The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  Ginger must never know. It would jeopardize everything I'd laboured so hard to accomplish. I could let it develop no further. First, I must tell him who I am. Once he knows the truth, my breach of trust will ruin whatever fond feelings he has for me. So be it. It is more important to win my throne than to win Ginger—a man I've known for only a few short weeks, a man with a tumultuous and dangerous past, a man who hates my royal blood and has fought me so tenaciously.

  No, I must keep my distance. Because, as we all know, mending a broken heart isn't as easy as fixing a shattered piece of pottery.

  I had no sooner made my decision than a charge of horses galloped past my quarters and into the compound. Outside a crowd cheered, welcoming home the riders. I peeked out the window to find that Ginger and his party had returned with the booty of the plundered caravan. Grinning, the mage vaulted from his mount and danced some kind of victory jig with an equally jubilant Sestus while the villagers swarmed around them. The mage's features were smeared with dust and the grit of battle, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. My heart nose-dived into my stomach at the sight of him.

  Searching the crowd, he scanned the sea of faces. For mine? I wondered. The urge to greet him was almost irresistible. It took all my willpower to tear away my gaze. Withdrawing from the window, I leaned against the wall for support. My resolve weakened and crumbled.

  Let him have his moment in the sun, time to gloat and enjoy his small victory. I could be the Princess Kathedra tomorrow ... or perhaps the next day.

  * * * *

  I avoided Ginger for the next few days, afraid he would sense all my terrible truths. It was not an easy feat. He seemed to be everywhere I was. I dodged Sestus as well, his reproachful glare reminding me to reveal all before it became too late. Repachea was due to arrive the following week. I decided to wait until his arrival to inform the Crusaders of my deceit, when most of them were gathered in one place.

  It seemed the coward's way out. I tried to tell Ginger on several occasions but I always lost my nerve. I could not bear the revulsion I knew I would see in his eyes when he learned the truth.

  My only escape was the infirmary, where Ginger and Sestus rarely had time to venture. So one afternoon, I slunk from my quarters to visit Belvemar. “How is he, today?” I asked Biddy.

  "Crabby,” she replied in her usual snarl. “He's contracted a minor stomach ailment. He vomited all morning."

  I peered into the next room. Belvemar had positioned his cot so he could sit on it and lean against the wall, providing himself a view of both the door and the window. He now wore his Crusader's uniform again, and habitually slept with a hand on his sword. I noted a curious absence of pillows.

  I strode to the bedside but he did not seem to notice me, too intent on inner thoughts. Smiling, I bent near and murmured, “I hear you're not feeling well."

  He grasped the neck of my tunic and pulled me closer. “He's back,” he whispered into my ear. “He's smarter than I thought."

  Startled, I choked out, “Who's back?"

  "The assassin. Poison. It's in the wine."

  "Not this again, Belvemar,” I sighed. “No one is trying to kill you. There's no poison in the wine. It's just the weather. Lots of people are ill from the heat."

  "It's not the heat,” he hissed. “I tell you, someone's been poisoning my wine for the last two nights. He knows I'm strong enough now to resist him and so he was forced to seek a new method."

  At my skeptical frown, he released his grip on my tunic and smoothed out the wrinkles. “You must believe me, Ruvie. You're the only person I trust."

  I looked into his wild eyes, thinking he teetered on the edge of madness. “Listen to me,” I said. “There's no assassin. You're hallucinating, is all. It's the medication. Now I don't want to hear—"

  He tore his gaze from mine and folded his arms over his chest. “Fine. Don't believe me. But I won't drink the wine. I won't."

  There seemed to be no way to convince the man. I glanced at the wine goblet perched innocently on the bedside table. “Look. If it will make you feel better, I'll drink it.” Taking the cup, I brought it to my mouth.

  "No, don't!” Belvemar shouted, reaching to snatch the goblet, his expression one of horror.

  Swatting aside his hand, I drained the cup of its contents. The wine was cool and sweet. In fact, it tasted very good. “There's nothing wrong with it. See? I'm all right."

