Silver Hollow (31 page)

Amie deepened her smile, saying, “And I had no idea you would be so pretty either, madam.”

Morcant’s honey eyes flashed all the fury of a dark angel, recognizing Amie’s veiled jab, before a shrill laugh escaped her painted lips. Clapping her hands together, she crowed, “Holy
wicklewashers
! You never told me she could be this amusing, milord.”

“From her father’s side, I believe,” Henry offered lightheartedly. He piffled around with the food on his plate, and Morcant twitched perceptively at the obvious put
-
off.

Their eyes met at this intermission and Amie’s smile seemed to unnerve the small woman’s confidence. Amie cocked an eyebrow in challenge, to which Morcant sat straighter in her high
-
backed chair and tucked her chin. Slipping her perfectly manicured black nails from the glass goblet, she moved
her hand
to rest over Henry’s arm, all the while keeping her dark eyes locked on Amie’s.

“Henry, darling, don’t you think it is time we shared my plans for tomorrow with her?” Henry’s spoon tipped and liquid sloshed from its edges when she squeezed
his arm
subtly. Turning to face her, he motioned with his free hand.

“By all means, Lady Hogswillow, you may tell her.” While Morcant’s attention was diverted, Henry caught Amie’s eye and sent her a silent apology.

This is so sad! Like watching a rich lady stroking her poodle…
Amie shivered at the image of Henry with a prince crown on his head. Morcant
,
meanwhile
,
was droning on about Silver Hollow. What was she saying?

“—simply
adore
those delightful midget h
obgoblins…Rado is my tailor, only the finest for the ball we’re throwing for you. Isn’t that what I told him, Henry?”

Amie choked on her stew. “Ball? Uncle Henry, what’s she talking about?” Panic and recollections of her failed high school dances pranced around her mind.

Morcant answered for him, of course, after another squeeze of her uncle’s arm. “Why
,
it is customary for young ladies of
a
certain breeding
to come out in society. The others were
scandalized to learn your uncle has been keeping you here, locked away all these years! And to think, this is the reason you’ve not allowed me to host a party since Drustan left!”

Henry removed his arm carefully, the firm lines in his face taking on a hard edge as he interrupted her rant. “I assure you,
my lady
, had I desired the pleasure of your company, I would have sought it out long before now.” Morcant sank into her chair, obviously deflated. Amie wanted to grin over her in triumph for the appearance of Henry’s belated backbone. The thought of dancing in public, of being paraded
again
before people she could barely stomach, made her soup turn sour.

“Uncle, do we have to have a ball? I’m not exactly Ginger Rogers.”

“Ginger? Was she a
S
pice
G
irl, then?” Henry asked with perfect seriousness and seemed glad of her distraction. “As Lady Hogswillow said before, it is a long and upstanding tradition
,
Jessamiene. Do not fear. It’s a lot of parading for a host of pretentious peacocks, but you’ll endure it.” Grimly, he added with a glance for their guest
,
“We all must endure certain social conventions, being what we are.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick…” Amie groaned and placed a hand to her mouth. Setting her spoon gently aside, Amie pretended not to notice Morcant’s vicious smirk and bowed her head to Henry. “Forgive me, but I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Oh
,
you poor little bird… Underhill!” Morcant chirped, even though the stern maid was waiting but a few paces in the shadows.

“Yes
,
milady,” Rachel said, attempting to mask her disdain for her temporary mistress.

Morcant waved her napkin at Amie, false concern dripping from her lips
.
“Miss Jessamiene is ill and in need of one of your tonics. See to it she arrives safely to her rooms.”

Rachel and Amie exchanged equal expressions of disbelief. The offended maid turned to her master and shut her gaping mouth at his nod in Amie’s direction.

Her eyes narrowed in on his face as she set the napkin in her lap aside and stood. “Thank you for the lovely dinner, Uncle. Lady Hogswillow, it has been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh
,
you poor dear, you are most certainly welcome!” Morcant gushed with more comments over how precious Henry’s niece was. “Sweet pixies and
dumplekins
visit you in your dreams, Jessamiene. Tomorrow shall be a day of
wiklewashing
surprises!”

…

Underhill rounded on Amie the moment the dining hall door was shut. Grasping her white-capped hair
,
the maid blew air into her cheeks until her round face looked red as a beet. “Ooh, I could just—the nerve of
the
wench, prancing about as if
she
was mistress of Wenderdowne!” The last she said with a pointed look at Amie. Moving her hands to her face she groaned, “And ye
had
to wear that
charlatan’
s
rag! I told Henry not to leave ye to yer own devices. Ye be positively unchangeable as a human.” She sighed, but smirked, tapping her finger to her chin reflectively. “
’
Twas delightful, though, seeing you make her squirm!”

Amie laughed along with her, grateful she had managed to get through the meal, and now was convinced only one thing could soothe her frayed nerves.

Underhill
sighed audibly, saying, “Ye aren’t going to yer room, are ye, milady?”

Holding her hands to her chest, Amie faked her outrage, replying, “And deny you the honor of serving
Lady
Hogswillow? But I guess you could walk to the kitchens with me. Alastair might want a second date.”

“It was
not
a date! Ahem—milady,”
Underhill
huffed as they entered a hidden passage.

…

Amie dared Emrys to stalk her tonight, as she slipped through the darkened corridors of the West Wing. Her teacher hadn’t made an appearance all evening, and honestly, Amie could have cared less about seeing him again.

