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LADY AMAIA
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WHILE MOST OF THE GUESTS shuffled into the dining hall, a few stayed back to exchange brief hellos with the lady of the evening. Griffin waited patiently at the door for her to make her rounds before confronting her, but it seemed she had other plans.
“Griffin, my child!” Lady Amaia called to him in an overly flamboyant way that made him wonder whether he was truly the intended audience. “How you’ve grown,” she said, pinching his cheeks with henna-stained fingers. “Your eyes are just as beautiful and blue as your mother’s.”
“Thank you, Tante. You’re looking as young and radiant as ever,” he replied quietly, kissing her jewelled hand. Lady Amaia had a way of never quite ageing or doing it so slowly and gracefully that each decade that passed treated her more like a single year. Griffin was unaware of her age, only that however old, she didn’t look it—and enjoyed hearing about how she didn’t. “When you invited us to dinner, we were under the impression that—”
“It would be more intimate?” She dropped her tone as she pretended to fiddle with her piercing. “Believe me, if there were any other way...” Her eyes darted over to another part of the room, where a man with all the genuine facial features of a fox spoke casually with visiting young duchesses. He cast a slow, calculating glance over to them while maintaining his own polite conversation. “It seems you are not our only guests this season.”
Griffin’s eyes followed hers, landing on the same curious man. We aren’t the only ones being watched, he realised. He wondered if their messages had been intercepted at some point, though if they had been, there was nothing they could do about it now. “I see...” he replied sternly.
“Oh my, this necklace is such a dreadful thing. Keeps coming undone,” she blurted out for the world to hear. “Fix it for me, my darling,” she added, turning her back to him.
Griffin obliged, believing for a moment that she’d been telling the truth, before realising there was no clasp. An elegantly carved stone rested at the nape of her neck, connecting all the gold chains. Being kanala, she could clasp and unclasp it of her own accord with the wiggle of her pinkie finger, if she so wanted. She didn’t require his help any more than he could give it.
“Lean in and listen,” she whispered instead. Griffin played along, pretending to fiddle with it as he rested his hand on her back. To the rest of the world, he was a diligent young man assisting an old family friend, but between them, a conversation unfolded, well away from even the most acute listeners.
“As you may have gathered, we are being watched, so I’ll be quick. I received your last message, but I believe it was opened before reaching my hands. I don’t know how you know about the stone, but yes, it is safe. As for what you said about the shadows, I’d like to believe you, but how can that be? They were exiled. There’s no way they could’ve escaped.”
“Tante, they have the stone of Osiir. They plan to attack Idune using Argia soldiers.”
“Griffin, my child, it is not safe for you here. Rumours have been stirring about war with the Ur, and if what you say is true, that might just be misdirection. We’ve been burying our heads so deep in one threat that we have failed to see another. The council will not take this news lightly, especially when your word goes against his...”
Lady Amaia adjusted her chin in the direction of the man she’d hinted at earlier, who approached with a look of arrogant intrigue plastered across his face.
“Who is he?”
“General Dhoot, war hero and up-and-coming politician, though he’s more tyrant than hero.”
“Looks like you could use some help with that, young man,” said the General, his voice echoing over their intimate conversation.
Lady Amaia twitched her fingers quickly and clasped it shut. “Thank you, my child,” she said aloud, turning back to Griffin. “This thing is dreadfully cheap. I shall have to get a better one made.” She pulled him in close and whispered, “Be careful with him,” before leaving a bright red lip stain on the high of his cheek. “General Dhoot, what a pleasure it is to see you again.” She turned to him, forcing his name from her lips like dirty water being wrung from a sponge.
“The pleasure is all mine, my lady. You are looking as radiant as always,” he replied, lifting his pointed nose before kissing her bejewelled hand. “And who might this be?” he added, his pointed snout and sharpened incisors on full display.
“My nephew,” she replied. “He and his friends have decided to grace me with their presence this evening.”
“How quaint.” He and Griffin exchanged sceptical, scrutinising gazes before bobbing their heads respectfully. “Permit me to escort you to your seat, my lady,” said General Dhoot, extending his elbow to her.
Lady Amaia nodded and bid Griffin a pleasant dinner. Griffin in turn bowed respectfully. He watched closely as General Dhoot escorted her to the high end of the table, unease riddling through him as he caught the General glance disappointedly at the clasp behind Lady Amaia’s back. In all her eccentricity, Lady Amaia was just as cunning and clever as ever, and yet, this General Dhoot seemed to be equally as cunning. Griffin set off to find Savara, troubled by what this news would mean for both their stay in Idune and the coming war with the shadows.
He found her waiting near the edge of the room, looking as though she’d lost something, though when asked, she lied about it. As they sat down to eat, she stole the occasional glance around the room, a crease deepening at her brow. She searched for something or someone in the many seats of the exquisite oaken dining table. Every time he caught her eyes darting around, he’d follow them to where they’d last settled, each time finding nothing. Judging by her frown, neither did she.
