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A MYSTERIOUS LETTER
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SAVARA HAD SPENT THE beginning of an uncomfortable night waiting to hear about Jasper’s condition. She’d chewed her nails down to stubs, but that didn’t last long. When she bit and began to bleed, she resigned herself to twirling hair around her fingers and inadvertently pulling out a few strands in the process. Outside, chirping crickets counted the uncomfortable seconds by. An eternity had passed since they had rested Jasper onto the medical bed and Brass had set to work.
They all waited there at first, but between her nervously questioning whether he was alright and Griffin pacing around the room, Brass thought it was best for everyone to leave, get a mediocre night’s sleep, and let him work in peace. Brass was the only one who seemed to maintain any semblance of level-headedness, and she was grateful for it, even if his one-word reassurances did nothing for her nerves.
“Are you alright?” Griffin called from the door. Aside from the bags forming under his eyes, physically, he looked like he always had, but Savara could feel the strain in his muscles to keep moving, the nervous energy in his veins. She knew he would sleep just about as well as she would—if they ever got to sleep.
“If I said yes, would you believe me?”
“No,” he said with a half-smile. “The day didn’t go how I imagined it would.”
Savara let out a nervous laugh as tears filled her eyes. “I’d be more worried if it had.” She’d spent the last hour or so replaying the scenes in her mind, everything from the burning corpse in the alley to seeing Jasper dangle over Sebastian’s shoulders. Each time she revisited the incidents, she trembled. Her left side ached from stress-induced intestine bunching just below her ribcage.
She knew the events of the day had taken their toll on her physical appearance as well, which seemed to be why Griffin refrained from sudden movements and loud noises. He inched closer, actively keeping the distance between them alive, though she didn’t know if it was for her benefit or his.
“Would you like to talk about it?” The softness in his voice sounded genuine, but being Griffin, she knew there was something more to it.
“About what?”
“What happened earlier?”
She hugged her knees into her chest and sniffled. “What’s there to say?” Within the span of a single day, she’d found out that she was both a princess and a daemon, she’d been kidnapped and made a deal with the devil, and somehow worse still, she’d unconsciously almost killed two people, her best friend included. What was she supposed to say? Sorry for being born this way? Sorry for somehow having messed up this world she remembered nothing of?
“No one is blaming you for what happened,” said Griffin. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought; she blamed herself. “...just in you needed to hear that.”
Savara shrugged. She didn’t feel like speaking, much less to him. She could almost feel the question forming in his mind. Could she control it? Her power? And how would that be useful to his cause? The answer to the first was a resounding no, and as for the second... What use would it be having someone around you couldn’t even trust to not kill you?
To Griffin’s credit, he didn’t ask. He turned and headed for the door. As he reached, his hand balanced on the edge of the mesh hesitantly. She heard the tug of the heavy fabric, but she didn’t hear him leave.
“I can understand you not wanting to talk to me,” Griffin began softly. “...but you should talk to somebody.” He worked the same gentle tone as before, hushed tones that rang of innocence and kinder words to reassure her, but those weren’t the things that ended up convincing her. The droop of his head and shoulders, the way his cloak hung on him like a much heavier weight, the way his blue eyes had paled. As for what he’d said, she had no one to talk to. Who would be able to understand her trauma? Who would be able to look her in the eye if she told them of the voices in her head and the murderous intent in her hands?
No one.
He didn’t bother looking back as he crossed into the night, but Savara knew that if he had, she would’ve seen a frown on his typically unmoved face. She watched him go, even down to the last second it took for the mesh to sweep closed behind him, and in the silence, she wondered if it was really an act at all.
***
GRIFFIN PONDERED HIS next move, still shaken by the day’s events. Brass had already kicked him out of the medical tent on account of his constant busybody pacing, and Savara didn’t want to talk about anything. She looked even more ruffled than he’d imagined she would. He felt sorry for her. Everything had been thrust upon her so suddenly, and she scarcely understood it all.
But he had to do it.
He had to bring her back to see just how important she really was. After what she’d done against the man in the alley, and after what she’d done to Jasper, he knew he was right to have done so.
