15

DARLING

There is something about House Gryphon that makes me incredibly melancholic. It isn’t the rain of the past few days, or the way the house looms. It isn’t even Vivian, who looks vaguely familiar, like someone I once met but never properly knew. At first I think it’s a kind of sadness over seeing a prosperous House when both the House of my birth and the House that adopted me lie in ruins, or even a bit of cabin fever from long hours trapped in that blasted carriage. Then I realize it’s because of Talon and the way he accused me of trying to seduce his brother, like I’m some scheming noble attempting to secure my place and not a hostage myself.

Could he really think so little of me?

I chide myself for the thought. Why do I care what the haughty War Prince thinks of me when he makes a spectacle of himself parading around on that near-feral beast of his? If I’d planned properly, that kiss would’ve spelled Caspian’s doom. My only concerns at this point should be figuring out the current location of Leonetti’s convoy and seeing Talon and Caspian dead. I still have the Kiss of Death tucked away in a box of cosmetics, and even though I keep expecting to see Gavin appear at every turn—I was confident he would be waiting here for me in my rooms—he isn’t anywhere to be found.

I worry that he and Adelaide have given up on me. It has been over a month since I was taken in Lastrium, and the war is theoretically over. What are they doing right now? Still fighting? Or in hiding, waiting for the inevitable next strike?

“My quill.”

Marjorie stands in the doorway, her Dragon uniform traded once more for House Sphinx livery. The smile I turn on her is bitter.

“Are you finished playing soldier, or is Talon just looking to make sure he can track my movements?” I ask. She inclines her head respectfully, not taking the bait.

“Andra and I are here to help you out of your clothes so that you can rest,” she says. Her words are demure, but there is a flash in her eyes that makes me think she returned to my side on Talon’s orders.

“Fine,” I say. I’m still in a bit of a mood, travel and this whole planning-a-double-murder nonsense conspiring against my better nature, but I want out of the ridiculous clothing I wear more than I want to fight.

Marjorie and Andra help me undress, carefully stowing each ivory-feathered piece, and once I am in my underthings, I shoo them away. “I’m tired. Give me a couple turns to rest and then I’ll dress for dinner.”

“We will draw you a bath while you rest,” Marjorie says with a deep bow, before she and Andra withdraw.

Once I am alone, I close all the drapes, so that the room is in deep shadow. I rip off my smoked lenses and rub my eyes, the shadows soothing. The door to my chamber opens and shuts behind me, but I don’t turn toward the sound. I’ve been waiting for him.

“I thought they’d never leave,” Gavin drawls, appearing next to me. I’m not surprised by his presence. I’ve been around him and his boon enough to sense him, even when my eyes cannot see him.

“Where have you been?” I ask, turning toward him. I want to hug him in relief at seeing a friendly face, but his expression is anything but welcoming. This version of Gavin is all business, and I’m made awkward by realizing he isn’t quite as glad to see me as I am him.

“Here. There. Around. I don’t suppose you heard the one about the House Sphinx regent defiling the High Prince Regent?”

“ ‘Defiling’? You sound like a farmer’s wife gossiping in the marketplace. It was just a simple kiss.”

“And yet, he is still alive,” Gavin says, sighing. “You aren’t even wearing the Kiss of Death.”

“Poison is cowardly, Gav,” I say, but there’s no heat to my words. Even to my own ears I just sound scared. Then it hits me: I don’t want to kill Caspian. I actually sort of like him, and the way he plays on people’s expectations of him. “Get me a blade of some sort, and I’ll end them both. But don’t ask me to become something I’m not.” At least with a blade I can pretend it’s a fair fight. And it’s as good a way to stall as any.

“Adelaide said you wouldn’t do it,” Gavin says as I walk over to the bed and collapse into its soft form. Even though the curtains are closed and there are no candles lit, I can see Gavin’s disappointment clearly.

