The Gryphon's Lair

by Kelley Armstrong

  Tapestries hang from the stone walls as both decoration and insulation. Each bears a scene depicting my parents’ favorite beasts. A pegasus and a warg for my mother. A firebird for Dad. As I study the hangings, I avoid looking at the spot where my father’s other favorite had once hung: the tapestry of a gryphon. In its place is my father’s sword; below it, my mother recently added my aunt Jannah’s secondary blade.

  When I was seven, a gryphon killed my father before Jannah slew it. Then, six weeks ago, another gryphon killed her. Rhydd should have been the one to inherit her ebony sword. He’s the younger twin—if only by two minutes—so I was in line for the throne while he was meant to be the royal monster hunter. Except the gryphon also badly injured Rhydd’s leg, and that gave us the chance to switch places, which we’d always wanted.

  I feel the weight of what those swords on the wall signify. Mom’s husband and her beloved younger sister were both killed by gryphons. And now her only children stand before her, having admitted to sneaking off and being attacked by wyverns.

  “It was my fault,” I blurt, unable to bear the silence any longer. “The game was my idea.”

  “It wasn’t a game,” Rhydd says. “It was a hunting exercise.”

  Mom wheels on him. “Was it?”

  He swallows visibly and then straightens. “Yes, Your Majesty. Rowan has been thrust into the role of royal monster hunter four years before she should have had to wield the ebony sword. She needs experience. No one forced me to go with her. In fact, when we faced off against the wyvern, she wanted me to stay back.”

  Mom pales, the same look she gets every time someone mentions our encounters with the gryphon. I’ve learned what that look means—she’s picturing her children in front of a beast big enough to devour them.

  I hurry on. “We were fine. It was the four of us, plus a warg and a unicorn, against a wyvern.”

  “Jacko helped,” Rhydd says with an easy smile, trying to distract Mom.

  Mom doesn’t even seem to hear him. She just meets my gaze and says, “Two.” When I fumble for a response, she goes on. “Two wyverns, Rowan. Either of them could have killed you. Rhydd, you say it was a training exercise, yes?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “To hunt a chickcharney,” I add quickly. “Not a wyvern.”

  “So there was no wager?” Mom asks. “No competition?”

  Neither of us answers. We don’t need to. She’s our mother. She knows.

  “If it was truly an exercise,” she continues, “you would have taken an adult hunter to oversee it and ensure you didn’t—oh, I don’t know—attract the attention of a pair of wyverns.”

  I open my mouth.

  She keeps going. “You left under false pretenses. You said you were going on a picnic to Valles Meadow. You behaved like children. You are not children. You can no longer be children. This was breathtakingly irresponsible, and for the next week, when you are not in lessons, you will both be confined to your quarters.”

  * * *

  I’m in the hall outside Mom’s sitting room, slumped on the floor, petting Jacko. My mother and Berinon think I’m back in my room while Rhydd is off doing his rehabilitation exercises. Instead, I’m here, listening to them and feeling worse with each word.

  “We did the same things when we were their age, Mari,” Berinon says.

  “Did we?” Mom snaps. “I don’t seem to recall any wyvern encounters in our games.”

  Berinon’s voice drops. “I know you’re upset, but this…it’s Rowan’s…”

  “It’s her life? Is that what you’re going to remind me, Ber? That my daughter’s life will be spent facing beasts that can kill her? Because that is exactly what I need to hear right now.”

  After a moment, Berinon murmurs, “They’re children, Mariela. Twelve years old. If they weren’t getting into trouble, we’d be worried that they weren’t the kind of rulers Tamarel needs. They must experience the world for themselves and play…just play.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” My mother’s voice cracks. “Do you think I am not very aware of how unfair this is to them? You’re right. They should be playing. Enjoying the last of their childhood. Instead, Rowan already carries a sword that barely fits on her back. Do you think my heart doesn’t break when I see that?”

  Berinon murmurs something I don’t catch. There’s a scuffle inside, as if he moved to comfort Mom and she backed away.

