Page 11 of Queen’s Griffon (Swords & Tiaras #2)

Chapter 10

Griff

Griff hadn’t meant to blurt the truth, a secret he’d held tight for so long that it felt odd to finally say it aloud. Only once before had he tried to tell someone. He’d been a teen with too much to drink and he’d mentioned it to Kreed.

“Fucking dragon.”

“What dragon?” slurred his friend.

“The one fucking up Verlora. One day I’m going to hunt it with a spear and free our land from its menace,” Griff had declared with drunken brashness.

“I didn’t take you for a believer in old wives’ tales. Bwahahaha.” Kreed fell over laughing.

And that was the last and only time Griff ever told anyone his theory. After all, he could be wrong. He’d never actually seen what plagued Verlora, but he’d had dreams. Dreams where he flew above a land surrounded by mist. Where he dipped and soared as he hunted, surveying his domain. A place empty of humans but for the remnants of their cities.

Of late his dreams had him soaring past the banks of fog to skim above the ocean’s waves, finding larger prey to satisfy the need to feed. Diving into the waters, which sizzled in contact with his skin. Scouting the marine life that couldn’t escape his arrowing maneuvers.

Griff always woke from those dreams confused and disoriented. The vivid recollection, the way he could feel everything, was not easily shaken.

Dream, or was he actually seeing from the eyes of a dragon? He had no one to ask. No one to confess. No one who would believe…

Even Avera, who claimed to be fighting some evil entity buried in a mountain, had eyed him with amusement. Worse, his admission hadn’t appeared to deter her whatsoever. On the contrary, he had a feeling he’d only made her more determined to visit his doomed country.

Griff shoved the dragon thing to the back of his mind. It had no bearing on the here and now. He had an isle to run. People to manage. After all, he wasn’t just a pirate, but a leader, chosen by the citizens even though he’d tried to refuse. Everyone—not just the resettled Verlorians, but also those who’d more recently found their way to Saarpira—looked to him for guidance, and he didn’t understand why. Despite his best efforts, their population declined. The pirate isle wasn’t an ideal home, so the younger folk kept migrating elsewhere. He couldn’t blame them. Theirs was a hard life. The problem being, as residents departed, they took with them the children they would have had. Bit by bit, the Verlorians were becoming extinct, and Griff didn’t know how to stop the decline.

After his conversation with Avera, Griff spent the next few days being a leader. Settling disputes. Signing documents. Doing his best to avoid the little queen even as he found himself inquiring as to her actions and whereabouts. She didn’t stray far from the castle but rather spent her days cloistered in the library. According to Kreed, she’d been filling sheets of paper with handwritten notes. He could already guess what they contained. Dragon and Verlorian lore.

When Avera did finally leave the castle, Griff only happened to notice because she passed by the window of the wine shop where he was conversing with Bertha, the owner. He cut short their discussion to exit and follow the little queen as she headed for the tavern closest to the dock.

The fool went inside.

Alone.

Griff hastened his step and entered in time to hear laughter and a patron yelling, “You’ll need more than a boatload of gold to convince someone to take you to the dead land.”

“Surely there’s a captain who isn’t afraid?” Avera taunted. She was dressed in britches, and yet despite her boyish attire, looked very shapely, very womanly.

“It’s called self-preservation, lass,” stated Captain Koonis, his clean-shaven face a familiar one in Saarpira. While not a pirate, the commissioned officer in the Merisu fleet often came to Saarpira to trade. Koonis leaned back in his chair. “Can’t spend money if we’re dead.”

Griff remained in the shadows by the entrance and kept watch. He’d only act if necessary. It would do her some good to hear others reject her demand. Maybe then she’d understand how unreasonable her request was.

“You wouldn’t have to dock, just get me close enough so I can row to shore,” she offered.

“I’ve got something you can row,” stated a sailor who stood and grabbed his groin.

Avera stiffened and stood taller if possible. “If that is how you flirt with women, I can see why you’ve not found anyone to marry.” Her rebuke brought laughter as the sailor, who’d thought himself clever, got taken down via words. The man sat down with a scowl.

The little queen wasn’t done. “If there is a captain who is interested in providing me with passage, then you may contact me at the castle on the hill.”

Silence fell at her announcement before someone shout-whispered, “I’ll be damned, it’s the Daervanian Queen the Griffon kidnapped. Holy shit boys, we’re talking to royalty.”

Not surprising word had gotten around about Griff’s guest. No point in calling her a prisoner since he’d only locked her up those first few days on the ship, and that had been mostly so she wouldn’t wander around on deck during the first storm they encountered.

Avera didn’t bother denying her identity. “Yes, I am Queen Avera Voxspira of Daerva, and whoever aids me in my quest shall receive a full pardon for any crimes, as well as monetary compensation and even a commission should they wish to serve in my navy.”

