for what they should do if certain things came up, and so on and so forth. Laela had to go with him and listen while he did all of that; it was incredibly boring most of the time, but she went along dutifully, and learnt a fair bit about the things a ruler had to do. A lot of it was surprisingly mundane.
On the last morning before they were due to leave, Arenadd and Laela took some time for a final lesson in the audience chamber. That was mostly because Laela had asked for it; she was bored to death of talking to an endl
ess list of officials and wanted to spend more time with Oeka and learn about her.
“Tell me about magic,” she told Arenadd. “I want t’know how they use it an’ that.”
Arenadd paced back and forth, idly flourishing his sickle. “I can’t tell you too much, I’m afraid; griffins don’t like to talk about magic. Not to humans. It’s almost their religion.”
“What can yeh tell me?”
He threw the sickle upward with a quick flick of his wrist and caught it easily by the handle. “Every griffin has its own power, as I think you already know by now, but they aren’t born knowing how to use it. As far as I know, each griffin discovers his or her particular gift when they’re at least ten years old—in other words, when they’re big enough and strong enough to deal with the strain of using it. Magic takes a lot out of them, you see. It taps directly into their life-force. Using too much can put them in a coma for days, or even kill them.”
Laela rubbed Oeka’s head. “What’s your power, then, Greeneyes?”
Oeka clicked her beak.
“She probably doesn’t know,” said Arenadd. “She’s only about seven years old, by my guess.”
The tawny griffin rose suddenly, pushing Laela’s hand away. “Eeee kree oo eia,” she said, slowly and deliberately.
Arenadd put his sickle back into his belt with an interested expression. “She said, ‘I will show you my magic.’”
Laela stood up. “Show us, Oeka!”
The small griffin stood for a moment, tail swishing. She lowered her head, and a strange stillness came over her.
“Look out,” said Arenadd. “She’s about to—ggngh!”
Laela yelled and put her hands over her head as pain lanced through it. As she fell to her knees, she saw Arenadd step backward and slump onto his seat, both hands grabbing at his own head.
The pain rose sharply, and Laela heard a strange, harsh voice.
This is my power.
A moment later, the pain vanished. Laela got up slowly, feeling her arms tremble. “What in the gods’ names was that?”
Oeka looked calmly at her and lay down on her belly, blinking and apparently tired.
Arenadd shuddered and gave the griffin an icy look. “Colour me impressed. But don’t try that again when Skandar’s about, or the servants will have to mop you up off the floor.”
“Ae en’oo, keeeekaree,” said Oeka, apparently unbothered.
“What was that?” Laela said again. “Oeka, what did yeh just do?”
Arenadd rubbed his broken fingers. “It would seem that your partner is a telepath. Not a common power.”
“A what?”
“She can get into people’s heads,” said Arenadd. “Break into their thoughts, probably. Even send messages from her mind into yours. It’s not very useful for that sort of thing, though, mostly because the pain stops anyone from thinking very clearly. But it’s a powerful weapon.” He smiled thinly. “I doubt anyone would interfere with her if they knew she had the power to make their heads explode.”
Laela eyed the griffin. “Tell her I said she’d better not use it on me.”
Oeka got up and came to her, rubbing her head against Laela’s hip. “Ooo ae oo,” she cooed.
“‘Never,’” Arenadd translated.
“It’s a deal, then,” said Laela. She scratched Oeka’s ear, the way she liked it. “I’m terrible for sayin’ it, but I almost hope someone tries t’mess with us just so I can see what happens next.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Arenadd. “But—”
There was a sound of running feet from beyond the archway, and a guard came running in. “Sire!”
Arenadd stood up. “What is it?”
The guard came to a halt and bowed hastily. “Sire, I’ve got urgent news.”
“Out with it, then,” said Arenadd.
“It’s the assassin, Sire. The one who tried to kill ye. They’ve caught him, Sire.”
Arenadd’s hand went to the handle of his sickle. “Where is he?” he said sharply.
“Down in the cells, Sire. Lady Saeddryn told me to come tell ye immediately.”
“I see.” Arenadd glanced at Laela. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Laela was already halfway to the archway. “Oh, I’m comin’, Sire. No way I’m missin’ this.”
Arenadd ignored her and strode out of the room.
It gave Laela an uneasy feeling to be back in the prison under the Eyrie, even though this time the guards bowed and stood aside when they saw her coming. She even saw the very same guard who had dragged her out of her bed on the morning of her arrest, but when he saw her, he bowed his head to hide his face from her and made a hasty exit at the first opportunity.
