The Shadowed Throne Page 9

  “Yes, milady.”

  The worst of the storm had passed by midafternoon, but the rain kept going steadily. None of the griffins in the entire Eyrie would agree to even go outside, no matter what they were offered in the way of rewards or threats.

  Laela had to settle for picking out who would go—with Oeka’s help, of course—and giving them their orders for when the weather cleared. After that, the two of them spent more time with Iorwerth, making plans and choosing strategies.

  Despite all that the time felt completely wasted to Laela, and as the rain pounded stubbornly on the Eyrie roofs, she felt herself growing more and more frustrated. She had Oeka and a pair of bodyguards, but without Ravana, she felt vulnerable in a way that showed her just how much she had come to rely on him. Oeka wasn’t much help either; she was so calm and apparently unconcerned about the situation that she only succeeded in making Laela angrier—and more so because Laela knew full well that complaining about it would just start an argument she would lose.

  Toward nightfall, she gave up on trying to make herself feel better and slouched off to see if she could find out what had happened to the griffin that had been caught in the storm. It was partly idle curiosity, but it should keep her mind off things as well.

  Finding the griffin wasn’t easy. She headed for the storage tower, stopping everybody she met along the way to ask if they knew anything. Nobody seemed to have a clue, until a guard she spoke to said, “I helped bring it in, milady.”

  “Alive?”

  “Yes, milady. I think its leg was hurt, but it walked inside more or less.”

  “Where is it now, then?”

  “We put it in a spare storeroom, milady, just t’rest. It’s down on the bottom level, milady.”

  “Ta.” Laela put her hands in her pockets and headed downward. Another guard along the way confirmed the griffin’s location and led her to it when commanded.

  The injured griffin’s temporary home was indeed a storeroom, one used for old crates. Discarded packing straw was piled everywhere.

  Laela wrinkled her nose as she entered. “Smells of cabbages in here. Thanks anyway—off yeh go.”

  The guard left, and she took a torch from the wall in the corridor and went into the storeroom. Oeka, spitting like a cat at the stench, refused to go in after her.

  The griffin lay curled up in the straw with his back to Laela, but he stirred and lifted his head when she came closer. Yellow eyes gleamed and blinked slowly.

  Close to, Laela could see that the griffin was indeed male, his jet-black ear tufts damp and limp. The rest of his feathers were mottled grey and reminded her of the sky outside.

  Laela bowed slightly to him. “Hello. I’ve come to see if yer all right.”

  The griffin’s head had lowered again. For a moment, he looked as if he were ignoring her, but then he began to move. Slowly, painfully, one front paw folded under his chest and the other grabbing at the floor, he dragged himself around to face her.

  Laela hurried around him to compensate. “There’s no need to move. Yeh can see me here.”

  The griffin watched her silently. Now that she could see his face properly, she thought he looked very odd. His forehead, just behind the beak, bulged upward, and his skull was rounded rather than flat-topped like a normal griffin’s. His beak, greyish pink in colour, was unusually small and matched the slender forelegs.

  “My name’s Laela,” Laela told him regardless. “Queen of Tara.”

  The griffin’s eyes closed, and he made a sound like a sigh.

  “I saw yeh hit the tower,” Laela persisted. “I sent people to bring yeh in. Are yeh all right?”

  Finally, the griffin spoke. “Thank you. I’ll live.” The voice sounded odd; it was slower and richer, less flat than an ordinary griffin’s.

  “That’s good,” said Laela. “Now listen. I wanted to ask yeh, what were yeh doin’ comin’ here, an’ in a storm, too? Is there news yeh got for me?”

  The griffin looked her in the eye—such an unusual thing for a griffin to do that Laela actually took a step back. “I was trying to find this place, and the storm caught me by surprise.”

  “Yer lucky, then,” said Laela. “But why were yeh tryin’ to come here anyway? Do yeh have a human?”

  “No.” The griffin paused. “But I did come here to talk to you, Aee-ya.” This was how all griffins pronounced Laela’s name.

  “What about?” she said at once.