“Killing the Dragons would only make them martyrs,” I say. “Caspian isn’t popular even within his own House, and Talon is as paranoid as they come. If Caspian were to drop dead after so much as looking at me, Talon would figure I was to blame. I’d be put to death and the war would continue. Can House Kraken really handle an assault on the safe houses from the Dragons?”

Gavin sits next to me on the bed. “No. And most of the families we have tucked away have nowhere else to go.”

“So what do you want me to do, Gavin? I’m worthless here. Help me escape and we can plan our next attack.” I want to tell him about Leonetti, about the prison convoy. But I don’t. I’m not sure why, and I know I’ll regret it later. But there’s something about the set of Gavin’s jaw that makes me think this is about more than a political assassination. This is personal for him, and I don’t want to know what he’ll do if I refuse to dance to his tune.

“No. You’re more useful here,” Gavin says. “Even if you won’t assassinate the princes.”

The disappointment in his voice is so strong that guilt unwinds in my middle. “Just get me a blade, Gavin.”

“No. You’re right. If you’re suspected of killing them, you’d be executed immediately. I think . . . I think you playing at Sphinx regent is much more useful.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “How so?”

“Wars are expensive, dearest Darling. And with your newly filled coffers and newfound friends, you can help us more than you know.” Gavin kisses me on the cheek while plucking out the bejeweled comb that holds the mass of my curls. My hair falls around my shoulders, and he stands to go. “Plus, you may not realize it, but your pretty face can be a weapon. No, you should remain here. Dazzle the princes.”

“ ‘Dazzle’ them? How am I supposed to do that? Weave love charms of kelp and hill daisies?”

Gavin laughs. “That’s silly. You can’t find kelp this far inland. No, you’re just going to have to use those lips for something besides murder.” He tugs a curl. “And leave your hair down. You’re prettier when your curls run wild.” At my incredulous look he tips my chin up toward him. His eyes meet mine, and there’s an expression there I don’t quite understand. Regret? Or something else? “You can make them want you, Darling.”

I pull away, putting a bit of space between us. I have nothing to say to his sweet words. I hate that he’s talking about me like I’m one more weapon in the House Kraken arsenal, but isn’t that what I’ve been the last few years? I’ve killed for House Kraken, participated in attacks that would’ve been called merciless and foul by Dragon regulars, and I never once had a single shred of remorse. But now here I am, pampered and coddled, and I’m balking like an ill-tempered drake.

Gavin strides toward the door, the spell broken. “I’ll be back as soon as I make contact with Adelaide and we can come up with a new plan. But if you don’t mind losing a few of your trinkets, these should help buy grain for the war effort,” he says, examining the hair comb a bit more closely.

I wave dismissively. “Take what you want. Just . . . take me with you. Please,” I say. There is a sudden dread weighing heavy in my middle, that staying here will somehow turn me into someone I don’t want to be. I can’t explain the feeling, but I do have the sense of losing myself ever so slowly.

“Darling. Even if you won’t murder those Dragon bastards, you’re still far more useful here than with the Barbs. You know that.”

He disappears from sight, the door opening and then shutting again the only sign of his departure. I wonder how many other jewels he’ll take on his way out. Gavin told me once that when the Dragons executed his father, he stole from nobles to keep his younger brothers and sisters fed while his mother fell into a deep depression. I’m sure he knows which baubles in my stash will fetch the best price.

I just wish he cared as much about me, and the toll of playing along with these Dragons.

But even though the sadness overwhelms and chokes me, I feel a deep sense of shame at letting House Kraken down, of keeping any shred of information about Leonetti secret. Gavin’s disappointment seeps into me even in his absence, as cloying as any perfume and as toxic as one of Miranda’s poisons.

And then, before I can second guess myself, I dig the Kiss of Death out of my cosmetics bag and place it next to the smoked lenses on my dressing table, the small pot a promise and a threat.