  “No,” she says sharply. “I hate this, Ber. Hate it with every bone in my body. Yet what is the alternative? Let Heward’s children take the throne and the sword?” They may be next in line, but we know who would truly wield the power. Heward.

  Mom continues. “A man who will plunder our kingdom the way he plunders his own lands. Overtaxes and overworks the people who depend on him, and I cannot do a blasted thing about it, despite the fact that I am queen. Queen.”

  This is the way our country works. Tamarel was once a land of clans, with no single ruler. We lie between the sea and the mountains, both of which are rife with monsters. Clan Dacre always had the best monster hunters, so our ancestors made a deal with the other clans. If Clan Dacre drove the monsters back to mountain and sea, the clans would unite under our rule, and in return for the throne, we would keep the land safe.

  I am descended from the first king, whose sister was the first royal monster hunter. However, it wasn’t just those two who cleared the land. It was the entire clan. So we rule with their help…whether we want it or not.

  Mom is the head of the royal council, with four other clan members who vote on all major decisions. In the event of a tie, Mom casts the deciding vote. If they vote against her, though, she cannot veto their decision. She also can’t interfere with the holdings of other ranking clan members, like Heward.

  The restrictions on a monarch’s power do serve a purpose. For a good ruler, like Mom, those constraints are frustrating, especially when she sees parts of her land being mismanaged. However, if we ever did get a bad ruler, like Heward, then we’d be grateful for those constraints.

  When Berinon does speak, I hear only the low rumble of his voice. He’s calm, as always, reassuring her.

  “I just want my children to be children,” she replies. “That is the one gift every parent should be able to give.”

  Except Rhydd and I can’t be children anymore. The country needs us to take the two most important jobs in Tamarel, which means not running off to play hunting games that could get us both killed.

  When footsteps pad my way, I leap up. Alianor rounds the corner. She has been living at the castle for the past month, part of a peace treaty between my mother and her father.

  Seeing her, I tense. It’s one thing for me to eavesdrop on Mom and Berinon, but Alianor shouldn’t hear their private discussion.

  Still holding Jacko, I jerk my chin to say that we should move. She hesitates, glancing toward my mother’s room. I shake my head sharply and motion her away.

  When we’re far enough down the hall to speak, she says, “Your mother’s with Berinon.”

  “He’s her bodyguard.”

  A few more steps. “I’ve heard rumors—”

  “And you won’t spread them,” I say, as evenly as I can.

  “You know what I mean, then. People say there’s more than friendship between them.”

  “I have seen and heard nothing to suggest that,” I say stiffly as I head toward my room.

  “Your father has been gone five years. If your mother found someone—”

  “Then I would accept it. I’m not a child who expects her mother to live alone for the rest of her days. I’m saying that I have seen nothing, and if you spread that particular bit of speculation, we will no longer be friends.”

  Her eyes flash. “You’re threatening me over a silly romantic rumor?”

  “No, Alianor, I’m threatening you over a st
ory that jeopardizes my mother’s throne. While some people might think it’s romantic, others spread the rumor to undermine my mother. A romance with her bodyguard? That is beneath her. And the fact he was my father’s best friend is a betrayal of his memory.”

  “He was your mother’s friend, too,” she says softly.

  “That doesn’t matter to those who wish to make trouble. Jannah always said that we might allow women to hold the throne and the sword, but they are still treated differently. No one would think twice of a widowed king seeking romance. A queen, though? She’ll neglect her duties, too busy with her new love.”

  Alianor snorts. “That is ridiculous.”

  “Yes, but unless you have a problem with my mother’s reign, I’ll ask you not to talk about her and Berinon. If you choose to, I’ll presume you do have issues with her reign, and at that point, we can no longer be friends.”

  She goes silent.

  “Serious issues with her reign,” I correct. “Obviously you have minor complaints. Mom always says that any subject who claims to agree with everything their queen does is either a liar or a fool. You are not the latter, and you don’t need to be the former around me.”