Not after you caved in like a Gothic heroine!

Tonight, she wanted to forget about complicated men and Morcant Hogswillow. She needed to vent to Feather in peace. Maybe she could even continue her research into Wenderdowne and ultimately, her father’s past. It was strange reading of such ancient times with the people she knew featured as the main characters. She was convinced someone must have worked for the family, some desperate author, who had fabricated these fantastical stories.

She gravitated toward the light and felt she could breathe better already the closer to books she became. Books never tried to reach out and caress or grab her the way plants in the garden did.

Stupid Emrys and his stupid lessons!

Opening the door to meet the glow of the hearth and candlelight, Amie practically danced inside, and promptly bit back a scream. She was completely unprepared for the giant beast who
squawked and in a shrill male voice growled, “
You
again?” For some reason she wasn’t surprised when he sounded a lot like Sean Connery.

Amie dug her nails into her palms to keep from fainting this time. And rude as it was to stare
,
she couldn’t help her initial shock from seeing a
gryphon
calmly sitting on the floor writing in a book.

Whoa…so not happening right now.

Enough craziness was going around the castle with Morcant’s arrival and Emrys’s ghostly presence. The last thing Amie could have wanted or suspected was to meet a creature of legend. Gryphons were something Amie had heard and read about frequently under Henry’s education. But it was one thing to read about the impossible and believe it, quite another to have it glaring you in the face.

Its body was massive, the size of an overfed lion, with great golden wings wrapped snugly like a cloak over its shoulders.
I
ts
tail swished testily in the air,
feathers mingled with fur tufts on its back, gradually forming into a giant eagle head at the top. But what was most disconcerting about this gryphon was how much he looked like the stuffed gryphon head Amie had been confiding in the last few days.

“Feather?” Amie asked under her breath, afraid to speak in case the beast chose to snap her head off.

“Hm? What’s that?”
t
he gryphon snapped with a twist of its mobile beak.
As he r
app
ed
his
hind
claws on the floor
,
Amie’s eyes fixed on the stick
-
like pen poised between
the digits of
his
left paw
.

“What?” she squeaked.

“Well
,
you called me Feather, that’s what,” the gryphon said with a grimace. When she froze up he sighed and accident
al
ly put out several nearby candles. “Come inside before you catch your death out there. Plenty of room by this fire
,
and I won’t bite, lass.”

They watched one another carefully as she slowly sank beside him on the hearth rug.

“So what are you doing here, then?” he asked. “I’ve been forced to hide away whilst you pilfer through my collection. And every night you leave me such a mess!” He gestured with a lion’s paw to the table to her right. It was very disconcerting to see his upper beak scarcely move, everything unhinged from his lower jaw when he spoke. His golden eyes flickered from her books and back again to her.

Amie gaped and replied, “Um, sorry
,
I didn’t know I needed to put those away.” Judging from the gleam in the gryphon’s eye Amie could have sworn he saw right through her. Perhaps she had already known, in a way, someone else used the library. The golden feathers she had discovered matched the wings now tucked snugly against his lion’s back.

The gryphon grumbled something under his breath then twitched to meet her gaze. “However, I must admit I was pleased to find so young a spirit visiting my cave. Perhaps we might share from this moment forward?” Though he had no eyebrows to speak of, the space above his eyes rose slightly, daring her to contradict him.

She nodded in answer and after hesitating a moment, peered over at his perfectly rendered calligraphy. “Your work?” When she saw his surprise she offered, “I’m a writer too…or at least, I was before I came here.”

“Hmm…I doubt any of us ever cease writing our stories, even if they are in our heads. What was it you called me earlier, when you were standing there about to piss your knickers, darling?”

Amie couldn’t help her gaping jaw and choked on a laugh. “S-sorry, but you remind me of someone else I know. Guess the name sort of slipped.” If a gryphon could smile, this must be pretty close.

“Feather, eh?” He tested the waters and Amie dipped her hand in with her smile. “I like it!” His voice boomed in the small enclosure and Amie jumped. “Aye, that is what you must call me, Jessamiene Wenderdowne. I always was fond of nicknames…”

“How did you know my name?”

“Why
,
everyone knows who
you
are, lass. Don’t you?”

Shaking her head
,
she mused to herself. “Talking gryphons?”

“Well
,
of course I can talk! Why not? You talked enough before as it is!” He chuckled after noticing her suspicious glare. Waving a clawed paw
,
he tossed his head at an inhuman angle. “Ach, never mind! All of my brothers hold a common eye, even those who have gone on before us. Helps us to keep things clear up here.” Tapping the side of his head with an extended claw he laughed again at her expression.

“You heard all my conversations.” Amie groaned, beginning to discern the truth at long last. She should have known
the stuffed eagle’s
eyes looked too lively to be glass implants.
But the fact that this gryphon was able to see through the eyes of all his kind intrigued her.

“Aye, we did
,
and
’
twas nothing to be ashamed of my dear. It is only fitting I aid you as my
greatfeather
did your
great-granduncle
Oberon.”

“What did he do?”

Feather shrugged and grinned. “Some grand gesture
which
gave him the honor of forever watching over Lord Oberon’s precious books, an honor I hope to achieve myself one day. Make no mistake about it
,
Jessamiene, knowledge is power and those books in your arms are only a ripple in the pool.”