Raucous laughter met her proposal. Avera’s hands tightened into fists by her side.

“I heard you got dumped from the throne for killing your family.” The sailor who’d made the rowing joke remained sour.

“That treachery was Benoit’s doing. That pretender lied and killed to have me ousted. As soon as I am done with my task on Verlora, I will be removing him from my seat.”

“You and what army?” someone else drawled. “Seems to me you ain’t got shit.”

“I’ve got the truth on my side, and the fortitude to fight back.” The little queen did not cower or relent. Admirable, if stupid.

“Rumor has it you’re worth an awful lot. I wonder who would pay us the most to have you dumped at their feet.” The crude male would of course be the first to suggest auctioning her off.

Griff had heard enough and pushed into the room, stating, “Anyone who thinks to remove Avera from Saarpira will regret it. The little queen belongs to me.”

His statement fell with a thud in a room gone silent.

“I thought the so-called pirate king didn’t believe in selling folks,” blustered the crude man.

“Who says I’m selling her?” Griff crossed his arms and arched a brow.

The sailors glanced at each other before one ventured to ask, “Why else would you have taken her?”

Lacking an excuse, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Might be time I took a wife, and who better than a royal with Verlorian blood?”

In the shock that followed—which included Avera with a dropped jaw—Griff grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her out of the tavern. As they hit the street, she found her voice.

“Marry? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning to. However, it’s best the sailors believe I might.”

“Why?”

“You have to ask why?” He glanced at her. “Did you not notice how poorly they received your attempts to bribe them to transport you?”

“They didn’t seem too receptive,” she mumbled.

“Because they want to live. Because they’re scum who are only interested in the easiest route that earns them the most money. Given the choice between risking themselves for a disgraced queen with nothing to her name or exchanging her for a bounty, what do you think they’ll opt for?”

Rather than reply, she retorted, “Why are you following me?”

“I wasn’t. I happened to see you and wondered what you were up to. Apparently, trying to make yourself into a tempting target.”

“Simhi says kidnapping and murder aren’t allowed here.”

“Aren’t allowed doesn’t mean it doesn’t occasionally happen.” Griff reserved the right to roll his eyes later at her dumb remark.

“You can’t be mad at me for trying. I told you I would try to find someone to take me.”

“Who says I’m mad? More like astonished you could be so stupid. Then again, I should have guessed you lacked mental capacity given your insistence on going to Verlora.”

“I’m not giving up,” she huffed. “Every day I spend here is another day Zhos machinates to get free.”

“So you keep claiming, but did you ever stop to wonder if this Opal, who strongly insisted you go, might be working for Zhos?”

She blinked at him. “She’s a guardian trying to prevent his escape.”

“According to who?”

Her mouth opened but she said nothing.

“According to her. A person you yourself claimed to have only met that one time. A stranger, and you believed everything she said.”

A flustered Avera blurted, “Opal wasn’t ensorcelled like the others doing Zhos’ bidding.”

“Ever think she acted of her own volition?”

“No.” Avera shook her head. “You’re wrong about Opal. You didn’t meet or speak with her. She was nice.”

“So are many murderers, doesn’t mean they don’t have a dark streak.”

Avera’s head ducked as they walked back to the castle. “Why would she send me for the stones if they weren’t needed as seals?”

“Maybe because she wanted you to die? Or maybe the stones were never stolen to begin with. After all, you only have her word on that score. Ever think the objects you’ve been sent to fetch might belong to Verlora, and this Zhos needs them for its escape?”

“You sound like Gustav,” she grumbled.

“The soldier you had as bodyguard.” Stated more than asked.

“He was more than that. He was the only father figure I had growing up. The only person I could confide in, not that I ever confessed much.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d revealed a less-than-ideal childhood.

“Was your bastard status really that big of a deal?” he queried. In Verlora they’d been more casual about relationships. Some chose to marry. Some didn’t. But all children were considered a blessing.

“It was more than simply the fact that my mother had me out of wedlock. From the moment of my birth, people knew I wasn’t pure Daervanian. My brother saw me as a stain on the name. My sisters treated me like an embarrassment.”

“Hearing that makes me happy I was an only child.”

She glanced at him. “You mentioned your father died the day Verlora fell. What of your mother?”

For a moment, he debated not replying. Then the words spilled. “My mother suffered from several ailments. Not so much physical as mental. She claimed to hear voices. To see things that hadn’t happened. I was told that when I was born, she took one look and began wailing. Couldn’t be consoled.”

“Oh dear,” Avera murmured. “I think that might be worse than being ignored by mine.”

