Page 9 of Queen’s Griffon (Swords & Tiaras #2)

Chapter 8

Griff

As the ship sailed into Saarpira’s bay, Griff recalled the first time he’d seen the isle as a young boy.

The exodus from Verlora to their new home took two weeks. The first ten days were spent sailing around in circles within sight of the imploding continent. Every day those who’d escaped gathered against the rails to watch and see if the cloud of ash and steam would dissipate. Every day they hoped to see another boat come sailing from the home they’d fled, wished for survivors… in vain.

At the seven-day mark—with the rumbles having subsided—two skiffs launched with folks brave enough to venture for a peek. They wore goggles and masks to filter the poisonous air. They never returned. As days passed with no change in situation, and dwindling food supplies, it became devastatingly clear: Verlora was lost.

As was Griff’s father.

Unlike others, Griff didn’t erupt into tears. Not in public, at any rate. He kept his upper lip stiff, his grief balled tight within. “Never show weakness,” was his father’s oft-repeated mantra. Griff clung to that advice while others broke. He saved his sorrow for the nights when he huddled alone under his blanket, shoulders hunched, his body shuddering, missing the man who used to hug him close and whisper, “One day you’ll do great things, my son . ”

Eventually the decision was made by the adults in charge of the evacuees to sail away and find a place they could resupply and request some aid. At the time, given his young age, Griff didn’t understand much of what the grownups discussed. Things like, “They’ve refused our refugee application,” and “They’re claiming they have inadequate space and facilities to house such a large group,” as well as, “They believe we’re not compatible with their culture.” All that mumbo jumbo essentially meant no one wanted them.

The lack of safe haven to disperse the survivors led to much whispering—and arguments— among the grownups as they tried to decide where they could go that wouldn’t turn them away. Some of the Verlorian fleet splintered off, choosing to settle some of the small uninhabited isles, none of them big enough to handle all the evacuees or with bays deep enough for the vessels. Griff’s ship, and a few others, chose to sail to Saarpira, the Pirate Isle.

While some adults appeared upset by that choice, Griff and the other children—the boys especially—found it quite grand. Until they saw their new home.

The stories used to depict pirates as living in lavish luxury amidst their stolen goods. The reality? A few lopsided shacks huddled near a dock that listed at an angle. The population consisted of two dozen scruffy men and a handful of haggard-looking women.

Griff well remembered that first meeting of the pirates and the displaced Verlorians. Jackson, the captain of their ship, faced off against a man with blackened stumps for teeth. Griff had not heard the actual heated discussion, but he’d seen the pirates put hands on the hilts of their weapons, which led to the larger group of Verlorians rattling their own armaments.

The outnumbered pirates stepped aside and agreed—less than graciously—to share the isle. An isle with no natural crops. No meat, unless fish counted. The seabirds that nested in the rocks were numerous, but their flesh was too thin to make more than a broth.

Given the dozen Verlorian ships that sailed to the isle over that next week, it soon became evident that the tiny stockpile of goods they’d confiscated from the pirates wouldn’t last. Something had to be done if they were going to support the evacuees.

It should be known: the Verlorians didn’t start out wanting to be pirates. They tried trading at first, but when the coin and goods they could use ran out, they had no choice. It was steal or starve.

While the past few decades had seen Saarpira evolve so that they now did offer some services—sea monster hunting, coastal mapping, assassination, courier—they stuck to their roots and kept up the theft. After all, if those countries had just said yes and allowed them to settle, they would have been citizens paying taxes, contributing. According to Captain Jackson, they made their choice and could live with the consequences.

While some sailed the oceans in search of bounty, those who remained on the isle began to build. They transformed the shanty homes and turned Pirate Bay into a real town that grew large enough to be considered a city. In the last decade they’d even started growing a few crops and began keeping a few small herds, the feat achieved by transporting dirt, seed, and livestock to the island. These additions transformed an unusable section of the isle that used to be just jagged stone.

Saarpira became home.

For some…

Griff never did shake the nostalgia for the country he’d fled, and having Avera bring it up so passionately didn’t help. Standing atop the bridge on the small deck that he often used to keep an eye on his ship, he watched as the little queen disembarked by Simhi’s side. The woman had confused him since their first meeting. She attracted him even as she tested the bounds of his patience.

Earlier he’d found himself seeking Avera out, something he’d not allowed himself to do since they’d found themselves together in bed. She’d asked him her plans, and he’d been at a loss as to what reply, for in truth he still didn’t know. Therefore, he’d lied and told her he planned to ransom her.

Not true, however, how could he explain he’d taken her without actual forethought? He’d been gripped by an impulse he couldn’t explain, although Kreed kept hinting—very strongly—that a part of Griff believed she might be able to do something about Verlora.

Ridiculous. A little queen in exile couldn’t reverse the damage of a volcano. Couldn’t disperse the mists around the continent. Couldn’t, with those tiny hands of hers, stop what killed those who ventured on land.