  “What is this fool saying?” Oeka’s harsh voice interrupted. The little griffin sauntered in, stepping delicately around the grubby straw.

  The grey griffin raised his head and looked warily at her. “My name’s Kee-ya-oh,” he said.

  Oeka rose up and smashed her talons into his face, hard enough to draw blood.

  “Hey!” Laela made a grab for Oeka, but quickly changed her mind. “What was that for?”

  “If you dare speak to me this way again, you shall die,” Oeka snarled, ignoring her.

  Kee-ya-oh, if that was his name, said nothing.

  “Now speak,” Oeka said. “Why have you come here? You are not from this territory.”

  Silence.

  “Tell me, or die,” the little griffin said. “You are humanless, and deformed, and should be glad I have not killed you already.”

  “Don’t be like that!” Laela butted in, by now thoroughly alarmed. “He’s done nothin’ wrong.”

  The force of the mental blow sent her reeling. “Silence!” Oeka hissed. “This is not your concern, human. Move away.”

  It had been a long time since Laela had been this frightened of her partner. She said nothing and stepped back to stand near the door.

  Kee-ya-oh didn’t need any more threats. He looked up, blinking away blood. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “Fools are not welcome in my home,” she said, unmoved. “Now tell me. Why have you come here? Do not lie; the truth cannot be hidden from me.”

  “I came here to find a human.”

  Oeka snorted. “Go away and choose a commoner. No human here is lowly enough for a misshapen creature like you.”

  Kee-ya-oh closed his eyes. “Not to choose. I’m looking for a woman called Skade. Is she here?”

  “Skade?” Oeka arched her neck in surprise. “That human is long dead.”

  “Dead . . .” Kee-ya-oh slumped onto the straw. “But did she leave someone? Family?”

  “None,” said Oeka.

  “Her mate,” Kee-ya-oh persisted. “She had a mate.”

  “Yes. The King Arenadd, who was the human of the Mighty Skandar. He was Skade’s mate.”

  “Where is he?” Kee-ya-oh struggled to stand up. “Is he alive?”

  “No.” Oeka glanced at Laela. “That human died as well, not long ago.”

  Kee-ya-oh slumped back onto his belly. “Then I came for nothing.”

  “I’m his daughter.” Laela risked coming closer.

  The grey griffin’s eyes opened. “You?”

  “Yeah, me. I’m Arenadd’s daughter. He left me his Kingdom. Guess the news ain’t spread far.”

  Slowly, and laboriously, Kee-ya-oh stood up. He kept his injured foreleg off the ground, and used his wings to balance. He looked at Laela, sizing her up like prey or an enemy to fight. “You?” he said. “Arenadd’s daughter?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you’re a half-breed!”

  “Filth!” Oeka launched herself at him.

  Kee-ya-oh batted her away with his injured leg. Then he sat on his haunches and did something so shocking that even Oeka backed away smartly.

  He started to laugh.

  Griffins didn’t laugh. They were incapable of it. But Kee-ya-oh did it now. He made an ugly hacking, wheezing sound, and at first it sounded almost like choking. But it was laughter, more or less, and Laela was complet
ely bewildered.

  “We are leaving now,” Oeka said in disgust. “This one is mad.”

  Laela had no intention of arguing. She backed out and followed her partner out of the room.

  Kee-ya-oh paid no attention. He laughed on, not seeming to even notice that they were leaving. As he shook himself, feathers came loose from his chest and drifted down into the straw.

  7

  Half-Breed

  A day passed, and the weather cleared. Kaanee and his fellow griffins set out immediately, leaving Laela and Oeka to their work.

  Laela knew that, until she had more information about Saeddryn’s whereabouts and some idea of just what the High Priestess was up to, there wasn’t much that she herself could do. She and Iorwerth had decided not to make any formal announcements yet; there was no telling how the people would react. A warrant had been put out for Torc’s arrest, for unspecified crimes, and, in the meantime, Iorwerth and the woman who was both his assistant and wife began to sketch out various strategies for defending the city. Laela made sure to involve herself in this and took the opportunity to learn as much as she could about the sort of leadership she would need in wartime. Iorwerth was more than happy to help.

