The Shadowed Throne (2 page)

In time, Skade recovered from the birth and was able to walk around her room, but she rarely left her nest, and when she did, she took the egg with her and carried it against her stomach, wrapping it in a blanket. It moved from time to time, squirming sometimes in her grip, and she would murmur and cradle it until it stilled again. She took encouragement from this—the movement felt strong, and that meant the infant must also be strong.

Soon she began to use it as a gauge of how it was growing as well—the infant's wriggling grew noticeably more vigorous and powerful over time. The infant itself grew as well—the ugly shell covering it began to stretch as its contents expanded. Its surface had become dry and cracked, and now it finally began to weaken.

And then, nearly a week and a half after its strange birth, the egg began to come apart.

Skade, dozing in her nest, woke up with a start when she felt the egg moving against her. She sat up and saw fluid oozing down the side. A tear had appeared.

Silent, unsmiling, she sat on her haunches and watched without moving a muscle.

The egg's surface distorted even more, and she could see the infant struggling inside—this time not stopping to rest. Tiny limbs thrust outward, not flailing vaguely now but pushing in a determined effort to escape.

For a while it looked as if it would not succeed, but after a moment's rest, the infant made one last push upward. A wet, tearing sound was followed by a trickle of bloody fluid, and an instant later, Skade heard the first cry of her child.

She reached down at last, pulling away the remains of the egg, and there was her baby, lying in a puddle of blood and slime, tiny hands reaching toward her.

Skade hissed suddenly, loudly, like a cat. “No!”

The child made an ugly croaking sound. Stubby talons curled.

Skade stared a moment longer, her yellow eyes dull with disbelief.

Then she moved away. She climbed out of the nest and stripped off her dress, selecting a clean one from her bags. There was some food left from lunch—she ate it, then squatted down to groom, all the while completely ignoring the creature calling for her.

She packed her belongings and walked out of the room without ever looking back.

Downstairs, she found the innkeeper's wife, who started horribly at the sight of her. “Er . . . milady, I'm sorry, are you leaving . . . ?”

“Yes.” Skade reached into her bag, and handed over a small, leather pouch. “This is the gold for you. Now I am going to find Hyrenna and my slaves, and I shall leave.”

The innkeeper's wife followed her as she left the building. “But milady . . . your child. Where is it?”

“I have no child,” Skade said curtly, and strode away.

Hyrenna was flying overhead and came down to meet her. “Skade, I am pleased to see you. We are leaving now?”

“Yes.” Around them both, the slaves were already packing up their belongings.

Hyrenna glanced toward the building. “Your egg?”

“It did not hatch,” said Skade, expressionless. “I have no young.”

“That is sad for you.” Hyrenna raised a foreleg, and slowly scratched her face. “What will you tell your mate when you see him again?”

“I will tell him nothing,” Skade snapped. “There is nothing to tell. When I find him again, I shall make new eggs with him, and we will both be proud of our young.”

“Yes,” said Hyrenna. “That is how it should be. Come now, put on my harness, and we will fly ahead.”

Skade did so, buckling on the straps around Hyrenna's head and neck that would provide handholds for her in the air. Once they were adjusted, she climbed on, and the griffin took off with an easy flick of her wings—flying up and over the inn to circle while the slaves finished their preparations and moved off again along the dusty road northward.

T
he ring seemed to glow golden in the firelight, the gems glittering all over its outside. She stared at it, entranced. Such magnificence, and all for her.

The human turned it over carefully, to let her see it from all angles. “This is one of my finest pieces. How d'ye like it?”

“It is beautiful.”

The human only stared at her, nervous and uncomprehending.

Oeka clicked her beak irritably and held out her foreleg. The human understood this and carefully snapped the ring closed just above her knee. It fitted perfectly. Pleased, Oeka offered her other foreleg to receive its twin.

The rings were heavy and felt odd, but she didn't care. She pecked at the gems, cooing softly at their shine. Every other griffin who saw her now would instantly recognise her superiority, no matter how much bigger or older it was. Only the highest of the high could wear rings like these, and she was that.

Oeka huffed to herself, her feathers fluffed.
Only I am worthy,
she thought.
Only I have a human who is a Queen.

That reminded her—she should go and show the rings off to her human now. She would want to see.

Oeka turned her back on the goldsmith and walked out of his workshop, reflecting proudly on everything that had happened over the last week or so. When the Mighty Skandar had flown away from Malvern, taking his human and Oeka's with him, it had felt like a disaster. Oeka had no way of knowing where her human had gone—the human she had to protect and bring to greatness. For all she knew, her human could be dead.

She had stayed alone in the city, hiding from the traitors who wanted them both gone, hoping endlessly that she would hear some word of where her human might be. But nothing came.

She had watched, hidden on a rooftop, as the traitor prepared to crown herself Queen in place of her missing cousin. Her whole body had trembled with the need to do something—anything—but what
could
she do? Without her human, she was nothing.

But her human had returned. Laela had returned. Alone, ragged, and exhausted . . . but she had returned, and all of Oeka's hopes had returned with her.