---

By the time I head to the evening meal my mood has improved a bit, but not much. After a bath and a costume change—I swear there is a different gown for each hour of the day—I descend the stairs to dinner. The House Gryphon guard who leads the way is careful to keep the boonlight away from my eyes even though I wear my smoked lenses. And when I arrive to the grand dining room, the space large enough to hold a harvest festival, I find that the boonlights are strategically placed to light the space but also keep it dim so that I can remove my lenses.

“I hope you don’t mind my audacity, cousin,” Vivian says, coming forward to clasp my hands in hers. She wears a simple, fitted sheath dress in a brilliant emerald, and her blue-black skin glimmers in the low light.

“Actually, it’s quite welcome. I know my smoked lenses make some nervous, so I am happy to be able to stow them for our first meal together.” I remove my goggles, the motion made easier by my loose hair. I took Gavin’s advice and left my hair down, still an oddity for me. Even so, Andra had been distraught to find that a number of my hair combs were missing, and I had to soothe her anxiousness by saying they probably fell off the wagon during our travels. Besides, I am still far from looking like a beggar. I wear a buttery-yellow dress with magenta panels hidden within the split skirt, the hem weighted so that when I walk there is a flash of color and bare leg. I was not sure that the dress worked, but I quite like the way it moves around me.

I am the first one to dinner, so while the servants pour bubbly water—I politely decline the wine, my lesson learned—Vivian and I strike up a friendly conversation. I mean to ask her about the First Gryphon, but we end up talking about Caspian instead.

“You two seem quite friendly,” I say, after she relates a story about him and an ill-fated game in the House Gryphon maze when they were younger.

“Oh, he is like the unruly cousin I never wanted,” she says with a laugh. “My mother was quite close with the Dragon consort, and when she passed, we were equally devastated.”

“Ah,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’ve stumbled into quicksand. “I’m deeply sorry. I know that some believe House Sphinx responsible for her death.” It’s a vague enough statement that my etiquette coach would be proud.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid House Gryphon has never held that belief. House Dragon’s evidence was hardly convincing,” Vivian says, her words bland like she is not committing several kinds of treason with such a simple statement. “We even had a few of our members with truthseeking boons question the household. Besides, House Sphinx had no previous history with blood magic, so it’s unlikely they could have engineered the consort’s death.”

A chill runs across my bare arms, even though the room is warm. “Blood magic?”

“Yes,” Vivian says. “Blood magic is the only way to undermine a truthseeking boon, and it was clear someone in House Dragon knew something, but we could never figure out who.”

“But, and please forgive my ignorance, what exactly is blood magic?” I say, a note of exasperation entering my voice. “I honestly just thought it was a nursery tale.” I feel like there is so much I still have to learn, and everyone keeps assuming I know more than I do.

“Ah,” Vivian says with a short nod. “My apologies, I forget not everyone spends their days steeped in the old lore as we do here in House Gryphon. Blood magic was an actual thing, a series of barbaric and archaic rites from before Chaos touched our land. In these days of fading boons some are turning to the old ways to try to gain a measure of power. Blood magic is destructive, and not just because it requires a sacrifice of some sort to work. The old histories tell us that it also takes a toll on the user.”

“Do not forget to mention how blood magic is most often used for things like prophecy and skinstealing,” Caspian says, sweeping into the room with Elias by his side. “Both destructive boons that are rumored to drive their users mad.”

“Skinstealing?” I ask.

“Taking on another person’s form,” Vivian explains, with a polite smile. “Caspian. I see you still enter a room like a summer storm.”

“Everyone enjoys an unexpected shower. It keeps life interesting,” Caspian says, gesturing for a servant to bring him wine. Elias looks on with exasperation but says nothing.

“Darling. Do you have a boon?” Caspian suddenly asks.

I blink. “Pardon me?”

“Caspian,” Vivian says, censure in her tone. “You know that question is rude.”

