The Gryphon Highlord

by Connie Ward

  Blurred by my tears, Castarr's face swam into view, a cruel twist to his lips as he shouted in a towering rage. “Damn you, woman, answer me! What happened in here?” His hand swung back as if to strike, but Ginger caught it and shoved him away.

  "You handle her, then,” Castarr retorted, uncowed by Ginger's fierce countenance. “I have no patience to waste on a hysterical wench. A man is dead."

  "Stop crying, Ruvie,” Ginger murmured, raising my chin and brushing the hair from my brow. “Tell us what happened."

  His gentle ministrations banished my panic, my tears. But when my glance fell once more on poor dead Repachea mindless rage filled me.

  "Find him,” I hissed, pushing Ginger aside. “Find the monster and give him to me. He will feel my steel. He will watch his blood leak away, and his pleas will fall on deaf ears."

  I caught myself just in time to stop the dagger from flying out from beneath the bed and into my palm. Ginger stared at me, his face gone even paler with his shock. He had never seen me behave like this—a bloodthirsty, godless thing. I saw Sestus's warning look, reminding me to get hold of myself. The violence of my words disturbed me greatly, if not for their barbarism, for their resemblance to Ginger's.

  "I'm sorry. I'm merely shaken.” I took a moment to compose myself, then told them what I knew.

  While Sestus had two strong lads take the body away, Castarr questioned me further. His manner of interrogation was sarcastic and brusque. If not for Ginger's presence, I'm sure the fiend would have tortured me into a confession of murder.

  "I told you,” I snapped, my patience deserting me, “it was too dark to see. He was just a fleeing shadow."

  Castarr's brow furrowed with annoyance. “So you say he hit you with the door?” he snarled, implying my story was too incredible to believe. “Did you hear anything when you approached it? A struggle? Voices?"

  "No, nothing."

  "Why did you come here when you knew Repachea was supposed to be at the briefing?” His tone was accusing.

  "He loaned me the use of his quarters since my arrival here. I just came back to get something I forgot."

  "C'mon, Castarr,” Ginger sighed, stroking the gash above my eye where the door had struck me. “You don't seriously think she killed Repachea, do you?"

  "Well, she's as good a suspect as anyone. We know nothing about her. She came here a stranger, claiming to have been waylaid by brigands. What proof—"

  Ginger stood, looming threateningly over the shorter man. “Say no more, Castarr. Sestus found her. Biddy can explain to you the severity of her injuries. I will tell you myself how she saved me from being torn apart by a pack of Shouda. So if you're implying she staged this drama after first stabbing Repachea and bashing herself in the head with a door, I suggest you close your mouth right now while you still can."

  Castarr was livid. For one tense moment I thought he would call Ginger's bluff and a brawl would ensue. But he held his tongue and stomped from the room.

  Needless to say, there was no meeting of Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency that night. Ginger took me to the infirmary and tucked me into the last available bed with a draught of Biddy's sleeping potion. According to Biddy, he did not leave my side that night.

  The next day we buried the captain on a grassy mound beyond the keep. Resting my head against Belvemar's chest, I watched through a gentle rain as the roughly hewn coffin was lowered into the ground. He was as silent and cold as death itself at the loss of this man who had been like a son. In fact, it had been Repachea who'd hacked his way across that bloody battlefield in Bolta to drag the wounded commander to safety. Awash in sorrow, Belvemar had sat all night on the bed, weeping unabashed tears as he stared at the dark stain on the floor where Repachea had died. Now, he displayed no emotion at all.

  Repachea's loss affected everyone in Idyll, for he was an easy man to like. The ladies, I think, would miss him most, although he had been friend as well as protector to everyone. But standing there in the cool drizzle, which so aptly concealed my tears, I mourned Repachea for a different reason. I had lost not only a friend but also perhaps my strongest supporter, a possible champion I had depended upon to save my throne and possibly my life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After the funeral I accompanied Belvemar to the infirmary, where Biddy put me to work tending Repachea's injured. I toiled well past the supper hour and did not leave until dusk. On my way out, I bumped into Sestus. He was in a foul temper, understandably so. The assassin had not only killed Repachea, but had delivered a near mortal blow to the Crusaders as well. Dissent and confusion reigned. Belvemar was in a state of bewilderment. Castarr and Ginger refused to speak except to bicker. Poor Sestus was at his wit's end, trying to mediate their petty squabbles and hold down the fort. Thus, Ragsey was dispatched to hurry Naren on his way in the hope his influence would restore order and save the revolt from collapse.

