14

TALON

The beginning of Caspian’s grand tour is even worse than I anticipated.

Usually traveling is one of the only good parts of my job because I can be a soldier first. Focused, in charge, with people who share my motives and simple needs. But the third time I brought up security plans for the road to House Gryphon, Caspian threw a fit that deteriorated into a furious argument and ended with his absolutely forbidding me to participate in the tour as his general and commander of the Dragon’s Teeth. He insisted I would prioritize the prince part of the adorable title bestowed upon you by the common folk and threw several items of his clothing at me. Dress like a first scion, baby brother.

I own exactly two jackets that aren’t uniforms: a vivid emerald-green velvet and a very plain black jacquard. I hope my brother likes me in black.

It’s too late to change my mind by the time I mount my war drake for departure and realize her luminous scales are a green so dark they glint black even in the rain and I’ve ended up making a statement Caspian probably approves of.

The first day only gets worse as it drags on: drizzle and heavy skies slow the carriages, and the herd drakes smoke when they cough; pennants hang limp and sad instead of snapping prettily; servants cram into the carriages to avoid mud; even my soldiers are grumpy. If Finn had come, he’d be shooting me dark looks but teasing the soldiers around him with old stories and promises, at least keeping morale high in the army. I can’t do that. I can only lead by example, chin up and no complaints. But my lack of uniform holds me apart, and I ride at the front of the parade instead of ranging among the ranks as I prefer.

Then when we stop for midday break I find Caspian and Darling apparently debauching each other.

Shock—at Darling—and fury—at Caspian—lock my mouth shut, and I stare a moment too long. I’m somehow disappointed in myself. As if I had anything to do with it! I tear away to snap commands and make sure Elias is looking after Caspian and Darling before eating my meal with the Teeth. I sleep with the Teeth, too, in a tent barely suited to a captain, much less a first scion.

The next two days only improve weather-wise. The sun and a cheerful breeze turn the harsh landscape prettier, wildflowers blossoming in pastel rainbows along the road as we parade through the low foothills leading northwest from Phoenix Crest and its lonely mountain. I don’t have any trouble avoiding my brother or Darling—they seem to agree it’s for the best that we give each other a wide berth. Elias remains at Caspian’s side—the two of them often spend all day in the High Prince Regent’s carriage. Darling refuses to ride in her opulent carriage for more than a couple of hours, but she doesn’t know the first thing about riding drakes. If I were feeling charitable, I might offer to teach her, or let her ride with me. But I am not. The sergeant I assigned to Darling weeks ago—Marjorie—offers, and Darling declines, choosing instead to climb on top of her carriage.

I nearly laugh, but I manage to turn it into a huff and glare. She looks right at me; the cut glass decorating her goggle straps glitters in the sun, but the lenses are night black. Her head tips up in challenge. In that moment she looks more like a painting than a real girl.

I turn away, telling myself if she falls to her death—good.

Of course, Caspian makes a production of it when he realizes what Darling has done, turning the entire episode into a grand joke to the point of climbing onto his own carriage and dragging a disgruntled Elias with him.

I continue to ignore them all.

Deep on the third night, someone slips into my tent, and I instantly have them on the ground by the throat, blade to their jugular.

My eyes adjust quickly to the dim red light from low fires outside. The neck under my hand shifts—I smell charcoal and a sweet flower.

“Talon,” rasps my brother.

I lean back into a crouch. There’s barely room in here for Caspian’s sprawled form, my clothes and weapons, and my sleeping pallet. The canvas roof angles down sharply toward the door flap. I’m silent as I lean over to light the charge on the small boonlamp, then slip my knife back to its place next to the head of my pallet. “What do you want, Caspian?” I whisper.

He sits, rubbing his neck, and crowds over to plop next to me. The blue glow of the boonlight catches his messy long curls, the line of his collarbone where his robe has slipped, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the depth of his dilated pupils.

There’s a smear of darkness under his left eye.

