On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  He believed that he was helping them, but when Kera glanced toward Aurora, it was clear where Aurora stood on this matter. Joining these men on their death march would lead them to one outcome—violence. If, by some strange stroke of luck, their presence interrupted the death march and the soldiers who killed John did not appear as they should, then John and all his men would shift and transform into some of the worst nightwalkers imaginable while Aurora, Kera, and the children were right in their midst.

  Somehow, even in death, Mori was finding ways to make her life difficult. She wondered faintly which one of them was really struggling to let the other go. “Colonel, I really must protest,” she tried again. “And a griffon fight? Truly?”

  “One doesn’t fight with griffons,” John told her, lowering his voice as if telling a secret. “One merely bids them hello.”

  Camp was struck faster than Kera could think. Faith swayed as she looked at all the ghosts rushing this way and that to make things ready for them, while her mother scowled at every transition with mounting fury.

  “I’m sorry,” Kera whispered to Aurora. Aiden squirmed in her arms, blinking wearily at their surroundings without any curiosity at all.

  “Sorry isn’t going to get us out of this mess,” Aurora whispered back. The horses were getting saddled for them, and both of Najah’s steeds were whinnying anxiously as the ghosts worked them over.

  “I tried—”

  “I know you tried, Lady,” the title sounded far more gentle than Kera had expected. Aurora even followed it with a hand on her arm, squeezing just enough to show she cared. “But we’re still riding in their march.”

  “We are, and we’ll have to figure out how to manage that but—”

  John barked out an order for his own mount to be brought over, and Aiden kicked Kera’s sides as he wriggled about to see. He propped his bony chin on her shoulder, digging in painfully as he wiggled. Kera shook her head and leaned back toward Aurora.

  “But,” she restarted, “he knows about the griffons, I think. Maybe we can—”

  “It’s shining!” Aiden hissed loud enough to hurt Kera’s ear. She winced and turned, trying to see what had caught her son’s attention, only to find herself staring in shock at the gorgeous stallion walking toward them.

  Tall and proud, it glowed with the same ethereal blue that outlined John’s body. “Ma,” Aiden whisper-shouted again. “Ma, it’s shining! The horse’s shining!” He finished the proclamation with a loud cough that hacked deep from his lungs. He wheezed as his throat croaked around each breath, and Kera swatted his spine sharply in three places before he finally managed to get whatever needed to be dislodged out.

  John took hold of his steed with a proud hand at the bridle. He adjusted his reins and showed off a particularly graceful bow. “I see you like my good fellow here; this is Reilly, and Reilly is the best steed you could ask for, I’ll have you know.” He winked as he brought the horse closer for inspection. Faith peered at it in wonder even as Aiden waggled his fingers toward its sleek hair. “You know,” John said conspiratorially. “I’m trying to get Mori to agree to foal Holly when the war’s done. Can you imagine the bloodline these two could make?”

  Aiden’s face contorted, and he rubbed the back of his palm beneath his nose before announcing, “Holly died,” in a perfectly clear voice that left no room for argument.

  John recoiled as if struck. His gaze snapped from son to mother in a moment. “She what? How do you— When? I didn’t hear this. Is Mori all right?”

  “It was recent,” Kera hurried to explain, adjusting Aiden so he wasn’t quite so close to the horse or John. “Very recent, you wouldn’t have known.”

  “But I . . . I’m so sorry. And Mori, he’s all right? He loved that horse . . .”

  Aiden whined, “Holly—”

  “—died saving her rider’s life,” Kera interjected, jostling her boy, even though she doubted he had any idea what he was being corrected for. “She was a hero.”

  “That’s . . . that’s the important part isn’t it?” John sighed wearily. “I had hoped that she’d make it through, though. If only because she seemed so immortal.”

  “Yes . . .” Kera whispered. “She did.”