Still, she hadn't moved. She stayed where she was, watching to see what would happen. Surely, Laela would die now. Without the Mighty Skandar and his partner, the King, to support her, she would be helpless.

Oeka shook her wings, happy at the memory. She had been wrong, and that was what made it wonderful. Laela had not needed Skandar or the King to help her. She had triumphed that day, and the moment Oeka knew it, she returned to her side at once—ready to be her friend once more.

Laela was Queen now, and all of Oeka's grandest dreams had come true.

I was right to choose her,
she thought.
There can be no better human for me. She is the one I deserved, for my strength. The daughter of the Mighty Skandar's human is mine.

Oeka loped through the streets of Malvern, in the tradesmen's quarter, welcoming the excited whispers of the humans she passed.

“Isn't that the Queen's griffin?”

“It is; I saw her myself, before. That's Oeka!”

Oeka cast a glance at the human who'd spoken. “You shall call me the
Mighty
Oeka now.”

With that, she took off to fly over the city—heading toward the Eyrie, and Laela.

I
n her own quarters, Laela was having problems.

She opened up a clothes-chest and rifled through it, hurling various bits of clothing in all directions. Still not finding what she was after, she upended the entire contents onto the floor and dug through them. Nothing. She swore and stumped over to the dressing-table, which had jewellery strewn all over it. Another search of the drawers turned up nothing.

“Damn it!” Laela hurled a set of underclothes across the room, narrowly missing Oeka as she entered through the archway from her nest.

The small brown griffin ducked. “What is this?”

Laela slumped into her chair. “I got a meetin' with the council in a moment, an' I can't find my
bloody
crown.”

Oeka trampled over a gown on her way past the ravaged wardrobe. “Perhaps it is in a place you have not looked.”

“Not bloody likely. If it's in this room anywhere, then I'm a muddy goat. Where've you been, anyway?”

“I went to see the ring-maker,” said Oeka, and raised a foreleg to show off the glittering golden band.

Laela forgot her sulk at once. “Wow, Oeka, that's beautiful! I didn't know he'd finish that quick.”

“You are impressed?” Oeka said smugly.

“Damn right I am. Things've got so many jewels on 'em, I'm amazed yeh can still fly. That man knows his work—I gotta give him extra when I send down his pay.”

“The council shall also be impressed,” said Oeka. “And their humans. How magnificent I shall look!”

“Very. We gotta go see 'em soon—right after I've found that gods-damned crown. And how long that's gonna take I dunno. It'd probably be faster if I just had a new one made.”

Oeka sauntered past her to the bed. “It may be good to have one extra.”

“Yeah, so you can wear one, too. Hey, what are yeh doin'? Don't even think about tearin' my bed up again; I'll have yeh skinned.”

Oeka shoved the pillow aside and hooked the crown out from under it with her beak.

Laela ran to get it. “Finally! What in the gods' names was it doin' under there?”

“Only you may know,” said Oeka. “For now, we have work to do.”

“Too right.” Laela put it on. “There, how do I look?”

“Your fur must be groomed,” said Oeka.

Laela muttered and stomped over to the dressing-table. She selected a comb, and sat down to try to neaten her long, curly black hair.

Oeka watched with amusement. “You have your father's coat but not so much of his nature. He would never have allowed himself to be seen before grooming himself.”

“I know. I saw his collection of brushes.” Laela growled to herself as she struggled with a particularly stubborn tangle.

“I did not doubt that you were his daughter,” Oeka said unexpectedly.

“Eh? What's that supposed to mean?”

The small griffin's dark green eyes gleamed. “I knew that you were his from the moment I saw you. You looked like him, and smelt the same. You and he did not know it yet, but a griffin's senses do not lie.”

“Yeh weren't the only one, Oeka. Everyone who saw us together thought we looked the same. I thought maybe that was why he always said I reminded him of himself.”

“Perhaps. But when I scented his mind, I knew the truth.”

Laela put the brush down. “How d'yeh mean?”

“There were memories in his mind,” said Oeka. “Buried. Hidden. Things he kept away from himself. He remembered an old life, before he was
Kraeai kran ae
. He remembered another name. And he remembered a female.” Her voice became dreamy. “A human female, one he loved and mated with. A coat of brown and eyes of blue.”

Laela's own bright blue eyes shone with unshed tears. “My mother.”

“Perhaps.”

“So he did love her. Old Bran lied. He never raped her.”

“Who knows?” said Oeka. “But my magic tells only truth. Perhaps if he had lived, he would have told you.”

“He wouldn't have.” Laela shook her head. “He didn't remember. Not until after he . . . after he was . . . while he was dyin' . . . that's when he remembered. It was like he woke up, just before he was gone.”

“He was your father,” said Oeka. “And that is all that matters. I knew it, and that is why I chose you. Why I stayed with you. And I knew that he had chosen you to be his heir.”

“Yeh did? When? How?”

“He told me.”

They stared at each other.

“
Told
yeh?” said Laela. “When?”

“When we were in Amoran,” said Oeka. “When he became ill. He feared that he might die. He told me, ‘Oeka, I know I will not be King much longer. My dead heart tells me. I have no wife, no children. I have no heir. My cousin thinks that her son will succeed me, and I had planned for him to do so. But I do not trust him any more. I trust no-one now but Skandar, and one other.'”

