by Ivy Asher
After a beat, I stand up, flip everyone the bird, and then curtsey. “Now someone get me something to drink that doesn’t taste like upchuck,” I order, and to my surprise, several people make a dash toward the bar.
I sit back down, surprised that my bossiness worked and didn’t get me punched in the face. Sice grabs my half full stein and downs it, his punctuating belch even weaker than his last one. I eye him with judgment and then crack up.
“No wonder you’re unmated, with burps like that,” Dri teases, and Sice rolls his eyes on a chuckle.
“I am unmated because no female is worthy of me,” he announces, gesturing to his body like this should be obvious.
I laugh, and he looks mock offended by it.
“I know you laugh to keep the tears from your eyes,” he teases. “Alas, it is true, not even you, as beautiful as you are, could pin me down.”
Dri snorts and shakes her head. “As if you’d be worthy of an Ouphe blessed!” she jeers, laughing even harder when Sice gives an indignant gasp.
“I’ll have you know, I’ve had a few in my time,” he defends, and Dri chokes on the large sip she just took from a stein handed to her by another guard.
Sice pats her back hard. A new metal cup is also set in front of me, and I turn to thank the male for getting it. He looks at me oddly and then moves to sit back down at his table. I remember Ryn telling me that please and thank you aren’t a thing with Gryphons, and I make a note to flip my polite switch off for the night.
“If an Ouphe blessed even so much as looked your way, it was because of who you flapped with,” Dri points out, and Sice lifts his metal cup and thunks it with hers.
“Ain’t that the truth,” he agrees, and they both crack up again. “It’s good having friends in high places,” he adds taking deep pulls of his drink.
I chuckle, enjoying the back and forth between them. I pick up my cup and sniff it before taking a hesitant sip. Oh thank fuck, it’s meade. I release an appreciative moan that sends Sice into a choking fit and Dri into a round of giggles. I lift my stein in the direction of the guard who procured it for me and throw my head back and down the contents. The group of guards bang their metal cups on the table in approval and cheer when I hold up the empty cup victoriously.
“The good days, before the wars, when us feral boys stalked mischief and hunted danger,” Sice poetically recalls as I sit back down.
“Hunted danger?” Dri teases. “More like your keepers cleared away any threats, while you boys frolicked around none the wiser, trying to bed girls and climb ranks that were already laid out for you like stepping-stones.”
Sice chuckles. “Don’t let Ryn or Lazza hear you say that,” he jokes, and my ears perk up at the sound of familiar names. “The only one of us to earn a place is Zeph, and look what he did with it,” Sice adds, and Dri immediately sobers and shushes him.
She looks around us, clearly checking to see if what was just said was overheard.
“Watch yourself, Sice. You know what just speaking his name will get you, especially now when the best of us are out there fighting,” Dri warns him.
“Oh cum on the lot of ’em,” Sice declares, but he drops his voice just as he was told to do. “I know who he is now, but it doesn’t change who we all were growing up. You’d think we all grew in the same womb and suckled from the same tit, we were that close. Lazza, Treno, and Ryn can pretend it never happened, but we all know the truth,” he grumbles quietly.
“What do you mean?” I ask, not able to curb my curiosity.
Sice and Dri both look up at me at the same time as if they had forgotten I was even there. Sice’s gaze immediately takes on a guarded glint.
“Nothing at all, milady,” he states, pushing out of his chair, his empty mug in hand.
Dri and I both watch him make his way to the bar in silence. She turns back to me, her stare appraising for a beat before a resolute gleam enters her eyes.
“Your connection to the Altern means it’s probably right for you to know some of the history, no matter how much others may wish to bury it,” she declares, taking another sip of her meade and scooting closer to me.
She runs a hand over her short cropped hair, and her deep purple eyes look around the room once before deciding we’re clear. Eager interest sparks through me as Dri leans closer. I know I’m about to be let in on some grade A juicy gossip, and I’m so fucking here for it. I clear my throat and try not to look like some excited psycho as I play with the handle of my cup and wait for her to spill the tea.
“Sice’s family was very affluent. He grew up rubbing wings with the Syta’s family, the Commander’s family, and the family of the leader of the rebels we’re currently at war with,” she tells me on the faintest whisper.
I lean in slightly to hear her better and ignore the goose bumps that rise up on my arms. My white hair falls forward, curtaining us and giving us even more privacy.
“They were the best of the best of our kind. They practically bled magic and ability, and were the hope of our people after thousands of years of slavery.”
Dri pauses to take a sip of her drink, her eyes far away and her tone hollow.
“The problem was that over time, very different opinions of how to lead our people into the future took root, and a crack formed in the foundation of what we were trying to build now that we were free people again. The boys were young and more interested in their urges to fight, rut, and play, but their families were quick to destroy all of that.”
Loud laughter from a table in the corner catches both of our eyes, and then we settle back down into our whispers.
“Lazza and Treno’s parents struck out at anyone who didn’t agree with their way of thinking. No one saw it coming, but they must have been planning it for some time, because in just one night, anyone who wasn’t for keeping the vow mark was either dead or imprisoned. Many were left broken, Ryn’s family, and Zeph and his brother among them.
