by Jess E. Owen
The sentry at the post shouted at him for his foolishness. Shard only laughed, and peered back to see Brynja, face determined, pumping her wings to catch him. Shard slowed so that she could. She smacked his head with a wing and he expected her to tell him to stop being foolish.
“Show me,” she demanded. Shard laughed.
“Yes, my lady.
He’d taught Kjorn a few tricks and so he knew what she had to do to make her broader wings function like his. He caught her around the wrist joint and, pelting each other with their wings and holding their torches out with care, Shard dragged her higher into the sky.
“You have to give yourself room,” he explained. She hadn’t pulled from his grip, though it was awkward to fly together.
“Shard—”
“Tuck a wing!”
She obeyed, trusting him so instantly that his heart glowed, and he thrust her away hard. When he released his grip she fell spinning away from him in a fancy roll, the torch sputtering and showering sparks on the gryfons staring below. She corrected in time to realize Shard had flung her toward the next pyre and, laughing in surprised triumph, she swept her torch across the dried grass and soared away as the fire sprang to life.
“I did it!” she cried. Shard laughed and winged in to grasp her tail. She blinked back at him, feathers fanning and closing again.
“Flap hard!”
She did and Shard lunged below her, tugging her tail so that her wing beat pushed her into a graceful back flip while he spotted. He echoed the flip and they fell together, touching their torches to the next pyre at the same time. Shard caught her gaze as the flames surged to life, then laughed and flapped away.
So they danced across their quarter of the aerie, flipping around the last of the pyres, laughing at friends below, until darkness fell and only firelight drove back the dark. Below, a singer’s voice rose in a ballad.
“Shard!” Brynja called as he broke from her to flap high again. “We’ve finished! Come down!”
“Catch me!” he challenged. Laughing, she flew after him.
After the fires, Dagny had said, you have to show her something only you can.
What’s that? Shard had asked, and remembered Dagny’s blank stare.
I don’t know. You do have something special, don’t you? Something you haven’t shared with anyone? That’s what we want you know, to be let into your secret world.
Brynja called from below. “Shard, wait, it’s dark!”
Something he hadn’t shared with anyone, Dagny instructed. His secret world.
“Shard, my torch!”
For as the apprentice fire keeper had promised, the torches would only last until darkness fell. Shard’s torch guttered in his talons, dying to dim blue in the cold and the wind of his wings. Brynja caught up to him, breathless. Below them the aerie flickered and glittered with firelight, but they flew high enough that they felt only the frosty cold of desert winter and the darkness cloaked around them.
Shard tossed his cold brand away. Before Brynja could speak, he gently pried hers away too and dropped it. Their breath clouded the air between them. Shard’s heart rolled like a thunderstorm and his talons trembled.
“Shard,” she whispered, ears flat with fear. “The dark…”
“Look.”
They flapped, hovering in the chill dark, and he tilted his head back. Brynja watched him a moment, her gaze flickering down to the warm glow of the aerie. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned her face up.
Shard watched as the starlight spread over her face and filled her eyes.
“Oh,” she whispered, her gaze roaming across the sweep of stars above. By her expression, he knew she had never seen the stars so bright, not since the gryfons of Dawn Spire lit the flames of Tyr. The sun might not set on Dawn Spire, but that meant never seeing the stars.
Shard murmured, “Have you ever seen them so bright?”
“No.” Her voice quavered.
“There is light in the dark,” Shard said. “See those stars there? That is Sig, the swan who flies ever starward. And there, Bjorna, the First Bear, and her cub. That cluster, the First Pack, the wolf stars…”
He saw her eyes trail along the great, bright river of stars that wove in the brightest band across the sky.
“And that is Midragur,” he murmured, his wings sweeping cool wind between them. “The star dragon who coils around the earth as a serpent around its egg. The egg will hatch one day, and that day will be the end of the world.”
Slowly Brynja’s eyes found Shard again. His heart pounded.