  Belvemar looked at me askance, perhaps disappointed I did not keel over. “Well, it won't kill you instantly,” he grumbled. “The dose is too small. But after a few days—"

  "Enough,” I interrupted. “For the last time, no one is trying to kill you."

  My outburst shocked him into rational thought. The colour drained from his cheeks and his eyelids drooped. Contrite, he asked, “Do you think I'm going mad?"

  "Of course not. I just think the strain of prolonged confinement and inactivity is taking its toll. Once you're fully recovered, things will be better. You'll see."

  I left him with a reassuring pat on his arm and the promise I would visit again tomorrow.

  I returned to my quarters and set about preparing my supper. But I suddenly lost my appetite, as a great weariness swooped without warning upon me.

  "Must be the heat,” I muttered aloud. Opening the window, I leaned out it and drew several deep gulps of air. A fragrant breeze filled the room, making me realize it was not as warm a day as I'd first thought.

  I began to feel a little light-headed. The room spun weirdly. I sank onto the bed, my belly wracked with cramps. I was on my hands and knees when Ginger walked in.

  He rushed to my aid. “Ruvie? What's wrong?"

  I couldn't speak, couldn't catch my breath, so intense was the pain. Finally I managed, “Fetch a bucket. I'm going to be sick."

  I puked until I thought I would die, until I figured death would be infinitely more pleasant, for hours it seemed. Although I'd emptied my stomach long ago, I continued to wretch up bitter yellow bile.

  Ginger stayed by my side, afraid to leave, I think, for fear I might expire. Rubbing my back, he steadied me as each convulsion ripped through my body, and whispered words of comfort and reassurance.

  When it was over I was too weak to stand. The mage's face must have been as pale as my own. He led me to the bed and covered my chilled flesh with a blanket.

  "Belvemar was right,” I groaned.

  Ginger brushed the hair from my damp brow. “About what?"

  "The assassin. The wine was poisoned.” I told him about Belvemar's alleged stomach complaint and how I'd drunk from the same cup. “Someone is trying to kill him."

  "Kill him? If someone wanted Belvemar dead, why not just stick a blade in him and be done? Why go to all this trouble?"

  "Because then it would too obviously be murder. The assassin wants it to appear as though Belvemar died of natural causes, that he succumbed to the severity of his injury. This way, no one will look for an assassin."

  "Who would want to kill Belvemar?"

  "I don't know. Maybe someone is after his passkey."

  "His passkey? To the teleportal? He doesn't even have it now. He turned it over to us following his injury and we destroyed it."

  I shook my head, bewildered. “Then it must be someone who doesn't want him to make a recovery.” I recalled telling Valleri that night in my room, ‘Without its leaders the organization will fall apart.’ Who was next? Sestus, maybe? Or Ginger?

  Frantic with the thought that this invisible enemy, too, might stalk the mage, I grabbed his arm. “You can't waste any more time. Find out where that wine came from and who has access to the infirmary besides Biddy and me. Ask if anyone saw anything suspicious or someone lurking around. Warn Sestus, but don't tell anybody else. We don't want to scare the culprit away. Post a couple of guards on Belvemar. You might want to get word to Naren and—"

  Ginger's frown appeared. “Ruvie ... Are you sure?"

  Suddenly I knew how Belvemar felt when I refused to believe him. I thr
ust his hand away. “If you need further proof, next time you drink the wine."

  He capitulated immediately. “Very well. I'll see to it. You stay here and get some rest.” Risking a sympathetic smile, he squeezed my shoulder and left.

  * * * *

  I slept until Sestus awakened me shortly before dusk. He hovered suffocatingly near and pummelled me with questions. “Are you all right? Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Do you need another blanket? Can I make you some tea?"

  I fear I was really quite rude when I told him he should be more concerned about finding the poisoner than inquiring after my health.

  "I'm sorry, Little Red,” he murmured, flashing those sad puppy eyes. “It's just I feel responsible for you."

  "It's not your fault,” I said in a milder tone. “It's I who should apologize. I didn't mean to be rude. Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine, really. I'm just a bit edgy."

  "That's understandable. It's all very unsettling. I have no idea how all this could have happened. We have safeguards in place, an elaborate warning system, all implemented right from the very beginning."