There really were tears in Laela's eyes now. “Me. He trusted me.”

“Yes. He told me, ‘Laela is like a daughter to me. She is like a mirror of myself. She has my strength, but she is not like me because she still has a heart. The North deserves her. Never tell this to anyone, Oeka. Only remember, and when the time comes, Laela can know. I want her to be Queen when I am gone. She will need your help, as her partner. Give her your strength, as Skandar gave me his.'”

“He knew,” Laela whispered. “He knew all along he was gonna die. He was plannin' for it, all that time.”

“I believe so. His mind tasted of resignation.”

Laela turned away. “I should've loved him. I should've been like a daughter. If I'd only known . . .”

“It is not your fault,” said Oeka. “He trusted you, Laela. Now live to that trust. Come. Our council waits.”

Laela pulled herself together with an effort. “Yeah . . . guess we should get goin'.”

“Our power is not yet safe,” Oeka reminded her, as they left. “There are still threats we must deal with.”

Laela's eyes narrowed. “I know.”

T
he huge chamber built halfway up the largest of the Eyrie's towers had been known as the council chamber back in the days when Malvern had been ruled by Southerners.

It had kept that name after twenty years of playing host to a new ruler and a new council, but it didn't look quite the same any more. The domed roof had been repainted with a mural of a starry sky and the different phases of the moon in a ring, and the tapestries on the walls below the gallery had been replaced with painted hides and ceremonial spears. In the middle of the floor, ringed by the seats of the council, the special sun-shaped platform for the Eyrie Master or Mistress had been given a new coat of paint as well. Now it looked like a full moon instead—a nice touch, Laela had always thought.

After his conquest of the North, her father Arenadd said that his cousin Saeddryn had wanted to burn Malvern to the ground. Arenadd, though, had overruled her—preferring to keep the city and the Eyrie as the seat for his own government.

Laela was glad about that. She had come to love Malvern, and the Eyrie especially.

“Saeddryn and the rest think this Eyrie is a Southern thing,” her father had once said. “But they forgot that we were the ones who made it. The Southerners forced us to build it for them, and now we can enjoy the results.”

The council had already taken up position by the time Laela entered, and she eyed them confidently as she made her way toward her rightful place.

At only twenty years old, Laela knew she didn't look much like a Queen, but the truth was that she didn't feel like one, even in the fine gown decorated with gemstones and the thin silver crown that rested on her forehead. She was tall and narrow-shouldered, like her father Arenadd, and had inherited his thick, curly black hair. But her blue eyes had come from her Southerner mother, and her pointed nose had a sprinkling of freckles that stood out against her pale skin. Her rough Southern accent had come from her foster father, Bran, who had raised her in a tiny house in the South. She had started her life as a half-breed peasant girl, and now . . .

She stepped up onto the platform, with Oeka beside her, and saw how the human members of her council bowed their heads respectfully to her. She felt the light pressure of the crown on her head. For just an instant, the sheer scale of what had happened to her in such a short time made her feel dizzy. How could she have gone from a Southern village to this? Queen of her own country? It was the sort of thing that only happened in children's stories.

But, of course, it hadn't been her own doing. She had come to Malvern by herself, hoping to find a new life, and that was where she had met Arenadd. Her father, though neither of them knew it. He had saved her, and protected her, and he had been a father to her even before either of them had discovered the truth. He had made Laela his heir for reasons of his own, and now he was gone, and here she was. It was madness, but it was true.

Laela pulled herself together and turned her attention back to the council.

They were all there. Lord Iorwerth, the Master of War, and his partner, the powerful Kaanee. Lord Torc, Master of Law. The Masters of Trade, Building, Taxation, and Farms were there, too. And finally, there was Lady Saeddryn Taranisäii, High Priestess of Malvern. She stood with her husband Torc on one side, and her partner—the hulking Aenae—on the other.

Laela's mouth tightened. Saeddryn's hair was shot through with silver, and she was weathered with age, but there was a hardness to her, as if she had steel inside her instead of bones. She was like her cousin Arenadd in that respect, and Laela knew that she more than equalled him in ruthlessness.

Saeddryn looked back coolly, through her solitary black eye.

Laela gestured politely at the councillors. “Sit down. I think we're ready to get started.”

“Welcome, my lady,” Iorwerth said as he obeyed. His look toward her was warm but tinged with uncertainty.

“Now then,” said Laela. “First up, is there anythin' anyone wants to bring to my attention? I know the High Priestess has somethin' she wants to mention.”

Saeddryn took her cue, standing up almost instantly. She folded her hands in front of her and began very carefully. “As yer reign begins, my lady, there are some things that have t'be . . . dealt with.”

Oh, I'll deal with you all right,
Laela thought.

“Go on,” she said.

“First of all . . .” Saeddryn hesitated. “I respect King Arenadd's decisions as much as anyone, and I'd never dream of goin' against his wishes. But when it comes to the question of ye succeedin' him, there are some things that I want answered.”