“Oh, she did that too. My mother wanted nothing to do with me, and the few times we crossed paths, she’d usually start pointing and screaming, ‘He rides upon the wings of death.’” His lips twisted. “At the time, I was barely walking.” And he’d been frightened. To have someone so shrilly hate him had left a mark on Griff even to this day.

“That’s horrible.”

“She was sick, or so I kept being told. I was too little to understand other than the woman who should have coddled me hated the sight of me. My father had her removed from our home after she tried to drown me in the tub. I never saw her after that for she took her life before I turned four.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. At least then she was finally at peace.”

“My mother pretty much ignored me and then had the temerity on her deathbed to claim I was her favorite.” A wry twist pulled her lips. “She hid it well. Although, my brother must have sensed this invisible favor for he was constantly trying to hurt me until Gustav put a stop to it.”

His turn to mutter, “Sorry.”

“Guess we both had poor childhoods. It’s part of why I am so attached to Luna.”

“The horse.”

“A gift from my mother.” She nodded. “These past few years, she was the one constant in my life that freely showed affection.”

“I thought Gustav was a father figure.”

“Yes, but not one that ever hugged. The best I could expect was praise if I fought well when training.”

“My father was a stern man, but I always knew he cared. He was the one to ensure I got on a boat the day Verlora fell. I never saw him again.”

“Perhaps he managed to survive.”

“And never sent word?” He shook his head. “I gave up on that foolish hope a long time ago.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to know for sure? To understand what happened?”

He wanted to yell that he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter, but truthfully… “A part of me fears that answer. What if he was responsible?”

“I thought you blamed Basil.”

“Basil never did anything without my father’s say so.”

“Your father was important?” she queried.

“You might say that. He was Verlora’s chancellor. What Daerva would call king.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, you’re from a noble family?”

“The last of my line, as far as I know.” Heir to a country that no longer truly existed. Leader of a people almost extinct.

Avera got an impish grin and she curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, your highness.”

He grimaced. “We don’t partake in such foolish pageantry. As a matter of fact, while my father might have been head of the government, he wasn’t the one making all the decisions. We used to have thirteen senators, one for each district, who would propose and vote on proposals, with my father usually accepting the laws and resolutions they wanted to pass.”

“In Daerva, mother made all the rules advised only by her duke.”

“Which is how it is on every other continent, if by different names.” Some had emperors, others kings or queens. The Pequilha called their leaders Warlords. Many of those positions were inherited at birth. His own family had been ruling Verlora for centuries.

“Verlora always fascinated me,” she admitted as they entered the castle. “I used to be so excited when one of your machines would arrive in the market.”

“Gadgetry was our main export. We had scientists always looking to innovate and design machines and tools to ease the burden of certain tasks.”

“But machines weren’t all you did. I thought you mentioned something about experiments.”

“We had a department that played around with how nature worked. What elements combined would create something new. Most attempts were failures, some ended up being dangerous even. The day of Verlora’s fall, when the ground started to shake, we at first assumed someone in the lab had managed to explode something again.”

“Only it was the volcano.”

“Yes, the volcano erupted, but to this day I don’t know if it was a natural occurrence, or one caused by something the scientists did.”

“You mean Basil.”

Griff tucked his hands behind his back as he muttered, “From what I understand, Basil was playing around with things incompatible with the rules of science.”

“Meaning what?”

“Keep in mind everything I know is second-hand. But according to someone close to him who escaped, Basil became fascinated by magic because it didn’t follow the usual laws of nature. Supposedly he travelled the world, returning with items he claimed held power.”

“Did you ever see them?”

“Probably, but as a young boy, I didn’t pay much mind. I was more interested in playing games and ditching school.”

“Was my father a nice man?” she asked softly.

He startled, having forgotten her claim Basil had fathered her. “I liked him well enough. He was outgoing, smart—too smart, my dad said. Charming. I’m not surprised to hear he seduced your mother.”

“And left her.”

“Basil only truly loved one thing: his work.”

“Mother claimed he asked her to return with him to Verlora. She obviously refused, but I do believe she regretted that.”

“Had she returned with him, we would have known each other from a young age,” he pointed out. “Basil lived with us in the Citadel.”

“We would have been like siblings,” she joked.

He stared at her and shook his head. “I doubt I’d ever have seen you as a sister.”

Her smile fell and chagrin beset Griff at seeing she’d misunderstood. It led to him stepping close and tilting her chin to softly say, “What I feel for you is anything but brotherly.” Her eyes widened, and annoyed at having admitted that much, he gruffly added, “I’ve work to do.”

He abruptly strode away, mentally cursing himself, because what he felt for the little queen couldn’t be indulged in. For some reason, he couldn’t help but recall something else his crazy mother used to say, something that stuck with a little boy . “The little tiara will stick a knife in you.”