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THE FIRST COURSE DID justice to all the stories he’d heard over the years of Lady Amaia’s parties. Delicate lamb chops dressed in raspberry sauce, thinly sliced sweet potatoes glazed in spiced cinnamon and butter, garlic chips, and salted asparagus dip. The main course far exceeded all expectations. Dishes burst to life, literally, of every colour under the sun. Blackened meats that, when cut, exposed flesh of red and blue; from inside thin bread domes, multicoloured vegetables poured out, shining as if they’d come from a painting. And, of course, drinks were never lacking. For dessert, a replica of the Great Wall, done in a tiered sponge of every flavour from coffee to lemon. When the last set of dessert forks was cleared, trouble began anew.
“A toast!” came the announcement from the far end of the table. General Dhoot stood up with his glass raised high and his pointed nose even higher. “To our most gracious hostess, the lovely Lady Amaia.”
“Here, here!” came the kind replies. Glasses raised and many nodded agreeingly, some even clapped, but Lady Amaia herself was not impressed. She raised her glass and nodded slightly, the shock and suspicion in her eyes only visible to those who truly knew her. Griffin lifted his glass in agreement, though he too sensed something was wrong with the auspicious show of appreciation.
“May she continue to do what is good and just,” General Dhoot continued. “And may the country thrive at her helm.” Emotion swelled like a rising tide over the dinner table. Lady Amaia’s smile vanished. She knew as well as Griffin did that something sinister waited just below the depths of these profound statements. And almost in confirmation, through the applause and cheers, a single voice distinguished itself.
“And to you, General Dhoot, hero of the North. May you and your army be forever strong.”
“Here, here!” the room erupted once more.
General Dhoot lavished in their praise, bathing himself in adoration. He looked over to Lady Amaia with a rotten smile curling at his thin lips. She smiled sweetly in return, though her eyes were as cold as the buckets of champagne that rimmed the table.
From the other end of the table, Griffin clenched his fists as he watched the careful powerplay being carried out. He knew there would be resistance from the council, but if General Dhoot was pushing the narrative of war with the Ur, then there would be another layer of trouble.
“What’s wrong?” Savara whispered, having stopped clapping to ask.
“We’re being toyed with,” he replied, glowering in General Dhoot’s direction. The cocky general cast a lazy glance over towards Griffin, brandishing his pearly white incisors that glittered like knives under the shifting light of the hall.
“Why?” she asked.
Power, he thought. Power was always the end goal. Everyone wants to be in control, some just go to greater lengths and higher heights to attain it. Much less an idea than an entity all its own, preying on the weak and feeding on the desperate. It kills as well as any creature of flesh and bone.
“There are two kinds of power in this world, Savara,” Griffin mumbled. “Respect, which comes at a price to you, and fear, whose price is paid by others. Respect is earned only through your own suffering and humility, but fear is gained through deception, manipulation, and—on occasion—blood. Sometimes, the difference between them is so fine that they can be mistaken for each other, but if you look closely, you can see where the past leaves its mark.”
The kind of power the general sought may have looked like respect to the untrained eye, as evidenced by the elitist applause from around the room, but Griffin saw through his façade. The general was no saint, and the wicked, arrogant grin plastered across his face was something born of spilt blood.
Griffin had been so ravelled up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice the small note in his lap. The manservant who refilled his drink had let it subtly slip from his jacket. He unfurled it slowly in one hand and casually reached for his drink in the other, letting his eyes dip to the three scribbled letters on the otherwise empty paper. ORI. He glanced briefly across the room, catching the expectant eyes of Lady Amaia, who nodded subtly before returning to other affairs.
“Sebastian,” he whispered across the table. “I need a smoke.” Without question, Sebastian excused himself.
Savara caught Griffin’s arm as he was about to leave. “I didn’t know you smoked,” she said.
“I don’t,” he replied in a whisper and slipped out into the night alongside his friend.
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THE COOL AIR FROM THE tops of the mountains swirled gently around them, a refreshing change from the heat of the dining hall.
“Should I be worried about your taking up of bad habits?” Sebastian asked.
Griffin curled the little note around a cigarette and passed it off for him to light. “Not if my bad habits keep us alive,” he replied. He took a long pull from the cigarette and handed it back.
Sebastian nodded and followed suit. “It’s days like these I wonder why we don’t just leave it all behind, let someone else fight...” he commented through a heavy puff.
The pair looked back at their friends through the windows. Griffin noted that, even walls away, Sebastian and Storm had a way of finding each other’s gaze. Storm turned up her nose and ignored him, relief draping her shoulders, but Sebastian looked on in reserved awe, the way he always did behind her back.
The answer was as obvious as the stars in his eyes.
“Because we care,” Griffin replied, a smile toying at his lips. After letting the words sink in, Sebastian turned back to him and nodded, a blush creeping into his cheeks. Neither made to speak, letting heavy, smoke-filled breaths fill the space between them. To any wandering eyes, they simply looked like two people sharing a smoke in silence, watching the slow ascent of the moon.