  As for Kee-ya-oh, the misshapen griffin didn’t show himself anywhere in the Eyrie as far as Laela knew. The only thing she heard about him at all was a vague rumour that he had died, but she had too many things on her mind to worry about it too much. She didn’t even mention him to Oeka, let alone ask the small griffin why she had treated him so viciously. That was a road Laela instinctively knew wouldn’t lead anywhere good. The whole incident had been a powerful reminder of just how arrogant power had made her partner—and how much more dangerous that had made her become.

  More than once, Laela remembered the horrible jolt in her mind, and silently thanked the gods that Oeka was on her side.

  Another day passed, as tensely as the one before it. Laela had the entire priesthood arrested and interrogated—nonviolently, to begin with. She doubted any of them knew anything, but it paid to be careful. None of them had anything useful to say, and she debated for a long time before doing what she did next.

  She had the Wolf priestess brought up from the dungeon to the audience chamber.

  The woman arrived, looking pale and very frightened. Two guards stood on either side of her, and she wisely stayed still and said nothing.

  “Tell me yer name,” Laela said, without ceremony.

  “Gwenna, my lady.”

  “Yer the Wolf priestess, right?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Good. Now listen up, Gwenna.” Laela stood on her platform, hands on hips. “By now yeh probably know why yeh spent today locked up. Am I right?”

  “The High Priestess . . . left,” said Gwenna. “I swear, I didn’t know—”

  “That’s enough. My father’s cousin an’ her partner left without permission. They ran away because they committed high treason, an’ they knew I had every reason to have the both of them killed. They’re outlaws now, an’ anybody who helps them gets to die the same way.”

  “I didn’t do anything, I swear I didn’t.” Gwenna looked close to tears. “I didn’t know what she was going to do—”

  “Of course yeh didn’t know,” Laela cut her off. “If yeh did, yeh wouldn’t have hung about. Now listen. I’m convinced yeh ain’t guilty, an’ I got no right to keep yeh locked up. I’m offerin’ freedom, but in return for somethin’.”

  The priestess breathed in deeply. “I’ll do whatever ye need, my lady.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. What I want’s simple. I’ll set yeh free, along with all yer friends, an’ I’ll rebuild the Temple right away, give yeh all the money yeh need. In return, I want yeh to give me my tattoos. Make me a proper Northern woman.”

  Gwenna winced. “But, my lady, only the High Priestess—”

  “I know. Which is why I’m askin’ you—High Priestess Gwenna.”

  Her eyes went big. “What? Me? But—”

  “Saeddryn would’ve picked her successor when she was ready, but by runnin’ away, she gave up her power,” said Laela. “My father made her High Priestess, an’ now I’m gonna do the same thing for you. Be my High Priestess, Gwenna. Serve Tara—by serving me.”

  Gwenna faltered. “I . . . I would . . . the other priestesses have to agree . . .”

  Laela could see she’d already won. “Go speak with ’em, then. Explain the situation, an’ I’m sure they’ll see things your way.” She favoured Gwenna with a smile. “Just fancy. Yer very own Temple, made just the way yeh want. A place on the council, an’ a chance to help decide how Tara’s run. An’ maybe, just maybe, there’s a griffin out there somewhere, just waitin’ for yeh.”

  Gwenna looked close to tears again, but not the same kind as before. “A griffin?” she whispered. “For me?”

  “They only choose the highest an’ the best,” Laela said. A master stroke. She gestured at the guards. “Take all the priestesses to the council chamber. Let ’em alone there as long as they want, to make their minds up. They ain’t prisoners any more. An’ treat my new High Priestess well.”

  They nodded and escorted Gwenna out of the room as politely as possible. She wandered off between them in what looked like a trance.

  Once they were gone, Laela cackled. “Heh heh heh. Did yeh see her face? Gobsmacked. I bet she came in here expectin’ a death sentence or maybe banishment.”

  “What if the others do not agree?” said Oeka.

  “They will,” said Laela. “They’ve got no choice. I gave her the carrot an’ implied the stick well enough that I didn’t need to use it at all. An’ I won’t have to, either.”