“I wanted to show you,” he whispered, not sure how he found the words, staring in the dark shine of her eyes. “This is how it is the Silver Isles, Brynja. I fly at night. There’s nothing to fear, no place we couldn’t go, no where we couldn’t fly and explore,” the words tumbled out of him and he didn’t realize how strongly he’d imagined showing her his home.
“We?” was all she asked.
“If—if you fly with me,” he managed, reaching forward to slip his talons through hers, where she’d tucked her foot in the warm down of her chest. She didn’t pull away, but she looked away from him to the stars. The slow, steady rush of wind from their wing beats sent chills through him.
“It’s beautiful, Shard.”
“Brynja.” He tightened his grip. It would be so easy to leave it at that, to savor the moment forever, not to take the risk. He forced himself to say more words. “I have so many things I want to tell you.” For a moment she grasped him in return, then her grip loosened.
“We have to go back,” she said. “This isn’t safe, this…” her gaze dropped from him and the stars to fall toward the Outlands. Shard sensed her fear was taking her from him, even from his secret place.
“Just a moment more.” Shard kept his voice firm as Dagny had instructed, trying not to sound apologetic or too shy. Brynja looked to him, quiet curiosity in the dark.
“It’s getting cold.”
I’ll keep you warm, he thought, wondering if she could hear his heart, but even with his pretend confidence he couldn’t say that. He fluffed up his feathers with a chuckle. The scent of smoke and juniper wafted from him and his wing beats and suddenly, before he could say more, Brynja sneezed. Shard started, releasing her talons.
“Juniper?” She sniffed. “Is that you?”
Mortified heat flushed under Shard’s feathers. “Dagny said…well, yes.”
“Dagny,” she echoed, then tilted her head back and looked at the stars, the fires below, her own wings as if remembering the wild way they’d flown. “I see now.”
“Brynja,” Shard tried to call her attention back.
“It’s nice.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “The scent I mean. It just surprised me. You didn’t seem like the kind of gryfon to do that. So it makes sense that Dagny helped you.” She sighed and mumbled, “It makes perfect sense.” Between them, their wing beats chilled the air, and Shard began to feel the strain of hovering.
“Let’s land.” The stars were losing their magic, he could tell, and he couldn’t talk to her if they were both growing weary and distracted by cold. Silently she followed as he stooped to land on an empty rock tower just outside the ring of fire light.
For a moment they stood in silence and Shard settled his wings uneasily, sensing that she wanted him to say something.
Stubbornly, though he knew the moment had passed he said, “Brynja, I like you more than I’ve liked any other huntress, ever. I like you the way I would a wingbrother—I mean, but a female. I want you to be by me always, I want to fly with you.”
It sounded so stupid when he said it aloud. He persisted, even though she looked a little amused. “You make me feel stronger than I am. And you’re smart, and you’re kind and you listened to me when I first arrived here. Not many would do that. And…”
When he finally met her gaze, he couldn’t go on. He didn’t need to.
There was a light in her eyes that took the breath from him. As if another f
orce controlled him, he stepped toward her, as if he might drag her back into the sky into a pledge flight right then.
She pulled away and he realized with a tremble that some of the brightness in her eyes was sadness. The faint firelight that touched her face traced vivid lines along her delicate beak and the wide, watching circles of her eyes.
“You’re one of the most amazing gryfons I’ve known, Shard.” She drew a shaking breath and let it out in a cloud of steam. “And I care for you. More than I should, much more than I should.”
Shard hesitated, because while he could have back-flipped off of the tower, she didn’t seem happy. “Then what’s wrong?”
“Don’t you see? It can’t be, Shard.”
Somehow the words didn’t quite make sense, and he tried to hold all the bits together. He’d led her on a breathtaking flight, shown her a beautiful secret, had managed to confess himself without sounding like too much of an idiot and, if he’d heard her correctly, she felt the same. He didn’t think he’d missed anything.
“Is it because I’ve claimed to be from the Outlands? You know that’s not true.” I’m a prince, he wanted to shout, but kept his peace, eyes narrowing slowly. Females thought differently than males, he knew that much, and he waited to let her explain herself before he said something stupid.