So what would he do with her?

“What?” Griff startled as he realized Kreed was speaking to him.

“I asked what now?”

“We unload the boat and then study our most recent reports to decide what cargo ship we’re going to hit next.” Their network of spies in the many ports sent regular missives via albatross—the birds having been trained to fly between Saarpira and other cities.

“I meant what are we doing with the queen?” Kreed asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t give her a bodyguard.”

“Whatever for?” Griff replied with puzzlement.

“You’re not worried she’ll be a target?”

“For whom? There are no Daervian knights here to arrest her.”

“No, but the assassin's guild might still be looking to collect given they failed to kill her before.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred. Griff frowned. “They wouldn’t dare assassinate her here.” The agreement the guild had with Saarpira meant they didn’t operate on the isle but rather sent its operatives to the locations that hired them.

“Perhaps not, but they might decide to return her to Daerva.”

“Kidnapping someone in my care?” Griff growled. “They’d better not.”

“Wouldn’t really be abduction if she agreed to go.”

“She wouldn’t. She knows the new Daervanian king will execute her.”

“They might lie to get her on a ship. After all, she’s very single-minded about her desire to head to Verlora. All it would take is one of them making a false promise and she’d go willingly aboard. Once there, there wouldn’t be anything she could do to stop them from handing her over to whoever pays the highest price, which might not even be the king. I know you weren’t serious before, but the emperor would probably be interested in the queen because of her bloodline.”

Griff’s lips pinched. “If the assassins attempt to remove her, they will regret it.”

“Will they? Given the amount of gold most likely at stake, do you think they’ll worry about pissing you off?”

“I’ll disband their guild if they try,” Griff growled.

“And they’d relocate to the new one they opened on Merisu.” A recent expansion that the guild master had claimed would help them to better serve their biggest customer.

“Why do you care so much what happens to her anyhow?” Griff blustered. Maybe Kreed had an answer since he didn’t.

“For one, because she’s not an annoying twat, which is surprising considering her royal roots and the rumors about her siblings. Two, it’s been nice seeing Simhi hang with a female her age instead of some crusty sailors. Three, she doesn’t deserve being used as a pawn, and four…” Kreed paused. “I can’t help but wonder if she can help us return to Verlora.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Griff blasted.

“Why are you so against even trying?”

“Because trying equals death.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Would you like to go have a chat with Vinmo?” Griff snapped. “Because no one else ever made it out alive. And I’m tired of repeating myself!”

With that, Griff stalked off his ship, heading into the city. He gave head bobs to those who greeted him, but he lacked the proper mood to stop and talk.

As he stomped, he kept an ear open for trouble—aka. the little queen. He didn’t spot her in any alleys or being bundled into any trunks. Kreed was most likely overreacting. Still, Griff didn’t relax until he located her, in the castle library of all places, holding a book he’d not looked at in years.

Upon seeing Griff, Avera held it out and exclaimed, “Did you know you have an accounting of the fall of Verlora?”

“Aye.” He ignored her in favor of the decanter holding amber fluid.

“The person who wrote it claims most of the continents have volcanoes.”

“Because it’s true. They’re all over the planet.”

“Daerva doesn’t have one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I think I’d have noticed if Daerva had a mountain spitting liquid rock.”

“Not necessarily, since most of them have long gone dormant. While there is only one on Verlora, the violence of the explosion caused geysers of shotting magma to erupt in numerous places hence why the whole continent had to be evacuated. Rumor has it that Okkilam has one that’s never fully gone to sleep and spits every so often, just not enough to claim lives or destroy towns.”

A crease marred her brow. “This book also claims that once a volcano ceases to erupt, the ash it spewed will settle and its absorption into the soil renders the ground fertile.”

“Aye.”

“How is that possible if the ash is poisonous?”

“The gases released are harmful to breathe,” he corrected. “But plants thrive on the nutrients in the ash.” At her puzzled look he added, “Think of nutrients as food for plants.”

“If it’s true the ash ends up being beneficial once absorbed by the ground, then given how long it’s been since the volcano erupted, shouldn’t Verlora have recovered by now?” Avera cocked her head as she asked.

“It should have.”

“But?” she prodded.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “The volcano wasn’t the only thing that woke that day.”

“Meaning what?”

Griff’s lips twisted as he stated aloud the secret he’d kept for so long. “You spoke of having an entity called Zhos who was trying to escape. Well, you’re not the only one with a monster problem. Whatever Basil did that day roused an unexpected threat.”

“What did he awaken?” she asked, hugging the book to her chest.

“I’d rather not say because you won’t believe me.”

“I’ve seen much that I thought impossible in the last month. I doubt you can surprise me.”

Griff ducked his head as he muttered, “I am fairly certain Basil woke a dragon.”