Page 23

Chapter 23

I decanted the last of the potion into the special round vials that were as much a signature of the final-defence potion as the blackish sludgy liquid inside them. Each vial was the precise dose for a griffin, and one dose would save them from a potentially fatal injury.

The dark liquid did not have the same properties if it was imbibed by any other species; it helped and healed, certainly, but it couldn’t bring them back from the brink of death. There was something in the griffins that was unique to them, their innate connection to death, perhaps. The final-defence potion enhanced that link and allowed them another chance to dodge death.

I had made as much potion as the leaf would allow, measuring each ingredient with razor-sharp precision. Eighteen little vials sat before me and I pocketed one of them. Bastion was irritatingly honourable and I had no doubt that he would only take one vial. He was guarding my life, and we were about to go head-to-head with another black witch. One vial wasn’t enough. Thinking about it, two vials weren’t enough. I put another vial in my desk drawer. Just to be safe.

I placed the remaining sixteen vials in a special potion pouch made of selkie skin, a rare commodity these days, that was warded with runes to keep the contents unbroken. Such runes painted onto leather had little effect, but selkie skin was another matter. Runes are fickle things.

I felt my wards buzz with a distinctly griffinish air. I knew the feel of that particular griffin. I touched the walls and, with a trickle of my magic, allowed Shirdal into my home.

I cleaned up the laboratory and, when everything shone, I pulled on my skirt. Dressed appropriately, I went back into my office and out to the living room. My balcony door was open and Fehu was resting contentedly on Bastion’s shoulder.

Shirdal was sitting opposite them, sprawled with one leg across the chair’s arm. His clothing was rumpled, his hair unbrushed; if the man would only make a little effort, he’d be quite charming. I had no doubt that he wouldn’t be cleaning up anytime soon.

Shirdal had a way about him, a relaxed air that eased tensions. He couldn’t possibly be a deadly griffin; he was a drunk and a bum. He let everyone around him underestimate him and then, when the going got tough, so did he. It was quite the transformation that I’d seen on a few occasions, enough to know not to trust the image he projected.

‘Shirdal,’ I greeted him.

‘Sweetheart! It’s good to see you.’

I smiled. I didn’t mind him using that moniker. I held the pouch up for him, gratified to see his eyes widen as he realised what it was. I drew it to my heart and held it there for five seconds with my eyes closed, imbuing it with as much of my protective magic as I dared.

When I opened my eyes, Shirdal was standing up, sharp, solemn and still. By the Goddess, this was the real Shirdal, not the other one. There was no sign of the swaying drunkard; he had drawn himself up to his full height and he looked regal.

The room pulsed with his power and my scalp prickled with the strength of his aura. How could anyone doubt him, doubt his moral fibre? It literally shone from him, his greatness exposed for the world to see. And then I blinked and it was gone .

My heart was pounding and I realised that invoking the Goddess, even in my thoughts, had brought her awareness to me. For whatever reason, she had chosen to show me Shirdal’s true self. It was a timely reminder that the person we present to the world is rarely the whole of us. Instead, it is a shadow of ourselves, the facet of ourselves that we choose to present. Our true light is reserved for ourselves and our loved ones.

I stepped forward to the leader of the griffins with ceremonial slowness. When I was within a foot of him, I curtsied deeply to show the respect that was now humming in my heart. ‘Shirdal, rahbar-e mo’azzam . Leader of the griffins, I gift to you sixteen vials of final-defence and the pouch in which they reside.’

I hoped I’d pronounced his title correctly. Bastion had taught me a few phrases in the dead of the night, but languages had never been my strong point.

‘Gift?’ His tone was flabbergasted.

‘Gift,’ I confirmed.

Shirdal touched his hand to his heart, stepped back and bowed low. ‘Amber DeLea, aziz e-delam .’ His voice cracked with emotion. ‘I am truly honoured by your gift.’ He rose to his full height, reverently took the bag from me and cradled it against his heart. ‘I will see these are shared among my people. This gift will not be forgotten.’

He bowed again then strode to Bastion and held out the pouch to him. Bastion reached in, took one potion and bowed to Shirdal. ‘These are a gift from your zan . You may take another,’ Shirdal said solemnly.

As expected, Bastion shook his head. ‘No, rahbar . They will all find a worthy home. I have only need of one.’

Three, I thought smugly. He didn’t know it, but he had three: the one he’d taken and the two I’d snagged for him.

Shirdal didn’t argue. He simply nodded, pocketed one of the vials and shifted into griffin form. He took two steps onto my balcony and jumped off it. His wings snapped out and he flew away effortlessly; such was his haste to get the life-saving vials to his people that he didn’t even say farewell. Pride stirred in my heart. I’d done a good thing.

Bastion looked at me. ‘Thank you, Amber.’ His voice vibrated with sincerity. ‘That you would do this means a great deal to me. You will save lives, the lives of my brothers and sisters in arms. I cannot thank you enough for this gift.’

I shifted uncomfortably. I was only doing what was right; surely anyone would do the same. ‘It’s just a potion. I’m a potion mistress. It’s no problem,’ I said lightly.

His eyes were still fervent, but he sensed how uncomfortable I was with his gratitude so he moved on. ‘We’re going to work on that,’ he murmured.

‘Work on what?’

‘Accepting compliments and gratitude. One day you’ll know I mean it when I say you’re beautiful.’

Heat flushed my cheeks as it did every time he admired me. ‘You’re delusional but that’s okay. I like you that way.’

He grinned. ‘Good. Now…’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How many of the vials did you keep for me?’

He surprised a laugh out of me; he really did know me. ‘Two others,’ I admitted.

He closed the distance between us. ‘Thank you, Bambi.’ He leaned down and kissed me, long and slow, until my mind went blank. If that was the way he thanked me, I’d give him as many potions as he wanted.

When he pulled away, his eyes were warm and affectionate. ‘You surprised Shirdal,’ he noted.

‘Did I?’ I breathed, still revelling in the taste of his lips.

‘Yes. He thought you were going to give him mates’ rates, not the whole lot for free.’ He paused. ‘Will you be in trouble with the Coven Council? You just gave away more than fifteen million pounds in Coven revenue. ’

I sniffed. ‘It’s not the Coven’s revenue, it’s mine . The black kiteen leaf was gifted to me by Peter, not to the Coven. Besides, when you lay dying, I begged Shirdal to save you, to give you his last defence. In return, I promised I would brew him a cauldron of final-defence.’

‘Even so, he expected you to charge for it.’

I shook my head. ‘It didn’t feel right.’

Bastion tipped my chin up, ‘For all you make the right mercenary noises, you’re nothing but a soft-hearted kitten.’

‘Says you, Mr Marshmallow.’

He grinned. ‘I’m only soft for you, Amber.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ I purred. ‘I rather thought I had the opposite effect on you.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Let me show you what effect you have on me.’

‘Sure. Go ahead. I’ve often heard that communication is important in a healthy relationship.’

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘I’m going to communicate at length.’

‘Promises, promises.’ A laugh bubbled out of me.

He grabbed my hand and tugged me to the bedroom. I didn’t resist in the slightest.