Caspian stares through me as I study him. Impatiently I rub at the mark on his cheek. It smears like soot. “Have you been painting?”

“Sketching,” he murmurs, face twisting in disgust. “Painting is better.”

I settle myself, try to relax into a less threatening posture. He’s drunk or high or in the grip of his boon madness. Why else would he seek me out? But gently I ask, “Why?”

“Oh,” he giggles, listing forward. I catch his shoulder and he looks at it, startled, but then pats my hand. “Did you know you can paint over paint? A whole picture, just let it dry and paint over it—with the right kind of paint, of course, and sometimes you have to sand it down or the—the texture will be apparent. But if you do it right you can just paint it over. Hide the original. It’s still there, a ghost!” Caspian gasps a laugh. “Maybe somebody could carefully excavate it, but otherwise only the person who painted over it will remember, and as time goes on, even that person forgets everything but what was new-painted. Maybe even forgets there was an original painting in the first place. Is it even still there if nobody remembers it? If nobody knows it could be excavated? Isn’t that a neat trick?”

“Yeah,” I say, gripping his shoulder.

“Do you remember when Mother died?”

My mouth goes dry. I’m quiet long enough, Caspian leans in, nudging at my hand with his shoulder.

“Ah, no,” I whisper. “I remember the time, but not . . . the day. Not what happened.” Shame closes my throat. I should remember. She was my mother.

“It’s all right; I’m—I’m glad you don’t,” Caspian says. He pats my hand again. “It was awful. And Father hated—well. Father was furious.”

“He went to war.”

“Against the Sphinx for supposedly poisoning her right there in her own garden!” He says it like it’s funny. Lighthearted punchline to a very cheerful joke.

“Supposedly?” I demand.

“Oh, you know, evidence was found—it was all very aboveboard. They were angry, you see, for Father marrying a lady from House Cockatrice. Not their Sphinx daughter, whom he’d supposedly been courting before Mother.”

“Not a good reason for war.”

“Oh, Talon.” Caspian laughs loud enough someone outside will hear. “Is there ever a good reason for war?”

I grind my teeth and say nothing.

“Anyway. Do you have wine?”

“Caspian, no, I don’t, and if I did, I wouldn’t give you any. I’m going to take you back to your carriage.”

“No, let me stay here.”

“Sleep here?” I say incredulously.

“Just . . .” He leans back, half on the pallet. “Just for a moment.” His eyes close.

I stare. His eyes dart beneath his lids, and his lips twitch as if he’ll speak again. He folds his long fingers together on his stomach.

“Caspian,” I ask, suddenly urgent. “What were you sketching?”

He smiles. “Darling.”

Of course. That’s all he paints. It hurts, though. For a variety of reasons I’m ignoring. “Are you going to marry her?”

“What!” Caspian sits up straight.

“You were just reminding me this war began again fourteen years ago because our father did not marry a scion of House Sphinx. Now you—you have one. And you were kissing her.”

Caspian carefully puts both hands on my cheeks. His skin is cold. “Talon, dragonlet, you need to get better at hiding your emotions and thoughts while we visit all these Houses.”

I allow him to hold my face. “I don’t want to be better at that, Caspian. Why shouldn’t people know what I think and feel? It doesn’t change how good I am with a blade, or my strength. If people know me, they won’t try to take what’s mine thinking it would be easy.”

My brother strokes his thumbs under my eyes, then lets his hands fall away. “Such a good Dragon,” he whispers, almost lamenting. “I don’t know if it’s impossibly naive or gloriously just.” Caspian falls back onto my pallet. “Either way, it could get you killed. I’d prefer you remain alive.”

As familial affection goes, it’s weak, but more than I’ve had in a long time, and my heart burns with it.

Caspian hums to himself as he curls on my pallet, drawing the thin wool blanket against his chest. I sigh, leave him with the boonlight on, and take my weapons outside. At the nearest fire I sit, falchion across my lap. As the dawn slowly approaches, I think about the First Dragon, a woman who made herself a coat of rough iron and drake scales in order to protect her family from greedy men intent on taking everything that was theirs, including their lives. She begged Chaos to help her be strong enough and was transformed into a massive dragon with iron scales. Our first empyreal.