Arenadd paid no attention. He followed the head of the prison guard along a corridor, his hand resting on his sickle all the while. Laela, keeping close behind him with Oeka on her heels, thought he walked with a terrible purpose. She pitied whoever was waiting for them in the cells.
Ahead, a familiar figure was waiting for them by a cell door.
“Lord Torc.” Arenadd came to a stop. “What’s happened?”
The Master of Law inclined his head. “Sire. We’ve got him in here.”
“When was he caught?” Arenadd said curtly. “Where?”
“They found him trying to break into the Eyrie,” said Torc. “Very early this morning. He was put into the cells straightaway, but after I happened to see him, I realised he fitted your description of the man who attacked you.”
“Has he been interrogated?”
“Briefly, yes, but . . . we won’t get anything out of him, Sire.” Torc’s face was pale.
“We’ll see about that,” Arenadd growled. “Open the door.”
“Sire—”
Arenadd freed his sickle. “Do it.”
Torc silently opened the door. It was well lit beyond, and Arenadd went in.
The prisoner was hunched on the wooden bench provided, but he looked up when Arenadd entered.
His face was small and round, but whatever more definite features it might have had once were impossible to recognise. Something had left three deep slashes at an angle from his forehead to his chin, cutting through his nose and twisting his mouth into a permanent snarl.
Even Arenadd faltered at the sight of him. “You.” He pointed the sickle at the man’s horrible face. “I know you. I knew I knew you, you son of a bitch!”
The scarred man’s dark eyes had gone wide. His mouth opened as if he were going to speak, but he made a sick, gurgling sound instead, and blood splashed onto his chin.
Arenadd’s own eyes glittered with hate. “I saw you in the war,” he said. “You stabbed me five times in the chest. I’d remember those scars anywhere. I thought you died in the fire. And then—” He ran his fingers over the sickle blade, almost lovingly. “Then you stabbed me again and threw me in the river. Don’t you ever give up?”
The scarred man said nothing.
Arenadd moved closer, until the point of the sickle was almost touching the man’s deformed nose. “How did you get into the city?” he asked softly. “How did you hide for so long? Answer me!”
Still no reply.
“Answer me, damn you!”
The mouth opened again, the lips trying to form words, but all that emerged were hideous wet garglings. The man stopped suddenly, choking, and lurched forward. Blood had matted the front of his tunic, and more coated his lips.
Arenadd stopped. “What . . . ?”
“Sire.” Torc appeared behind him. “Sire, I told you there’s no point. He can’t speak.”
“Something happened to his mouth?” said Arenadd, not taking his eyes off the shaking figure in front of him.
“He’s got no tongue,” said Torc. His voice was low with revulsion. “It’s been torn out, Sire.”
Arenadd didn’t flinch. He looked at the prisoner’s hands—bloodied, pawing uselessly at his mouth. “His fingers are gone. So he can’t w
rite anything down, either.” He turned at last, and his eyes met Torc’s. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know, Sire. He was like this when we took him.”
“Then how in the gods’ names could he break into the Eyrie?”
“I don’t know, Sire,” said Torc. “But look at him.”
“I already have, Torc. There’s nothing we can do to him that hasn’t already been done.”
“He’s insane, Sire,” said Torc. “If he wasn’t before this happened to him, he is now. A man can only take so much before he snaps.”
Arenadd touched his twisted fingers. “I know, Torc.”
“Arenadd?” Laela’s voice interrupted. “What’s goin’ on? Is it him?”
“Get out of here, my lady,” Torc said sharply. “This isn’t—”
“No.” Arenadd put a hand on his shoulder. “Let her see. Get out of the cell, Torc. I don’t need you here just now.”
The Master of Law hesitated. “Yes . . . Sire.”
As he went out through the door, Laela came in. “What’s . . . ? Oh, shit.” She lurched away as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Recovering her balance, she leant against the cell wall and breathed deeply, swearing.
“It’s all right,” said Arenadd. “He can’t hurt you. I thought you should see this.”
Laela turned to him, a look of open horror on her face. “Who did that to him?”
“I don’t know, Laela. Laela—” Arenadd took her by the chin, turning her head. “Look at him. Look at him. You have to see this.”
She did, and immediately tried to look away again. “No. I don’t want—”
“It’s not a question of what we want or don’t want,” Arenadd said harshly. “You wanted to see him, so look at him!”
Laela stared at the prisoner and retched. “Oh, gods help me. His hands . . . his face—”
“This is the man who stabbed me and threw me in the river,” said Arenadd. “And if you hadn’t come along, I would have stayed there. Apparently he was caught early this morning, trying to break into the Eyrie. Seems he must have heard I wasn’t dead.”
“But what happened to him?” said Laela. “Who would have done that? Why?”