  John shook his head as he told them to get mounted. They did. Slowly, and carefully, trading glances and wordlessly trying to convey every uncertain emotion they felt without letting John know just how desperate they were to not proceed.

  After learning about Holly, however, John didn’t seem nearly as interested in watching over their every movement. It gave Kera time to give both Faith and Aurora a hug and a kiss. It gave Aurora time to whisper a quiet assurance to Aiden. They mounted as carefully as they could, but Kera checked first to make sure that the cinch was tight enough to handle a quick ride if they needed to escape, and that Aiden was well secured at her front.

  “Ah, ready to go, then?” John asked once they’d settled in. “Let’s go . . .” He whistled once, sharply, then led the way, posture still slumped despite having the perfect opportunity to rally and hide behind the shield of an aloof soldier’s façade.

  It felt strangely familiar. And as Kera looked at him, she couldn’t help but see precisely what Mori had seen in him. For all his initially perceived arrogance, he was a rather gentle soul. A handsome boy who didn’t shy behind his wealth and privilege, and still managed to be sympathetic to those in pain was a rare thing indeed.

  Though if she were being honest with herself, she would say that, like Mori, John was very good at playing pretend. His smiles were perhaps too forced. His jokes seemed outdated and rehearsed. He played the game well, acting as a nobleman and gentleman in front of his men, but Kera recognized the pauses. She understood the hesitation. She’d seen all this before.

  He spent the good first portion of their ride telling Kera and Aurora about his men. He answered Faith’s questions when she was brave enough to ask them, and he delighted in sharing details that made Aurora’s nose turn up in disapproval. Kera had heard all of these before, but was startled to find that the teasing she’d enjoyed in Mori’s rendition no longer made her smile. Mori had wooed her with the same blue coat, the same boisterous nature, and the same fearless appetite for adventure. But she was no longer the same woman she’d been all those years ago.

  At some point, she’d grown up. She’d changed.

  And John, trapped forever as a twenty-seven-year-old child, would never do the same.

  “Are you all right?” Aurora asked Kera after they’d been riding for almost a mile in silence. She guided her gelding so it nearly bumped sides with hers. John’s head tilted just enough to show that he’d heard Aurora’s question and was awaiting the answer.

  Kera sighed. They’d have no privacy here. “I’m fine, Widget,” she said slowly. They’d discuss it later, when she could take the time to analyze her thoughts and put them into words and didn’t have anyone else’s ears listening in. Aurora hesitated, then nodded.

  “You told her about my doll?” Faith whined, blushing so hard she nearly illuminated the night all on her own.

  Kera grinned. “It was such a lovely story, Faith; how could I not have enjoyed it?”

  Faith groaned miserably, closing her eyes as though she intended to will herself to sleep.

  Clearing her throat, Kera called out to their escort, “What are your plans after the war?” She wondered if he’d ever given any thought to anything outside of his present.

  John slowed his horse so they were riding side by side. “Well, if you must know, my father has requested that I join him in our new government as a lawyer or representative.” It was the kind of delicate response Aurora would never let her get away with anymore. The carefully worded refrain that provided information without insight, and sought no deeper understanding. Kera knew Curtis Sarren’s plans for John already. She’d heard them from him as he bemoaned the loss of his son and the great good he thought John could have done for their country.

  “But what do you wa
nt to do?” she asked.

  “Oh, if left to my own devices, I’d go home, find a poor beggar, and give them my inheritance,” John informed her with a wink, and his sadness near invisible behind a brilliant smile flush with teeth.

  “Colonel.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Nobody would believe you,” Aurora said, though her recent contempt and distrust was subdued for the first time since they’d been forced to accompany him.

  John had to lean forward to get a good look at Aurora, and he prodded his spectral horse a bit faster to manage it. “Why is that? Have I said something untrustworthy?”

  “Your father was Trent’s top regional authority before the war, you may as well say what you are: you’re a prince, and if you had any sense you would have supported Trent, not Absalon, in this war because you’d have ruled over everything by birthright. And you’re talking about just giving it all away.”