  "Then back to the beginning is where you have to go. Chances are the perpetrator insinuated himself, or herself, way back when. Watch yourself, Sestus. It's likely his mission is to eliminate all senior Crusaders, not just Belvemar."

  "I'll take care. I've posted two guards unobtrusively in the infirmary.” He fell silent a moment before adding, “Now more than ever, it's imperative that you reveal your identity. When will you tell Ginger?"

  "I think it's best to wait until Repachea gets here, that way everyone will be together."

  Sestus seemed satisfied. “Probably a wise idea. Repachea will be here in a couple of days, three at the most. No longer, Ruvie."

  I caught the drift of his message. He would not allow me to put it off indefinitely.

  Once Sestus had gone, I climbed out of bed and freshened myself with cool water from a basin. Then I changed my clothes and pulled on a clean sleeping shift. Famished, I ate a few bland biscuits and some cheese. Feeling the strength flow back into my limbs, I made a pot of tea.

  As I sat before the open window, sipping from my mug and enjoying the evening breeze, a knock came at the door.

  It was Ginger. “I wanted to see how you were feeling."

  "I'm much better,” I replied, inviting him inside. “It wasn't a particularly potent poison, but we're lucky Belvemar discovered it when he did. Another day or two and he might have been dead. Any idea what it was?"

  He shook his head. “Not yet. My guess is it came from Biddy's medicinal store."

  I offered to share my teapot, but he declined. So we stood there, in awkward silence, me feeling exposed in my flimsy shift and Ginger looking formidable in his Crusader's uniform.

  "It's another warm night,” he observed, pulling off his coat and tossing it over a chair. He moved to stand before the window where he let the breeze ruffle his hair.He seemed content to stay awhile.

  Searching for small talk, I said, “You must be pleased with your raid on that merchant caravan. Some of those supplies we desperately needed, like the grain and cloth. But the luxury items are just as welcome, like those kegs of ale and crates of sugar. How generous of you to share the finer spoils with the villagers. No doubt it put a boil on a few Royalist bottoms."

  "What's one more plundered caravan to the Royalists?” he muttered. “I hardly think it hurt them. It is only important to us in the sense it boosts our confidence. It hasn't helped to further our cause. I'm beginning to think nothing we do can hurt the Royalists."

  That did not sound like the Ginger I knew talking. Where was the ruthless, cunning mage determined to visit his vengeance upon the house of Gryphon? “What's wrong?” I ventured.

  "Everything. We can't stand against the combined muscle of Castle Gryphon. Not with Valleri in command. Once, we had a chance, when the Princess Kathedra lived. She kept the castle in a state of constant vacillation. But Valleri is as decisive as he is ruthless. Any aspirations we had of launching our counteroffensive are dust. We're just rabble. A motley pack of peasants and hearthmages. I realize that now, and how foolish we were to think we could lead any damned revolt. Such grand ambitions we had. What have we become? We've been branded traitors, outlaws, thieves and murderers."

  "Not so,” I began, trying to lift his spirits. “You've accomplished much. You can't expect change to happen—"

  But he cut me off, launching into a litany of self-pity. “The obstacles are insurmountable. Repachea has heavy casualties and Killary is in ruins. Belvemar is crippled. His troops number less than a hundred. Naren is useless in Shanasea. Fleurry has besieged Gregaris in Pixley. Castarr talks about quitting and Idyll is a sitting duck. To make matters worse, the command structure we once considered air tight is rife with holes."

  Command did he say? Did Ginger suspect the source of all their troubles was a senior Crusader? That was too delectable a morsel to pass up. “You think your command structure is flawed?"

  "Castarr is looking for a way out. He's gotten himself in too deep and isn't committed to the long haul. But that's just my opinion. I've got no proof.” He paused to draw a deep breath, raked a hand through his hair. “Don't you understand, Ruvie? Everything we've worked so hard for is about to come crashing down around our ears. We need a miracle."

  Is that why he'd come here? To hear a word of encouragement? To blow off some steam? To get a new perspective? Perhaps I could give him that miracle. Perhaps the time had come to tell Ginger the truth. In it he may find new hope. His anger would be swift and fierce, but it would give way to reason. He needed me, the Princess Kathedra, as a symbol for the Crusaders in the same sense as the Gryphon Highlord had been a symbol for the Royalists. He would not be able to deny it, or me. I'd never have him in a better position.