For the moment, he decided it was best to head back to his tent. He needed to consult his books for information on the stones. The earlier he started, the greater jump he would get on them. But who were they? Though the legends surrounding them were many, the ones with any true insight were few and far between. He had hoped Savara might have clued him in, but she wasn’t about to figure herself out anytime soon, let alone the history of an entire exiled nation. And they aren’t alone either, Griffin remembered.
Jasper had mentioned a man with lightning in his fingertips. That could be Alexei, he thought. That bastard always did have a way of making the most out of other people’s suffering. He was discharged from the Izar ranks because he was unstable to begin with. But Alexei doesn’t work for free. Whoever hired him must be working with deep pockets and deeper ambitions. Griffin knew quite a few people who fit that description, but none coming from the northern territories.
He continued down the path towards his tent, wrapped up in his thoughts, when he noticed that Storm had planted herself rigidly in front of his tent. A vicious scowl marked her face, but in her eyes, there was worry. She must have seen Sebastian and his injuries. Nothing else, despite her efforts to deny it, would have troubled her this way.
“Let’s go inside,” Griffin said. “I’d rather not be overheard.”
A crease formed on her brow, but she followed him in silence. The minute the mesh had swept closed, the cork in her anger popped. “She almost killed you all, Griffin,” Storm growled.
“Almost being the operative word, Storm,” he replied as he searched the many shelves for one of the strange leather-bound books his father was always fussing over. “She’s just as much a threat as I am,” he added uninterestedly. The book must be here somewhere... He continued to shift around the many volumes in the library.
“You forget how much of a threat you can be,” Storm scoffed as she paced around the room, her vibrant red braid swinging back and forth like a pendulum with every irritable step. “Besides, from what Sebas says, her powers aren’t... normal.” Griffin didn’t contest her. The next thing he heard was a loud wooden thud. He turned around to see yet another knife embedded into his beautiful old war table and frowned. “What is she, Griffin?”
It was no use hiding anything from Storm. One way or another, she’d find out, and he knew that if he willingly told her, the subsequent blow wouldn’t be so hard. No one would rest easy until she did, and besides, Storm was exponentially more valuable in the loop than out of it. “She was divined one of them.” Griffin saw all the emotions play out on her face as she tried to process the information: confusion, denial, anger, fear, and finally, hesitation. He’d felt the same before he realised what she was.
“One of them? And you’re okay with that?” she yelled. “Do you know how dangerous it is to keep her here? What if she goes wild—”
“She’s not a zoo animal, Storm, and she’s certainly not being kept here against her will,” he said, returning to his book search. “And yes, I’m fine with her being here,” he added, disregarding her harsh comments. Finally, he thought as he plucked one of the dustier volumes from the shelf.
Storm stood with her arms crossed and a downward curl to her lip. “You have the bad habit of overlooking flaws in some that pose great threats to others.”
Griffin raised his brows. “If I didn’t, there are a lot of people that wouldn’t be here, Storm.” Not just a lot of people, she wouldn’t be there, and she recognised it too, biting her lip to keep whatever opinion she was forming in her mouth. “Besides, you need her here as much as I do. Without her, we stand no chance.”
Storm turned the idea over in her head. “And how are you so sure she’s on our side?”
He wasn’t. He could only hope. But he knew she wouldn’t accept that as an answer. “Her eyes speak a language you and I are both intimately acquainted with. Revenge.” Griffin waited for her shock to dissipate before adding, “They killed her family. You know as well as I that revenge is a powerful motivator.”
“You and I also know that revenge can drive people insane,” Storm retorted, looking more troubled now, realising as he did just how dangerous someone seeking revenge could be, especially when that someone has been burdened with powers that seem to be out for blood.
“Which is why we must tend to the better parts of her character and not feed whatever violent tendencies she might have inside,” he urged softly.
“Fine, but I’m not pretending to like her,” Storm huffed.
Griffin raised an eyebrow at her and smiled. “I’d never ask anything less of you.” He knew she’d grow to like her in time, or at the very least, not dislike her. For now, acceptance—especially from Storm—was as good an achievement as any.
“By the way,” Storm added, raising her nose pointedly, “you have a letter,” she said as she tossed the small brown envelope onto the table. Such a simple thing, and yet it rattled him to his core.
Griffin blinked twice to make sure it was real. It didn’t fade. He glowered at the unopened message that bore his name, turning it over in his hand incredulously. “Where did you get this?” he asked, with a frown, remembering the last time he received a message like this one.