  She chuckles softly at that. Then she sobers and says, “I’m still getting used to court life. Back home, I wouldn’t have thought twice about spreading romantic gossip. If they aren’t married, what’s the harm?” She looks at me. “I see the harm now. If anyone asks me about them, I’ll say I know nothing of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  I push open my bedroom door. Jacko zooms past and hops to the fire, where Malric sprawls. Eyes closed, the warg curls his lip in a low growl that has Jacko skidding to a halt.

  They play a game then, one I call “how close can Jacko get to the fire?” Jacko takes a step in one direction. Malric allows it. Another step. Growl. When Jacko finally settles on a spot, it’s just past the point where Malric growled. Jacko must always push that boundary, and the fact that Malric doesn’t toss him across the room suggests the warg respects that.

  I’m still stepping through the doorway when a peep startles me, and I look over to see the chickcharney on my bed.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I walk to it—to her, actually. I’d checked that on the way home. The last time I saw the beast, Dain was offering to take her as Rhydd and I went in to confess to our mother. I’d told him where to take the chickcharney, too.

  “Does this look like the chicken coop?” I mutter.

  “Kinda does,” Alianor says as she bounces on my bed. “A menagerie, at least. Between the live beasts and the stuffed ones and your sketches…” She sweeps a hand around my room. “I get the feeling you’re, like, the royal monster hunter or something.”

  I sigh and pick up the chickcharney. She settles onto my lap, which is kind of awkward since she can’t bend her legs.

  “Thank you for not eating the chickcharney, Malric,” I say.

  He grunts without opening his eyes.

  “Thank Dain,” Alianor says, “for filling the warg’s food bowl when he dropped off the bird.”

  “I’d thank him more for not dropping off the bird at all.”

  “She can keep you company, since you’ll apparently be spending a lot of time in here, having not taken my advice.”

  “Rhydd and I don’t lie to our mother.”

  “But it would have been a good lie. Helped you and helped your mother. That’s lying for the best possible reason.”

  I shake my head.

  She twists to look at me, her light-brown hair falling over one shoulder. “No one was seriously injured. You could have said you and Sunniva hurt yourselves goofing around. Dain would have kept your secret.”

  “Right, Dain would have had to lie to Wilmot…and anyone else who asked. Then, if someone did discover the truth, Mom would have had to admit that she couldn’t control her children. That the future king and royal monster hunter aren’t just mischievous kids who get into trouble hunting chickcharnies. That they’re untrustworthy brats who lie about it to their queen. It’d be one more thing for Heward to use against her. She’s a single parent, still grieving over her sister, and paying no attention to her wild and irresponsible children, probably because she’s busy cuddling with her bodyguard.”

  “Have you ever seen her cuddling—?”

  “No. Stop that.”

  She thumps back onto the bed. “It’s just so romantic. The queen and her bodyguard, thrown together by the death of her beloved husband and his beloved friend, finding solace in their grief…”

  I reach under the bed and shove a book into her hand.

  “What’s this?” She turns the pages, and her eyes light up. “The Ballad of Chikako and Reynard. You read romantic novels?”

  “No, but it seems you need to, so you can have that one. My aunt gave me a few, for when I got interested. I’m not yet.”

  Alianor’s eyes got round. “Jannah read romantic novels?”

  “Why not?”

  “Is it true about Jannah and Wilmot—?”

  “Stop. Please, stop. Go read, and if that isn’t enough, I’m sure we can find you a handsome stable boy to moon over.”

  “I don’t want to moon over anyone. I just like hearing stories. I’ll take this one, with thanks.”

  She puts it aside and settles in. “I’ll be careful about your mom, too. I thought being a warlord’s daughter was complicated. It’s easy compared to being a princess.”

  I shrug and pet the chickcharney. “If I were a scullery maid, I’d have fewer responsibilities, but I wouldn’t have this room. Or my monster companions. Or my dresses, my jewels, my books, my weapons, my mare…We are well compensated for our hardships.”