  “Yes.” John’s smile was gone. His pretending at an end. Somewhere, a director was standing offstage, scratching their head as he abruptly went off his script, changing his story mid-play. “My father and I both agree that Trent’s involvement in Absalon is a mistake. Father may be trying to salvage his wealth from betraying the king, but I see no justice in that. We have power because our family was meant to be loyal. If we’re not loyal, we don’t deserve that power. It is as simple as that. I don’t want the money, or the title. I just want my wife and daughter to know I did it for the right reasons.”

  Kera’s eyes strayed toward the beaded braid tucked behind John’s ear. As a True Lord, Amit had never worn braids or beads, but Ruug was well-known for the tradition. The braids each having a meaning, the beads each telling their own story.

  “You have a daughter?” Aurora asked, hugging Faith a bit tighter.

  “Suppose I do.” He shrugged awkwardly, not seeming to know what to do with his body. “I never met her . . . the war . . .” By now, John’s daughter would be around Ira’s or her first Aiden’s age . . . A young woman embarking on her maturity.

  Kera didn’t know much about John’s daughter, only that Mori had ruminated over whether or not to send her copies of her father’s letters after his death. In the end, greed had won out. Mori hadn’t wanted to part with a single letter, and he’d kept them closeted away, far out of sight, never to be talked about. “Her name’s Circe . . . and if by some divine intervention I survive this war, I’ve been thinking about bringing them over. Set up a home . . . here or maybe up in Ship’s Landing?” It was a shy suggestion. He looked at her from under his lashes, and she told him it sounded like a fine idea. He flushed a little and bit his lip.

  “Divine intervention?” Faith asked, no longer pretending to be asleep.

  He shrugged again, carelessly rolling his right shoulder and avoiding eye contact. “I’ve never had much luck, it seems.”

  He knows something, Kera realized, panic jolting through her body. Aurora whispered her name as quietly as she could. She tilted her head toward a long path off to the right. They should go. Now, before this got worse. Kera’s pulse was thrumming far too fast. She swallowed and adjusted her hold on her son.

  If they veered off the path, there was no telling what John and his men would do. They were all armed. Their guns still shot bullets. Each soldier had the same number of balls and powder that they had when they died, replenished endlessly for their march.

  “You’re frightened,” John murmured, his voice seeming to echo through the endless rows of trees.

  Every part of Kera’s body became aware of Aiden in front of her. His small shoulders, his flattening curls, the tremors that she’d started to grow numb to throughout their journey. Her ears fixated on the sound of his strained breathing, the way he sniffled. If she strained hard enough, she could have sworn she heard a heart beating, and all the logic in the world couldn’t convince her it was her own.

  She held her son close. She looked back toward the path in the trees, watching as they passed it by. They kept moving forward.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” John continued. “I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kera said. Aiden’s head turned up beneath her chin. His skin burned hot on her flesh.

  “My wife . . . well she has a bit of magic, she says our daughter does too, and well . . . she also said I’ll not be seeing the end of this war. I’ll die here.”

  Kera’s head snapped around even as Aurora gasped, “Here?” as if the violence they’d been courting was going to fall upon them now that they knew the truth.

  “Oh, probably not here,” he amended. “But I won’t survive the war. I know that.”

  “She’s never been wrong?”

  “No. Never. And in any case, it hardly matters. I’ve made my peace with my end,” he said like a man who very much hadn’t made peace with his end. The stage was still set for his soliloquy and the director was ready to push him back into position, but there were emotions evolving by the second on his face. Discomfort and uncertainty warring with acceptance and understanding. “There’s no point in thinking of after the war. I won’t have an after the war.”

  Kera couldn’t look at him anymore. She buried her nose in her son’s hair, kissing his cheek and trying desperately to pull back on her own emotions that threatened to bubble out en force. In all the stories and tales he’d shared, Mori had never told her about John’s wife. He’d never mentioned John’s belief that he would die. “You never told my husband this,” Kera accused. She didn’t look up.