If Caspian thinks I’m a good Dragon, I won’t let that be a weakness.

---

We arrive at Furial, the seat of House Gryphon, after five full days of travel. Thick granite walls surround the large and lively city, and as we march up the main street, people line the way, some waving, others merely observing, intent as if they’re memorizing everything to write down or tell to their grandchildren someday. At the head of the parade, I remain solemn, nodding to those who wave, but keep my eyes moving, looking for danger. Numerous soldiers behind me in the caravan will be doing the same. It’s crowded but nothing more. Here there are few signs of the war that has chewed up the southern half of our island.

A roar of laughter and awe rises behind me, and I assume Caspian did something extravagant, but I do not turn. My drake dances slightly beneath me, her claws clicking the cobbled street. Her feathered crest flares, too, and I pat her neck. Her scales are sleek and warm from the afternoon sun.

The street winds slightly upward toward the northern quadrant of the city where the manor complex of the Gryphon regent rises in ancient, mismatched stories stacked like a tumble of old books and scrolls. Some stories are granite like the city wall, others dark wood, a few whitewashed and painted with lines of beautiful red calligraphy. The roofs are all flat, and the facade hosts numerous wide balconies, as if to welcome great flying creatures. I wonder if they’ve always been symbolic, or if the First Gryphon and his children visited hundreds of years ago. Before the front entrance a garden of evergreen and pale rock spreads in rows like the rays of a star. We ride up the central ray, toward an arc of people resplendent in red waiting to greet us.

I direct my drake to the left, and soldiers spread out in a rest formation, allowing the carriages to pull up. Their drivers place Caspian’s in the middle, with Darling’s to the right, and attendants dash to open doors and hand them out.

Caspian flicks his long embroidered green coat behind him and offers his hand to Darling, who wears a suit of wide layered pants and fitted bodice, with lace over her arms and trailing down her back, all in the ivory color of House Sphinx. She is beautiful in that color, in contrast with her dark skin and beribboned black curls. Only her goggles distract, these an elaborate mask of creamy-looking white leather that flares around her eyes and temples like wings. It’s part of her hair styling, too.

She must hate it.

But she takes Caspian’s hand and allows him to escort her toward the waiting House Gryphon. I dismount and follow just behind, knowing I mar the display of their riches and power.

Gryphon regent Vivian Chronicum smiles as we reach her. She looks exactly the same as she did the last time I met with her: a small, whip-thin woman in her twenties, with brown skin even darker than Darling’s and curls cut close to her skull. A scarlet gown falls gracefully from her narrow shoulders, with an off-center belt at her hips holding keys and a small dagger.

“Welcome, Prince,” she says, expression open and warm. Almost as if she likes Caspian.

Maybe she does. Two years ago she was less effusive with me.

Caspian says, “A pleasure as always, O wise and beautiful Gryphon. Let me introduce to you the equally wise and beautiful scion of your sibling House Sphinx.” He draws Darling ahead of him, and Vivian reaches out both hands.

“My welcome, and the welcome of all our House, Maribel Calamus,” Vivian says.

“Please, call me Darling,” she murmurs, a muscle working in her jaw.

Beside me, Elias steps up, apparently unable to wait longer. “Regent,” they say.

Vivian’s smile broadens into a grin. “Elias! I am so thrilled to see you home.”

Elias hugs their cousin, wrapping her slight frame with their larger.

While they embrace, Darling mutters, “Sibling House?”

Caspian answers her, leaning in. “Haven’t you heard the origin story of the First Gryphon and Sphinx?”

“Oh, of course,” Darling says harshly. She’s definitely lying—or at least doesn’t know the same story we do.

Before anyone can continue, Vivian pats her cousin on the cheek and turns to us. “You must be looking forward to rest. I’ll have you shown to your quarters, and perhaps in two hours we can meet for dinner?”