  "Where's Ginger?” I had not seen the mage since the funeral.

  "How should I know?” Sestus growled. “The last I saw him he was threatening to incinerate Castarr's nose hair. Bloody half-wits. I'm seriously considering bundling them up together and leaving them on Valleri's doorstep, for all the good they're doing here."

  Through Belvemar I had learned Ginger and Castarr had never been friendly. The enmity between them had been since the start. To be brief, Castarr shared almost the same opinion of the Umagi as Uncle. He too had lost loved ones on the day of Mauranna's miscast spell. A petty lordling, he had chosen to side with the Citizens Risen Up to Stand Against a Dread and Errant Regency due to a dispute with Uncle some years ago over a piece of property to which he felt entitled. When he'd demanded a leadership position, the Crusaders reluctantly gave him one if only because he promised to cut off funds from his hefty war chest.

  "You didn't leave them alone together, did you?"

  "Of course not.” Sestus waved an impatient hand. “I broke it up before anyone got hurt and sent them their separate ways. Ginger mentioned something about cleaning out Repachea's quarters."

  I got halfway across the compound when the full impact of Sestus's words struck me. I had left something far more important than my dagger behind in Repachea's digs: the statue. If Ginger found it, whole and restored, after having seen it smashed to smithereens...

  Donning my hood, I clutched my cloak tight and ran across the compound, splashing through mud and puddles. Rain pelted my face, plastering my hair to my skin and stinging my eyes, but I hardly cared. All that mattered was the statue. I had to retrieve it before Ginger discovered the truth for himself.

  No light spilled from Repachea's quarters; quietly I let myself in. So engrossed in my single-minded mission I did not see the darker shadow parked before the window, blotting out the indigo haze of the rain. As I lowered my hood to shake the raindrops from my hair, I heard the sound of a lamp hissing to life.

  Startled, I turned to see Ginger sitting in Repachea's leather chair. In that instant when our eyes met, a wave of malevolence struck me with such force it was as if a physical barrier had sprung up between us. Distorted by the flickering light, his face was grim, and I knew he was enraged beyond any anger I had ever seen in him before.

  For a moment only I was confused. Then my gaze fell upon the alabaster statue on the table.

  "Is this what you came for, Ruvie? Or should I say ... Kathedra?"

  I stood rooted to the spot, not knowing what to say, devastated by the realization my world was about to end. It seemed pointless to deny the accusation, equally pointless to verify it. So I said nothing, and steeled myself for his wrath.

  He pushed himself to his feet, his expression dark and thunderous. “What a perfect hiding place for a fugitive princess, right under the foe's very nose. How gaily the bards will sing of the deposed Gryphon Highlord finding sanctuary in her enemy's own bed.” He clapped his hands to his scalp as if to pull out his hair. “Kathedra. How could I be so stupid?"

  Still I said nothing, awaitin
g the full magnitude of his rage. An almost sentient entity, his anger filled the room. He pinioned me in his feral gaze. “So tell me. Is Castarr right? Did you kill Repachea? Is this all some elaborate scheme to overthrow Bertrand?"

  "No,” I whispered. “You know none of that is true."

  "Do I? Suppose you tell me exactly what is true."

  Everything rushed out in a babbling torrent. “I fled Castle Gryphon in fear for my life, unaware Valleri sought to take the throne for himself. Sestus came upon me just as Averi and his men had beaten me nearly senseless. Do you think I allowed that to happen merely to authenticate some grand deception? Ask Sestus yourself. He will validate my story."

  "Sestus?” he snarled. “I might have known he was behind this."

  "Please don't blame him. He only tried to protect me."

  Ginger eyed me suspiciously. “You are adept at lying but not so skilled at telling the truth."