  “You would have made a good queen, Rowan.”

  “I’ll make a better royal monster hunter.”

  “True. And while you will not like being confined to your room, you do have something to look forward to. The gryphon will give birth any day now.” She catches my stricken expression and stops. “Surely your mother will lift your punishment for that.”

  I hug the chickcharney tight enough to make the beast squirm. “She can’t.”

  Alianor considers and then nods. “Because if she grants an exception to your punishment, it can be seen as weakness.” She sighs and leans against the headboard. “The next time we go hunting, Heward should come along. For the experience. It’s not our fault if you attract monsters. Not our fault if a wyvern thinks Heward smells delicious. Definitely not our fault if that’s because someone substituted beef tallow for his shaving cream.”

  She grins my way, but I barely notice, my stomach roiling at the thought of missing the gryphon birth.

  “Maybe I can convince Mom it’s a lesson,” I say. “When else will I get a chance to watch a gryphon give birth?”

  I expect Alianor to jump on this. Instead, she goes quiet, and when I look over, she says carefully, “But if you ask and she has to say no, that’s going to upset her, right? She’s already upset about having to punish you.”

  I sink back onto the bed. I could argue, but doing the “right thing” isn’t really in Alianor’s vocabulary. If even she’s suggesting I shouldn’t ask…

  This is part of growing up. Of being mature and responsible. A child can think “there’s no harm in asking.” But it will hurt Mom to refuse something I want so badly, and I’d be putting her in a difficult position if I asked.

  I messed up. This is my punishment. I need to accept it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Two nights later, I’m woken by Malric’s growl. I leap up, sending Jacko tumbling off me. Chikako—the chickcharney—peeps from her night cage, where she sleeps with my stuffed chickcharney.

  Malric is nowhere to be seen, and I exhale with relief. My aunt’s dying command tasked him with my care, and I’ve been unable to persuade him to abandon
his post, however much he hates it. This isn’t the first time I’ve woken to his growl and had this sudden image of the warg ridding himself of me with one clamp of his powerful jaws.

  He is not, however, looming over my bed, slavering on my helpless sleeping form. Jacko chitters in mild annoyance at being woken, which suggests I’m the one who woke both him and Chikako. In other words, I must have dreamed Malric’s growl. Before I close my eyes again, I can’t help but glance over at Malric’s bowl…in case my dream was suggesting I’d forgotten to refill it.

  His bowl holds only bones, meaning Malric has eaten. However, the warg himself is not in his spot by the smoldering fire.

  “Rowan?” an unsteady voice says. “Could you please remind him I’m a friend?”

  I look to see Alianor just inside my door…with Malric blocking her, a silent growl rippling his sides.

  “Malric?” I say. “I’m awake now. But thank you for your concern.” I turn to Alianor. “He knows you’re a friend. That’s why you’re still in one piece.”

  She lets out a wavering laugh.

  “I’m serious,” I say as I swing my legs out of the bed. “His job is to protect me from anyone who comes in here at night. He’d block even Rhydd. He won’t hurt you, but he’ll make sure you stay back until I’m awake.”

  “Wow. That’s some watchdog.”

  “Bodyguard,” I correct. “Monsters aren’t animals.”

  She walks over to where I sit on my bed. “You need to teach me more about monsters. All Clan Bellamy cares about is how to avoid them in the mountain passes, but I’ll need more if I’m going to be a monster healer.”

  I arch my brows, and she bounces onto my bed with a grin.

  “Yep,” she says. “I’ve decided to change professions. The kingdom is in need of a proper monster healer, because your current animal healer can’t do the job.”

  “Doctor Tyesha does just fine,” I say. “Yes, her specialty is animals, but she’s learning to treat monsters, too.”

  “Not fast enough. There’s a reason I’m waking you at two in the morning, Rowan, and it isn’t to tell you that I want to be a monster healer. The gryphon is about to give birth.”