I step up. “I will check the accommodations before the Prince Regent or Sphinx scion may settle in.”

Vivian frowns. “Surely you trust our preparations, War Prince. We are more than allies with the Dragons.”

I bow formally. “Trust is not the question, my sage. It is my duty, and having maintained rituals of politeness would not help me sleep should anything happen to the head of House Dragon or Sphinx.” Without waiting for any answer, I turn to Arran Lightscale, who’s in direct command of the squad of Teeth with us. “The library wing?” I ask Vivian Chronicum, and she nods, a little amused and a little offended. I bow once more to all the gathered regents and sweep around them into the manor house with Arran and the Teeth at my heel.

The inside of Gryphon Manor is as eclectic as the outside, with dark corridors that open into oddly shaped rooms and the occasional dead end, and staircases you must first go up a half flight before you can get down to a lower level. Thanks to practice and my boon, I’m in no danger of becoming lost and lead the Teeth toward the library—it is the grand heart of the manor, multi-floored with ladders and balconies and a warren of stacks and tucked-away reading carrels. Both times I’ve visited House Gryphon, my party has been put into the hall of guest rooms that curls around the south side of the library.

We split up and I remind the Teeth to do their jobs, but be respectful. I begin in the larger guest suites, clearing the one I assume will be Caspian’s first. I move from the narrow balcony to the shared balcony of the neighboring suite, checking everything. I’m only just starting in the second suite when the door flies open and Darling strides in, Marjorie and an attendant assigned by Caspian’s people wearing Sphinx livery behind her.

Darling halts immediately when she notices me.

“I’m not finished,” I say.

“I don’t care. I’m tired, and this is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” I position myself right in front of her. An obstacle.

She grimaces. She’s a warrior, too. But instead of letting herself agree with me, she says, “I can check my own damn room, Talon.”

“Be my guest.”

When Darling moves, I go with her. I follow her into the bedroom, into the corners. Not only looking for danger, but marking what Darling herself does. I can’t trust her. At first she huffs softly, then glances over her shoulder at me with the distinct body language of a glare. Finally Darling whirls around and hits me in the chest. “Cut it out.”

“No.”

“Talon!”

My jaw clenches. “I won’t let you take advantage of my brother.”

“What?”

I don’t reply, staring right at those smoky glass goggles.

“I’m not the one taking advantage in this scenario,” she hisses.

“You kissed him.”

“Are you jealous?” Darling demands, a little breathless and incredulous, but driving even closer to me.

It’s difficult not to grab her and shove her away. I keep a stranglehold on myself. Hard and calm I say, “No. I’m warning you, Darling. I won’t let my guard down, even if he does.”

“You’re acting like a child.” Darling steps back, turns away.

I watch her stomp to the windows and throw open a drape. Light pours in around her. She doesn’t flinch. We stand there, her back to me, both of us quiet, for a long moment. In the sitting room, Marjorie and the Sphinx attendant are moving around, settling things. I should just go. Leave her to finish the sweep of her suite or not. Whatever she wants.

Darling’s shoulders move in a sigh. “The stories Kraken told of the First Sphinx and Gryphon empyreals didn’t mention a relationship between them.”

I say, “The First Gryphon and the First Sphinx were twins. They were traveling together, seeking the answer to an ancient question or looking for a long-lost book of boons, and a horrible storm separated them. When the storm ended, they were each alone. Terrified, they begged Chaos to bring them back together, and Chaos made them mirrors of each other: one a sphinx, lion and human; the other a gryphon, lion and eagle.”

“Did they find each other?” Darling doesn’t turn around.

“I think Houses Gryphon and Sphinx had different endings of the story. You should ask Vivian.”

Now Darling does look back at me. “No Sphinxes to ask.”

It’s on my tongue to tell her to make up her own ending, as the first scion of her House, but it’s too fanciful for me. Instead I bow and leave.