“No,” she said quickly, and suddenly her eyes were on him again, wide and pleading. “That’s not it, you must believe me. I care for you, Shard, for who you’ve proven to be, for your skill and your humility and your kindness and…your laugh,” she tapped her beak shut and crouched back a little, as if horrified at her confession.
“Then?” he asked, cautiously joyful at her words.
“Don’t you see,” she whispered, ears laying back, eyes widening as if she couldn’t believe he didn’t understand yet. “I’m promised. To Asvander.”
Slowly, proud of himself for remaining calm, he said, “I don’t understand. If you haven’t pledged, how can you be promised. You make it sound as if someone else promised for you.”
The joy in him at her confession sat behind a wall of dread, behind a rising wall of fear that even though he’d been brave, done his best, found the most perfect female for him in all the world, he couldn’t have her.
She watched him. Songs drifted to them, laughter, it sounded worlds away. “Shard, I think things are more complicated here than they are where you’re from. In the Silver Isles.”
“This isn’t complicated.”
“It is,” she said gently, and Shard took a step back. “Sometimes we mate to form alliances, to bring families closer. You know that Asvander abandoned his family to come to the Dawn Spire?”
“I know,” Shard said, hollow.
“His family and mine are old, old allies. Orn hopes that if we mate, it will bring his clan back to the Dawn Spire.”
“Orn?” Shard burst out, finally. “In the Silver Isles, not even the king can choose another’s mate! Not even Tyr! It’s—it’s not about that, Brynja, it’s about—it’s about…”
“Love?” she offered, her voice very soft.
“It’s about love,” Shard said firmly, and took a hard breath. “Brynja, I—”
“Please stop,” she said, one ear tuning toward the feast, as if others might hear. Suddenly, Shard didn’t care.
“But you do care about me. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”
She blinked at his tone and he realized it was the wrong thing to say. It sounded arrogant and forceful and not like him at all. But it’s true, he thought desperately.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he insisted.
“I want the Dawn Spire to be strong,” she said evenly. “If a match with Asvander—who is dear to me, too, by the way—makes it so, then that is what I want.”
Would a match with a prince make the Dawn Spire strong? he wanted to ask. Would making you a queen?
He wondered if she would laugh. He wondered how much his little kingship in his little islands in a distant sea even mattered to the gryfons of the Winderost.
“Orn wants to be stronger,” he said quietly, “so that you can fight the dragons?”
That surprised her. “The dragons? No…no. So that we can defend, if need be. So that we can begin reuniting the families and reclaim the glory that was.”
“Glory,” Shard echoed. “I see. Now you sound like Sverin’s kin after all.” He lifted his wings, restless, and she looked stricken. He shook his head at the scent of juniper on his feathers, feeling sick. “This is stupid. I can’t believe Dagny let me think any of this would do any good.”
“Shard—”
“Never mind,” he said sharply, embarrassment and anger flooding out before he could stop himself. “You and Asvander can have each other. Stigr was right.”
Before Brynja could say another word Shard shoved up from the rock and beat his wings hard, soaring away over the feast to find some dark corner to sit alone. He thought of how he’d planned to find her a perfect cut of meat, a singer to lay her favorite ballad, how he’d rubbed his feathers with scent…
Stupid, stupid, stupid. He must look like a fool. And Dagny had let him. Why would she do that? He’d thought they were friends.
What stung the most was knowing Brynja felt the same about him and would still turn him down.
Shard flew to the very edge of the Wind Spire, away from the stream and the feasting, laying his ears flat against the sound of singing and drunken boasting. He stared into the night.
I flew here on a different wind. I’ve wasted time. I’ve let my family down.
It was time to do what he’d come to do.
A gryfon soared overhead, calling out to everyone within hearing.