“The people for the Vow thought that would be the end of it. They expected the show of power to put people in their place, but they forgot who gryphons are in their core. Plans for retaliation simmered under the surface of the forced peace, waiting for the spark that would light everything up.”
Dri stops talking suddenly like the words in her mouth burn and hurt. Unease trickles through me, and I know the next part of the story won’t be sunshine and rainbows.
“Zeph’s brother, Issak, wasn’t the same after what happened to their parents. They would have been better off if they had been banished or something, but instead, they were forced to spend every day under the boot of the rulers who had destroyed everything they had. They weren’t imprisoned. They were beaten and forced to live life like nothing had happened. Lazza, Treno, Ryn, Sice, Zeph and Issak were tutored together, trained together, took meals together.
“It was as though the leaders for the Vow thought that their bond would erase what had been done to them. Then one day, Issak tried to kill Lazza. He snapped under the weight of it all and almost ended the Syta. In response, Lazza’s father had Issak publicly beaten and his wings sheared off. Our people were all forced to watch. No one was exempt from witnessing them mutilate a boy who had once been a representation of hope to our Pride...and then out of nowhere, they slit his throat.”
I bring my hands up to my mouth, shocked and appalled by what she’s saying. I thought it was bad when Zeph explained to me what had happened to his family, but to hear these added details...it’s infinitely more horrifying.
“Zeph fought to get to Issak, to hold him as he died, and that was the spark that set everything alight. It was too much, too brutal, too close to what we had just fought to free ourselves from. Battles broke out everywhere. There were gryphons fighting to protect Zeph, to protect what his family stood for, to return the violence that had been acted out on too many families in the dead of night.
“It was chaos, and everyone lost someone that day. The rebels fled when they couldn’t completely beat back the Marked. It
was brothers against brothers. Families divided and fighting each other. There was never going to be a winner no matter what happened, but the Hidden were born, as were the Avowed. We’ve been killing each other ever since.”
Dri empties her stein and stares off at nothing, her gaze haunted. I sit there, silently reeling, and try to make sense of everything she just told me.
“But why the separate sides? What Lazza’s family did was wrong,” I state, not making sense of why anyone could have sided with them.
Dri chuckles humorlessly.
“If it were only that simple,” she states flatly. “You see, it started with people who cared more for power than for what was right or wrong, but it has morphed into more than that now. Atrocities have been meted out by both sides. Lazza and Treno’s family have been systematically slaughtered. Ryn lost his sister, and the rest of his family slowly took each other out too.
“Sice’s parents left to become Hidden, but he stayed here because his gryphon called to a female who refused to leave. Her family put a stop to the match because of his parents’ choice, and she killed herself a couple months later. There’s so much pain and anger wrapped around everyone now. There’s no hope of reconciliation. There’s no clear right or wrong anymore.”
Dri and I both jump as three more steins slam down on the table, and Sice sits back down next to us. We jump apart, our gossip session now interrupted and over. I try to hide my irritated huff, but there’s so much I want to ask about Zeph and Ryn, about this war. About Treno and the role he and his brother played. From what Dri is saying, it’s as though the sons are being judged by the actions of their parents. All of them were best friends at one point—do they not have any affection or respect left for one another at all?
“Your turn to toast, milady,” Sice exclaims, and I choke on the meade I just pulled into my mouth. I cough and slap my chest.
“What do I toast to?” I ask, wracking my brain for the toasts I’ve heard in my life. So far they’ve usually been to family or to the bride and groom at a wedding. Pretty sure I’ve heard one about sex, but none of that is appropriate right now.
“Well, do your people have a battle cry or something you say to get a warrior’s blood moving?” he asks casually, like that’s something everyone should have. I try to think through things people say in the military, but I can’t think of anything as Sice just stares at me expectantly. And then it hits me.
I stand up and slam my stein against his and shout, “Wakanda Forever!”
Sice and Dri both grunt, slam their own mugs against mine, and shout out the same thing. The next thing I know, the whole tavern is doing it. I chuckle, not able to help myself, and sit back down. Black Panther is the shit...no matter what world you live in.
10
I groan and stretch, the cool sheets on the bed a balm to my sweaty and fevered skin. Fuck, I’m hungover.
I breathe through a wave of nausea that rolls through me, internally chanting the mantra
you will not fucking puke, Falon. Pigeon flashes me an image of Sice doing the “Single Ladies” dance, and I snort-laugh.
“Shit, I did teach them that, didn’t I?” I ask, trying to recall the fuzzy details. “Damn, Sice owned it though! That dude has rhythm.”
Pigeon chuff-purrs her amusement, sending me other flashes of the dumb shit the three of us did last night. She finds particular enjoyment in the time I almost peed myself from laughing, all because Dri fell out of her chair. One minute she was sitting there, and the next, she’s on the floor. At the time, it was the funniest fucking thing ever.
I groan again as I try to sit up, and my head revolts.
“Nope. That’s going to be a hard pass,” I announce. “Today is going to be a lay around kind of day.”