  Ginger continued to stare out the window at the darkening sky, his eyes hard like dead stone. How sad he looked, his face awash in the lavender blue of twilight. How hopeless. How terribly alone.

  As in the courtyard of the Dragon's Lair, the urge to console him was fierce. I moved to where he stood and rested a light hand on his arm. “Perhaps I can be of assistance,” I said, forcing a nervous smile.

  "Not unless you can turn back time. Not unless you can wake me and tell me it's all been an awful dream.” He turned from the window, his expression softening. “Not unless you can ease my cares with your embrace this night."

  My smile disintegrated. His proposal caught me off guard. I stepped back in surprise but he seized my arm, keeping me near. “No, Ruvie. Don't turn away. We can't go on like this, sidestepping each other, avoiding glances, bickering like children one moment then nuzzling like adolescents the next. You can't deny it. You must see in my eyes what I see in yours."

  No! This can't be happening. He shouldn't be saying such things. Not now, when I must reveal the truth. I tried to pull away but he held me all the firmer.

  "Why am I drawn to you?” he asked, his gaze locked on mine. “Why are you so special? I seek out your voice, your touch, because whenever I'm near you, your presence lends me comfort and strength. How is it when I look at you that I forget Nelia? I forget my obligation to duty. I forget my anger and hatred and all past pains ... everything but you."

  I understood too well. Whenever I looked at him, I forgot Valleri's duplicity, and my rage fled. I forgot Averi's savagery, and my fear vanished. It was a terrible enchantment he cast over me, this lapse in memory of everything but him. It must be fought. He could not be permitted to exist as the centre of my universe. That is a spot reserved for Thylana.

  "Ginger, no. Please. You must listen to me. You don't understand. There is something I must..."

  But my protest died as his arms came around me. “What don't I understand? I know only you inspire feelings in me I've not felt in many years. I know that I like the way you look at me, without repugnance, without distraction. What more do I need to understand?"

  His arms were strong,
his tall frame sheltering. I returned his embrace and pressed my face to his shirt, where his heart drummed against my ear. “Perhaps nothing,” I sighed.

  "What is it?” he persisted. “What's wrong? You can tell me anything."

  I withdrew just enough to be able to see his grey mage eyes. Can I? I wondered. Can I tell you it is the Gryphon Highlord you hold in your arms?

  Ginger smiled down at me, a glorious smile that lit up his whole face, even the part of it that was an abhorrence in other people's sight. Then he pressed his lips to mine in a kiss so unlike the first we shared, one of sweetness and warmth, on a bench in that faraway courtyard. This was all fire and hunger. I lost myself in the moment, swept up in his passionate embrace, and returned his kiss with abandon, forgetting he was forbidden to me.

  But desire was fleeting as I recalled how dangerous it was for me to love this man. Recoiling, I tore my mouth from his with a gasp.

  Ginger misinterpreted my reaction. His arms slackened and he tilted his head to meet my glance. “Don't be afraid of me, Ruvie,” he whispered. “I won't hurt you."

  He turned me in the circle of his arms and rested his chin on my shoulder. “I could never hurt you. I'll admit, there were times when you drove me to such fury I yearned to wrap my fingers around your throat and throttle you senseless, like that day we quarrelled outside Edenwood. More so, were the times I just wanted to kiss you, like that afternoon in the courtyard. Times I just wanted to hold you, like you held me after the Shouda attack. I heard you weep. I felt your pain. I did not know how to ease it, so I remained silent. But I swear this to you now, no one will ever hurt you again while I live."

  We stood that way at some length, before the open window, the breeze flowing over us, my hands covering his where they were clasped around my hips. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against his chest, content. Tell him! that nagging little voice screamed. You'll never get another chance.

  But I couldn't. It would ruin everything, most especially this moment. I was certain Ginger would never touch me again if I told him. His lips, his hands, felt too wonderful to be turned away now, perhaps forever. Selfishly, I kept quiet.