  "I am telling the truth. I only lied about who I am. I had no choice. Otherwise, you might have killed me."

  "Would have,” he corrected, then muttered in an undertone, “Still might."

  I held my ground. “I gave you information. I supplied you with numerous opportunities to retaliate against my own flesh and blood. I've even turned on Valleri in order to further your oh-so-glorious revolt."

  "For your own purposes. You used us an instrument to seize your throne. You used me."

  "Not true. All I did, I did for the good of Thylana. I never ever used you."

  "Really? Then why didn't you tell me who you were before you took me to bed? Why did you continue to lie and hide and deceive if not to seduce me into your camp?” His tone was more scathing than his words.

  "Seduce you?” I cried in astonishment. “It was you who seduced me. I tried to tell you in this very room, but you wouldn't listen, too intent on manipulating me out of my clothes. So I kept my silence, afraid you might hate me, and you mistook that fear for reluctance because of what Averi had tried to do."

  "Averi?” he snapped. “Who the hell is Averi?"

  I sighed. “Averi was the flaw in Valleri's plan. He's the reason I am here in Idyll and not in Zigores, my original destination."

  "Explain."

  I tried. “Fearing my Teki powers had grown beyond his ability to control, Uncle stripped me of my rank and ordered me to marry a distant cousin, Lesuperis. When I rebelled, he imprisoned me. Valleri devised my escape. At the time, I did not suspect he schemed to take the throne for himself. I did not learn that until I went to Edenwood."

  His brow narrowed. “Escape? Valleri plotted with Bertrand to kill you."

  I shook my head. “No ... you misunderstand. Valleri doesn't want me dead. He only wants me out of the way so he can usurp Uncle. He struck a deal with Averi, the officer who led the search party. I believe Val instructed him to retrieve my horse and personal effects, but to let me continue my flight. Then he substituted my body with that of some poor wench with which to prove to Uncle I was truly dead. But Valleri did all this without my knowledge because he knew I would never condone it."

  "And Averi double-crossed Valleri?"

  "Yes. He took the opportunity to avenge himself for what he considered a past humiliation. Instead of allowing me to flee, he set his dogs loose on me. If not for Sestus, I would be dead."

  Unmoved by my horrific tale Ginger stared at me, his face a mask of stone. “So Valleri believes you're in Zigores, waiting to be recalled to your throne? He doesn't know you are wise to his scheme?"

  "As far as I know."

  He was silent a moment, still battling his rage. “I can sympathize with all you've been through, but your sad story doesn't change the fact you deceived me."

  "I won't argue that. I agree I waited too long, but I intended to tell you that night Repachea died."

  He tossed his head, agitated again. “You should have told me first."

  "When? That day in Sestus's room when you laid your cards on the table, disappointed because you thought my uncle had deprived you of the pleasure of killing me? Or two nights ago, when you told Repachea your only regret is it was not your Crusader steel that had sent me to my death? When, Ginger?” I choked on the words. “When was the safest time to tell you?"

  "There was no safe time,” he admitted. “But don't hide behind your perception of me as some hideous monster. You know that isn't true. Nevertheless, you didn't confess. Even after our first tryst you didn't tell me. You didn't trust me."

  I hurried to explain. “No, you're wrong. I trusted you with Ruvie. But the Gryphon Highlord ... How could I? You had sworn to hunt me down, to execute me. Why? Because you condemn me for the atrocities of my uncle ... and you can't forgive me for crushing you at Laurelac."

  "You didn't crush me,” he snarled.

  "Well, I most certainly did. You had no—"

  "Shut up,” he hissed. “I could have wasted you and your entire Royal had that been my wont. I had the chance to take you out on that hilltop and be rid of you for good."

  "Then why didn't you?"

  He fixed me in a poisonous glare, but instead of answering me he swung away. His arm lashed out, and in his awesome rage, swept Repachea's statue off the table. It crashed to the floor, once more an unrecognizable pile of smashed porcelain.