  “He’d have worried. We’re in a war, my lady . . . he doesn’t need to be worrying about something he can’t change. And with any luck, when it happens, I’ll die alone, and your husband will be nowhere nearby to be caught in the crossfire.” She flinched badly at the mere idea of it. An echo of a sob pulled up from her memories. A sob loud enough to draw tears from the sky, as Mori read the note that offered condolences for John Sarren’s death in battle. “I would appreciate if you didn’t tell him until then.”

  It was a promise she felt no hesitation in giving. “I won’t tell him.” The blue light of his outline gleamed ever brighter in gratitude.

  They pushed the horses on. And despite the possible escapes they could have attempted, Kera couldn’t bring herself to try.

  They rode through most of the night. Aurora’s discomfort and misery grew by the second. Kera could feel her anxiety like a physical thing. It latched itself to the base of her neck and pulsated up through her brain. Aiden and Faith had fallen asleep some hours back, both too exhausted to be entertained by their circumstances. Faith had started shaking badly at one point, but they hadn’t stopped. They’d just kept pressing onward, while Aurora whispered words in her ear and Kera tried convincing herself that she hadn’t seen a flutter of a cloak deep in the night.

  “Why did you write the notes in Mori’s book?” Kera asked after a long period of silence.

  “He’d been foolish enough to ride into a griffon nest. I thought it would keep him from doing something like that again.” She had suspected as much. From what she had gathered . . . he hadn’t been happy with Mori’s recklessness at the very least. That was almost endearing, now that she thought about it. Risking life and limb was acceptable if he was the one doing it, but gods forbid one of his loved ones take the chance.

  “They’re incredibly detailed . . .” It was an invitation to say more on the topic, and for the first time all night, John actually appeared somewhat embarrassed. He kept his eyes in front of him, watching their path as he decided what to say.

  “I . . . I used to live by the Long Lakes.” His words grew softer and softer until Kera needed to strain to hear them. “I’d go for walks in the woods, and from time to time I’d see them flying. They don’t mind children. In fact, I rather think they liked having me there. I used to take leaves of parchment up with me and try to sketch them. I was quite bad at it.”

  “You wouldn’t know it from those scribblings,” Aurora muttere
d. “What? I’m just saying, the ones in the book. They seemed decent.” It might have been the nicest thing she’d said to John since they met, and it was still only partly true. They’d been more than decent. He had been systematic in his etchings. Each shape and figure had been proportional and particular. He had even added shading around the joints and the feathers to provide a clearer picture. Everything from the talons to the feathers to the beak had been drawn with flawless precision as far as Kera was aware.

  Still, despite the subdued compliment, John flushed and fumbled around his thank-you. “Griffons . . . they’ve earned a reputation for being very difficult to work with and manage. Perhaps because most who encounter them fear that they are mindless beasts. Their very place in the Bestiary is still something I’m uncertain about . . . they’re not quite the mindless creatures that you might believe them to be.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “I do,” he said. “They speak, they reason, they have communities and logic. When you reach the griffons, you need only ask for their help. Don’t take anything they haven’t offered freely, don’t try to steal anything you presume is just a castoff. Just trust them. Just ask. That’s all you need to do.”

  “They’re monsters,” Aurora argued. “The hunters—”

  “Should never have gone after them to begin with, and they deserve what they got,” John snapped back savagely. His temper flared up hot and quick, the blue burning so bright it was nearly blinding.

  “Did you speak with them often?” Kera asked, trying desperately to calm him before either one of them could make the situation worse.

  It seemed to help. He settled, even though he sent a few irritated glances Aurora’s way the whole while. “I used to tell them about home, and they would tell me about their homes. About their society. It’s how I know so much about them—they told me, and I listened.”