“Hail all! His majesty Orn, son-of-Throsver, calls the Wintermeet! Let all with grievances come forth. Let all with news. We will meet, and hear, and speak! Hail chiefs, warriors, huntresses! Meet at the Dawn Spire in a quarter mark.”
For a moment Shard watched as other gryfons left their circles to stream toward the meet. Then he pushed himself up and trotted toward the Dawn Spire, eyes narrowed.
He had a grievance.
39
Wintermeet
The crescent that formed the inner curve of the Dawn Spire teemed with gryfons. Shard thought every gryfon in the Winderost must be there, even the fledges. Fires waved from the highest ridge of the crescent and from torches set within the tiers, sending smoke and orange light.
Shard trotted to his tier, but found a fledge there, who gazed at him nervously. Stigr hailed him from above and Shard peered around until he caught sight of his uncle—the only black gryfon in the pride.
We’ve been moved up again, he thought. Good.
He hopped into the air and landed by Stigr. “Fair winds, Uncle.”
Stigr only inclined his head. After a moment of silence that buzzed with the voices of other gryfons, Shard drew a sharp breath.
“Forgive me, Uncle. For before. You were right. I’ve forgotten my purpose here and betrayed the trust of those who wait for me. Thank you for trying to remind me.”
He dipped his head and saw that Stigr looked surprised. “Forgive me too. I was harsh, and spoke out of turn.” His voice was odd when he added, “Shard…we should talk.”
But before they could, Orn landed and hailed all present. Shard sat, shifting his feet and tail twitching, while Orn spoke of the hunt and gave news. Others on higher tiers gave reports on the activities of their families and Asvander spoke about the state of the borders and incidents of eagles and dogs attacking. Shard watched the First Sentinel, trying to keep his expression impassive as he tried to figure out what Asvander possessed that Shard himself didn’t.
“And now.” Orn stood again when Asvander had finished. “Any with news, any with grievances or matters of importance, speak now. Any initiated warrior may speak their mind this night.”
Shard stood. “I have something to say.”
Stigr looked at him slowly as excite
d whispers arose. “My prince,” he murmured, low enough that no one but Shard heard. “What are you planning?”
“Stand by me,” Shard said quietly, “that’s all I ask.”
“Always,” Stigr said.
“Shard,” Orn acknowledged. “Son-of-Baldr, my new pride member and friend.”
All fell silent, then rustling cheers rose. Shard’s belly fell to his claws and he looked up slowly, staring at the king, who spread his tawny wings wide as if to embrace Shard from afar.
“You have more than earned your right to speak here. What say you?”
Expectant faces watched him. Hundreds and hundreds, so many more than the pride at home. Shard tried to imagine them all as enormous sparrows, so that it wasn’t as intimidating. Rather than stay on his high ledge, jumped off his tier to glide down and stand on the rock platform in the center of the crescent, where everyone could see him, and he could see everyone.
“I came here with many questions,” he said in even voice, and waited until the echo of it faded against the rock. “And the hope of becoming your friend and brother. I even…wanted to court a certain one of you. That distracted me from my purpose, and I shouldn’t have tried to disrupt your pride. But there are things wrong here. Things I should have realized—and now you need to know the truth.”
A face distracted him. Brynja, on a high tier with Valdis. She stared at him, and Valdis gave a quick, negative shake of her head. Don’t do it, they both seemed to shout silently. Not here.
Shard turned and saw Stigr with almost the same, horrified expression.
A slow, rolling anger began at his talons and heated his chest. Who is Stigr to recommend what I do? And Brynja, and Valdis? My father was a king. If I want to be a king, I must make my own way.
He took a deep breath, holding the last image of his father, of Sverin, of Helaku, the old wolf king. He held them all and pictured himself among them. Strong, a prince. A king. Finally, he thought of Kjorn, of the many lies he’d told, and he found his voice.
“I didn’t come from the Outlands.”
A slow, surprised murmur rolled through the assembled, and those who might not have been listening turned their faces toward Shard. The bobbing firelight cast them all in strange shadows, a single, curious beast with a thousand eagle eyes.