  I cringed, mindful of his powers, which could prove lethal if unleashed, and waited for his fury to subside. The ensuing silence was more terrifying than his wrath. With his back still turned to me, he said brokenly, “I really thought you were the one. The one to mend my broken heart. I bought your act, your whole thing. I really thought I was falling in love with you."

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat, anguished by those words I had so ached to hear. “It was no act, Ginger. I never planned any of this. It just happened, which is precisely why I couldn't reveal the truth to you. I didn't want to risk losing you."

  His shoulders began to shake and I thought he must weep. But a gust of icy mirth blew away that foolish assumption, and I knew he laughed. He spun around, a glint of madness in his eyes. “You are a greater fool than I am if you think such simple words can right this wrong, milady. Perhaps you were able to control Valleri with your sweet voice and pliant flesh. But in the end, your tame lover betrayed you and stole your crown. Your tender manipulations have gained you nothing, princess."

  His mockery irked me. “Are you going to help me or not?"

  "Help you?” His face contorted in fury, his mirth vanishing. In a stride he was before me. Crushing me to him, he yanked back my head, his dagger tip at my jugular.

  "Help you?” he repeated in a quieter, deadlier tone. “I should help a hateful liar recapture her throne? I should give my sworn enemy what her heart most desires? Instead, give me one good reason why I should not kill you ... Kathedra.” He spat my name like the foulest of curses.

  I tilted my head back further, thrusting my throat at him in foolhardy defiance. “I can't,” I replied, forcing the quaver from my voice. “So go ahead. Kill me. If you won't help me, if you rescind your love for me forever, then do it—draw your blade across my neck. Because without you, I don't want to live."

  He blinked, startled, I think, more by my bravado than the sincerity of my words. Nevertheless, he lowered the knife. “You're a brave woman to call my bluff. But truly you don't expect me to believe that? You go from man to man, from Valleri to me, seducing whomever you think better apt to secure your throne. You play the whore well."

  His viciousness cut deep. “If that's what you think,” I managed, fighting back tears, “then you flatter yourself most obscenely. It would have been easier and far less dangerous for me to seduce Repachea. Your ego is beyond belief, but I suppose with good reason. I have given up Thylana for you, even my life, if that is the price you extort. If I am a whore, then so, too, was Nelia. Will you let another woman die because she dared to love you?"

  I regretted the barb the instant it flew from my lips. Although my anger at Ginger was justified, Nelia was innocent of any misd
oing, and she did not deserve her memory to be so cruelly maligned. I saw the grief in his eyes, and the hurt my harsh words had caused, but it was too late to retrieve them.

  Ginger's hand flashed up too fast to dodge or turn aside. The blow struck me hard, connecting with my cheek and snapping my head around. A galaxy of stars spun before my eyes.

  I was stunned, dumbfounded. I truly couldn't believe he had slapped me. Me. The Gryphon Highlord. Throughout this hellish long ordeal men had perpetrated unforgivable acts against me. But no man had ever slapped me, as though I were a saucy child in need of a reprimand.

  Ginger still gripped my arm, glaring down at me with eyes devoid of remorse. “Do not speak ill of the dead."

  "Do not speak ill of the dead?” I cried. “How dare you rebuke me? You did not hesitate to slander and revile my name when you believed me dead."

  I fought for control, my indignation refusing to be contained. The first stirrings of a mindspell formed, searching for an unguarded thought. Nothing would please me more than to allow my Teki powers free rein, but I could not risk appearing weak or undisciplined before Ginger. A fragment, however, slipped out, no doubt in response to the flush of humiliation that enflamed me. It flowed forth, surrounding us both in a shimmering wave of heat. The effect was like that of standing too close to a fire. To my surprise, Ginger neither recoiled nor released me, braver or angrier than I'd believed possible.

  "Do you think I'm afraid of you?” he taunted. “You, whose fledgling powers are just a fraction of my own? Uncultivated and untamed they are confined to the boundaries of whatever puerile thought enslaves you at the moment. You have much to learn if you hope to achieve absolute control, to possess a power equal to mine."

  His grip slackened, and laughing, he said, “You can't hurt me, princess. You don't possess the will."

  I twisted away, angered by that truth I couldn't refute. “Don't mock me."