  Oeka stared blankly at her.

  “I mean I didn’t have to use threats.” Laela grinned. “She knows if she says yes, she gets everythin’. If she says no, she gets a lot worse than nothin’. As for the others, they’ll come around. They’ll be jealous they ain’t the ones gettin’ promoted, but they’ll get the new Temple, an’ somethin’ way more important: my protection. Without it, they’re dead.”

  “You are right,” said Oeka. “Humans will always choose saving their own lives over loyalty to their friends.”

  “Not as much as you lot do, but often enough,” said Laela. “Often enough that this’ll work. Those who decide to get all heroic an’ noble, they get to feel somethin’ a lot worse than guilt. My boot, kickin’ their arse out of Malvern.”

  Oeka flicked her tail. “I am hungry.”

  Laela had been hoping for some sort of praise, but there obviously wasn’t any on the way. She heaved a sigh and left the room.

  Along the way to the dining hall, Inva appeared to catch them up. “My lady!”

  Laela slowed and glanced back at her. “Hm? What is it?”

  Inva ducked her head. “News, my lady. Good news.”

  “Did Saeddryn die or something?”

  “Ah . . . no, my lady. But Lord Torc has been arrested.”

  “Great. Garnoc’s lot got him, then?”

  “No, my lady. A man in the city heard about the warrant and hunted Lord Torc down himself. A messenger just brought me the news.”

  “Torc’s in the dungeon, then?”

  “Yes, my lady. The one who brought him is waiting.”

  Laela considered. “All right, then, bring him up to me in the audience chamber. Might as well have a word now.”

  Oeka had heard every word. “Shyaa! Why can this human not wait until we have eaten? Is he so important?”

  “There’s more to life than food,” Laela said sharply. “An’ there’s more to it than just worryin’ about yerself all the time. Besides, I want to know where Torc was hidin’, an’ if anyone was helpin’ him.”

  “I will eat now,” said Oeka, unmoved.

  “Fine.” Laela threw up her hands. “I’ll have
someone bring yeh up somethin’ dead if it’s that important. My gods.”

  Oeka ran to keep up with her. “You do not understand. I must eat to make myself strong. My magic feeds on my energy, and if I do not eat, it will hurt me to use it.”

  “Don’t use it so much, then.”

  Oeka snorted through her beak. “Perhaps next time you are in danger, I should take your advice.”

  “Oh, quit actin’ like a little kid. We got work to do.”

  They had to wait in the audience chamber long enough for Oeka’s food to arrive, and the small griffin tore into it the moment it was on the floor in front of her. She hadn’t said anything during the wait, busying herself with grooming instead.

  Laela ignored the sulk, and paced around impatiently. “I’m gonna spend half my damn reign in this damn room. Gimme a fight or somethin’, I’ll take it. Ugh.”

  Oeka had finished eating and had apparently gone to sleep by the time Torc’s capturer was brought in.

  Laela strode forward to meet him, took one look at him, and stopped dead.

  The stranger bowed nervously to her. His age was difficult to guess at, and he was . . .

  Ugly, maybe. No, not ugly. More sort of . . . odd. Somehow not quite right. His nose was pointed, and a good part of his face was hidden by a ragged black beard. His hair was black, too, and looked as if it hadn’t been brushed . . . ever. Somewhere under the tangle were a pair of overlarge yellow eyes.

  Strikin’, Laela thought. He looks strikin’. An’ filthy.

  The man had a gangly, awkward frame, and he walked a little stiffly. As he turned partly to the right, Laela saw that he had what looked like a hump on his back.

  She shrugged off her bemusement and nodded to him. “Welcome. I’m Queen Laela. They tell me yeh brought in Lord Torc.”

  The stranger smiled at her. “That’s right. It’s good to see you again.”

  No “my lady,” Laela noticed. No bowing, either. She immediately took a liking to him. “Again, eh?” she said. “Can’t say I remember yeh, an’ I think I would. But don’t worry about that. What’s yer name?”

  He laughed—it sounded slightly wheezy, but genuine. “You don’t recognise me? I hoped you might.”