Page 3 of Queen’s Griffon (Swords & Tiaras #2)
Chapter 2
Griff
Griff glared at the closed door that hid the woman standing beyond it. He should have kept her royal pain in his ass locked in the cabin. But no, he’d listened to his first mate who felt sorry for the little puking queen.
“Where’s she gonna go, Cap?” Kreed had cajoled. “Not like she’s gonna jump off the ship and swim for land.”
No, she wouldn’t, but the little queen sure could—and would—make his life annoying with her ridiculous demand to drop her off in Verlora.
Verlora was dead. His offhanded comment to her, asking if the rocks she sought could have caused the problems in Verlora, didn’t mean he thought them responsible. The fact the stones disappeared in and around the time of Verlora’s destruction was simply coincidence. And nothing—not even a hardheaded queen on a foolhardy quest—would change Verlora’s fate.
If it had just been the volcano, they might have recovered. After all, the poison ash cloud eventually dissipated, and the explosions and flows of lava ceased. It took five long years for that initial damage to die down enough for Verlorians to dare venture close, sailing into the perpetual fog surrounding the continent.
Only one man ever returned—as a shadow of himself. Whatever Vinmo experienced frightened him so much he never spoke again. Even more troubling, the young Vinmo went in with a cocky attitude, dark hair, and a big, brash smile. He returned with a crown of pure white hair, his expression haunted and gaunt, and the left side of his body burned.
The fact Vinmo survived—if traumatized—led to others making the attempt: pirates and other thieves lured by the thought of treasure, Verlorians nostalgic for the home they’d fled. None were heard from again.
Griff had only once dared to sail within sight of his old home, finding it wreathed in a thick mist that stank even out at sea. He had formed his own theory about what had been picking off those foolish enough to venture forth, so he never bothered going ashore. Given he liked to live, he knew better than to indulge fatal curiosity. His home was gone and nothing, especially not a mouthy little queen, could change that.
A knock at the door had him ignoring it. The royal he’d dumbly chosen to kidnap had annoyed him enough for the day.
“Cap, can I have a word?” Kreed spoke loudly.
“Come in.” Griffon stood with his hands behind his back, staring without seeing at the map on his cabin wall.
Kreed entered, a big fellow, Verlorian like many of the crew, with the swarthy skin tone of their people. “Our guest seems a tad irate.”
“Let her stew. She’s out of her mind if she thinks I’m going to risk the lives of everyone aboard while indulging her demands.” He didn’t care how cute she looked when her mauve eyes flashed with anger.
“Why does she want to visit Verlora so bad?” Kreed asked. “It’s no place for someone like her.”
“She’s not convinced of that.” Griff sighed.
“I have to ask, why did you take her? Since when do we traffic in people?” Kreed finally asked the question that had probably been brewing since Griff brought her aboard.
“We don’t.”
“Odd, because I overheard you say that you were thinking of trading her to the Emperor of Merisu.”
The reminder had him snorting. “I only said that in the hopes of shutting her up. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy.” The emperor was known for his rather depraved tastes. It led to him going through wives quite rapidly.
“Then what are your plans for her?”
“I don’t know.” The honest truth. He’d kidnapped her on a whim he couldn’t explain.
“Could it be you believe her when she claims to have a solution for Verlora?”
Griff raised an eyebrow at Kreed’s admission he’d been eavesdropping. “No. What’s one tiny little woman supposed to do against whatever lurks in that mist?”
“Maybe she’s got magic like those witches in Merisu?”
The suggestion reminded Griff of the night he’d met the little queen, how monsters formed of mist and moisture had been intent on killing her, and how their altar of creation crumbled simply from a smear of her blood. He couldn’t explain what he witnessed, but he doubted Avera was a witch. A witch wouldn’t have to resort to haranguing if she could spell people to do her bidding.
“If she had magic, most likely she would have used it to oust the new king.”
Kreed frowned. “You think there’s any truth to the claims she had her family killed so she could inherit?”
“Doubtful. From my understanding, this new king is a sadistic prick. More than likely she speaks the truth when she accuses him of being the one to hire those assassins.”
“Assassins that came from Saarpira,” Kreed stated rather than asked.
Again, Griff’s shoulders rolled. “Given we have the only assassins’ guild that I’m aware of, most likely.”
“I take it you’re planning to find out for sure once we reach home.”
“Yes.” Because while the guild was free to accept contracts to kill, murdering a queen and her heirs—including a baby—crossed a line. And, he did have some curiosity as to who actually commissioned the hits.
“If you’re not going to sell her, or drop her in Verlora to continue her quest, then what are you going to do with her?”
“Why do you care?” snapped Griffon.
“Because her presence is causing some mutterings among the crew.”
“What kind of muttering?”
“The superstitious kind. They’ve been talking about the Ballad of Rebirth.” A poem started after the fall of Verlora, turned into song, origin unknown.
“What’s a drinking song have to do with the queen?”
“They think it’s about her.”
Griffon stared at his first mate as the words ran through his head.
The small yet mighty tiara
Expelled from her home,
Will travel to the land of mist,
No weapon but her courage,
And the strength of her fists.
Facing the might foe,
Staring death in its face,
A sacrifice to make.
Blood to bind,
A promise to keep,
To defeat what’s now awake.
There were a few more verses, but those were the ones that most likely had people humming.
“Those are just words made up by a troubadour decades ago. It has nothing to do with her.”
“If you say so.” Kreed didn’t seem as convinced.
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe in superstition.”
“Well, she is small, and everyone knows the royals in Daerva call it a tiara, not a crown.”
“And?”
“Verlora is covered in a mist. Don’t you think it’s more than a coincidence? I mean, she kind of fits the verse.”
“Really? Where then is her mighty beast?” drawled Griff.
“Standing in front of me.”
Griff blinked. “You’re bigger than me.” His only rebuttal.
“But we both know you’re tougher in a fight.”
“Are you trying to convince me to sail to Verlora?” Griff demanded.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. It’s just odd, is all.”
“Odd yes, but that doesn’t change the facts. She can’t fix what’s wrong in Verlora. No one can.” Griff believed that wholeheartedly because if the smartest men in the world—his father, his Uncle Basil, and all the other scientists—couldn’t save his country, then he highly doubted an imperious snippet of a woman could.
“If you say so, Captain.”
“I do say so. Now, is that all?”
Kreed took his leave, but his words lingered. The doubt he’d planted tried to blossom into hope.
Griff squashed it. He’d spent his youth praying for a miracle. Praying to one day see a ship on the horizon, carrying his father and an invitation to return home.
That hopeful little boy had grown into a man who understood miracles didn’t exist.