I move to flop back down when a new basket on the tree trunk table draws my attention. I didn’t hear anyone knock, let alone come in, this morning. I’m not sure what to think about the fact that someone was in here when I was dead to the world and unaware. My need to find out what’s in the basket trumps my headache, and I roll myself off the bed like the lazy slug that I currently am. I caterpillar crawl my way over there, dismissing the flickers of judgment Pigeon sends my way as I do.
I pull the lid off the basket and then stare for a minute as I process the folded pile of leather in front of me. I reach in and pull out the buttery soft item at the top, and it unfolds to reveal a pair of pants. I study the front and then the back, and then pull them to my chest for a hug. Treno gifted me with a huge stack of...pants. I squeal and then put my palm to my head, because that was a really bad idea in my current state.
I pull all of the pants out of the basket so I can inspect them, and I’m surprised to see something similar to the bras that I had Tysa make for me. I’m confused for a moment about how Treno knew to have these made, but I’m distracted by what’s on the bottom of the basket. A fawn leather bound book sits like a dirty little secret under the best gifts I’ve ever been given, and I snatch it out and immediately open it.
Noor Solei is written as clear as day, and I run my fingers over the name reverently. I doubted that there was a connection between me and this familiar named stranger before, but as I stare down at the writing in the book, I know I’m connected to it. It’s too familiar not to be my mother’s. I try to talk myself down and not get my hopes up just in case I’m wrong. But excitement and wonder surges through me anyway.
I look around my room, aware that I’m not supposed to have this, and hug it protectively as I make my way back to the bed. I can just picture the outraged face Purt would have if he were to see me right now with one of the precious archive books. It makes this all the better. I wrap the soft cool sheets around me and stare at what I hope are answers now sitting in my palms.
I hesitate to open it, suddenly feeling the weight of expectation sitting firmly in my grasp. These writings could say anything, and I’m not quite sure if I’m ready to find out that my parents were mass murderers or any of the other number of possibilities that could be floating inside these pages. Or worse, what if my hopes and nerves are all for nothing because Noor Solei was a lovely woman with no relation to me whatsoever?
I wonder briefly how this book is even here at all, especially since Purt was just telling me that it had gone missing. Was he fucking with me? Or was it just returned, and the powers that be approved my seeing it? That may be the easiest answer, but for whatever reason, I don’t think it’s the correct one.
If I have permission to see this book, why was it wrapped in makeshift bras and hidden under the pile of pants? No, I’d bet that my first instincts are right on, and I’m not supposed to have this. If that’s the case, then it means Treno must have either had this book or had it found. Both possibilities open up a floodgate of questions that unfortunately he’s not here to answer. It will have to wait until he’s back and I can grill him.
I stroke the light brown cover again and take a deep breath. How it got here needs to be worried about later; the fact that it’s here needs to be dealt with now. Pigeon gets all cozy inside of me, like she’s ready for story time. I reach out to her for comfort, and she beak bumps me in my mind. I open the book, read the name Noor Solei one more time, and dive in.
It’s odd to see my parents after all this time. They arrive, expecting the same wide-eyed and compliant little girl that they dropped off all those years ago, but I am not her anymore. This place has achieved what my parents hoped it would. I am not only worthy in blood, but now worthy in my manner and affectation. I have been molded to be the best of this year’s Offerings, to take my place in society, a society where we are bound and have nothing. Not even our actions are our own.
This was the way for my mother, my mother’s mother, and so on as far as can be remembered. But I find no comfort in knowing that. Today, I will write my truths in the book my parents gifted me. Tomorrow, I will be paraded in front of the Winged and Marked alike.
I’ll be expected to ignore the desires of my other
half and instead make an alliance. One that will keep the blood of my line strong, and more often than not, keep a mate under their boot. It is not our voices or our minds that matter, but what else can be expected when there is no call and no answer? Without those two, there is no truth, and everything that I am and everything that’s expected of me is a lie.
I read the passage again and swallow back the despair and sense of duty that it conjures in me. There’s a hopelessness in the words. I’m surprised that even in her most private thoughts, there’s no hint of fight, just a resigned acceptance that this sucks and there’s nothing she will do about it. I turn the page.
Tonight did not go as expected. This year’s Offerings filled the room, each of us primped and styled in the most fashionable and desirable of ways. I was lucky that my parents provided me a gown. Some of the other Offerings were only given jewelry, and some not even that. I know what we were trained to do, but to be expected to stand featherless and nude, on a night like this, has a level of desperation to it that I’m surprised to find in this class of people.
I did my best to make all the expected connections. I moved in a desirable way, hinted at what I was capable of. Flashed the power of a partial shift here and there. It was all going as planned. The brightest of the Winged had their eyes on me, and I knew I would secure a good pairing and make my line proud.
Then he walked in.
His presence ate up the shadows. His power moved through the room like the threat it was. He wasn’t expected, and no one still knows why he was there. Some of the Ouphe of old would claim our kind. Not usually in public and not usually as a mate, but the inevitable offspring were bestowed with power all the same. That power became a commodity. Those of us who fit in the in-between, not quite Ouphe, not quite Gryphon, learned to use the power and our gifts to our advantage. We were once outcasts among both races, but now we were sought after.