“A mole,” she said, curiosity tingeing her voice. “It appeared at the bonfire.”
Griffin ripped it open, scanning its contents before casting it out of existence. He pulled a piece of parchment and a quill from atop one of the book piles and began to scribble. His letter was no more than three lines, but the seriousness of them was clear. He shoved the parchment into an envelope and scribbled only the address of the recipient. “I have to see to the human about other matters,” he said finally. “I need you to ensure this letter to her safely.”
“Lady Amaia?” Storm read, contorting her face as she looked up at him. “May I ask why you’ve chosen now of all times to contact old family friends?” she asked as she watched him pour and seal the blue wax over the envelope.
“No.”
Storm studied the envelope. The scrunching of her brow told him she wasn’t exactly happy with any of his decisions, but she held her tongue anyway. She bowed her head, ready to leave when he called to her again.
“And do me a favour... Train the human. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing, Griffin.” Storm sighed and marched out into the night.
He waited until he was sure she was gone and then waited some more. “So do I...” he whispered finally, though there was no one around to hear. Griffin grazed his hand over the mark Storm had so gratuitously left in his father’s table. He shook his head and smiled, thankful that he would never have to find himself at the other end of her sword.
Despite her temper, she had the good head not to damage any of the papers scattered atop the table. Maps and letters and everything in between lay strewed across the wood. Griffin sifted through the pile until he found an envelope similar to the ominous one he’d just received. He plucked it up uneasily, guilt riddling his intestines as he flipped it over.
The sprawling cursive name had long since faded and its contents smelled of old paper. And to think I’d thought this was only a power grab, Griffin thought as he contemplated the letter dated almost a decade ago. Not even he could have imagined the extent of his mistake. The ink now looked more grey than black, but the words were still perfectly legible:
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BE WARY OF THINGS THAT move in the dark. They plan on ousting the fires.
~ a friend
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BACK THEN, HE’D ALREADY known of the mafia’s intent. Big Tog, as he remembered, had always spoken of a day when the mafia might take control away from the palace. Back then, the threats had always seemed more for show. After the attack on the palace, he’d wrongfully assumed that it was Big Tog finally making good on his years of empty words from the underbelly of Osiirian society, but nothing about that attack was on-character. Big Tog would’ve waved banners throughout the Argia nation, letting them know he was in charge, and forcing the people out onto the streets in fake parades. No one heard of the attack on Osiir for days after the streets had run red with bloody rivers. Not even Big Tog had spoken up back then.
That letter had only been the beginning, and he’d been too blind to realise it.
After his father’s death, when Griffin began sifting through the mess of papers and stacks of books that should have belonged to someone with more standing than his father, he found a strange note from none other than the queen herself. Her daughter—the child he remembered attending a five-day funeral for—was alive, cast off to a world beyond this one, and needed additional protection from what she only referred to then as the dark. The news had rattled him then, and he could only imagine how it had affected his father.
Griffin cursed himself now for having not realised all of the strange coincidences that led him here, but he would not make the same mistake twice. He had schooled his features into mild intrigue with Storm in the room, but he had recognised the envelope, the signature, even the ashy smell of the parchment. His very core stilled as he ripped it open—as it should have many years before.
The seconds ticked by, empty but not hollow, as he read and reread the letter. He wished he could say the words came as a great surprise to him, that the piece of paper hinted at something he couldn’t have dreamed of in the worst of his worst nightmares. But he would be lying. This new letter, ominously similar to the one many years before, only confirmed his fears.
Griffin tossed it back onto the heaps of papers, glowering briefly at the whorl of shadows at the top of one of the maps before slipping the large book under his arm—one of many his father had worked himself to death trying to translate. His father, as much as it pained him to admit, was always three steps ahead of the world, and he felt like a failure in comparison. Long gone, yet Griffin tried desperately still to climb out from behind his shadow.
He cast the thoughts away, along with the feeling of disappointment they brought. He had work to do. With any luck, the human will be the one to translate it, he thought, the book weighing down both his mind and his arm.
He set off into the dark for the second time that night, hoping the irritating lump of bone and skin in the medical tent turned out to be as valuable as a loaf of bread in a famine. Great coincidence that he agreed to let him come, but after everything he’d been through, he realised he wasn’t a firm believer in coincidences.