“Only because strong boons are rare these days,” he says. “A hundred years ago children who were born without boons were seen as an oddity. They were shipped off to be tested and analyzed, in the hopes that there was some cure for such a malady. Now wondering if someone’s talent is Chaos-sent is somehow a gross faux pas.”

“Must we discuss this again,” Elias mutters. I say nothing, because I get the sense that this is an ongoing argument that I want no part of.

“Yes,” Caspian says. “We must attack this matter head-on. Identify the cause of the fading boons and mitigate the damages. Those gifts from Chaos made this country what it was. We’ve been at war for so long many have forgotten that we have numerous enemies outside of our borders. Such as Avrendia. What will we do when they finally sail to our shores and try to claim our lands for their own?”

“House Gryphon has been hard pressed to conduct research when we are constantly being dragged off to fix your broken toys, my blade,” Vivian says, her eyes sparking in the low light. “Which is why I was quite pleased at your declaration of peace. Once things have resumed the normal rhythms of life, we will take up our research once more.”

Caspian laughs and sips at his wine. “Viv, you are such a brat.”

“I learned it from the best,” she says, and they both start laughing in a way that makes me wonder if perhaps once upon a time they were a bit more than just friends.

Judging from Elias’s stormy expression, they are wondering the exact same thing.

“What about that theory you sent me?” Caspian says, mirth fading away so that his gaze is focused on Vivian. “The one about the loss of the empyreals being the catalyst for the decreasing boons?”

“Empyreals?” I ask, because that is yet another term I thought was mere myth. “You’re saying they’re real?”

“The tales about the First Beasts aren’t only stories, you know. Once, the House regents were more than just petty humans,” Caspian says, gesturing dramatically with his glass of wine. “They were the leaders of their people, able to shift into dangerous beasts to protect their own. The regent of House Sphinx could be a sphinx in truth, the House Dragon regent could become a dragon, and so on and so forth.”

“Yes, and I have a theory about that,” Vivian says.

“Is it somehow contained in that droll ‘Death of the Phoenix’ essay?” Caspian says, swirling his half-empty glass in a pretend display of boredom. Once I would’ve believed his ennui was real, but now I see the tension in his shoulders that gives truth to the lie.

Caspian is very, very interested in Vivian’s answer.

The regent of House Gryphon gives Caspian an enigmatic smile. “It is! I’m glad you asked. I was afraid perhaps you hadn’t received my letter.”

“Ah, my apologies for not sending a response. I was quite occupied with a new endeavor,” he says, this time gesturing in my direction.

“Where did the empyreals go?” I ask. “I mean, if they ever truly existed.” I am still not convinced. But then again, I’ve never had much use for things that were not right in front of me. It’s hard to philosophize when you’re scrabbling for survival in a sewer or trying to navigate a battlefield.

“They did,” Elias says. “I’ve read the texts.”

“Yes. As have I,” Caspian says. “Which is why your theory intrigued me, Viv.”

Vivian stands. “Well, since the War Prince seems to be taking his time, why don’t we adjourn to the library? I can show you the scroll I found while we wait. It should explain everything.”

We stand, and I fumble to place my goggles back onto my face. Caspian takes Vivian’s arm, leaving Elias and me to follow behind.

“So,” I say, giving them what I hope is a friendly smile. “You’re related to Vivian?”

“She’s my aunt. I lived here in Gryphon’s Seat until I was summoned to attend to Caspian.”

“Have you been Caspian’s physician for long?” I ask.

Elias gives me a cold look. “Long enough to know that he tires quickly of new toys.”

I grimace and say nothing else. I have the feeling Elias and I will not be allies.

We make our way up a staircase, down another, and through a twisting hall until we arrive at a brightly lit multistory room full of rows and rows of books. Real books, bound in leather and edged in gilt lettering. There are thousands of them, and I gasp at the hoard. It’s a fortune in paper and ink, and the artifacts displayed throughout the room are nothing compared to the tomes that line the shelves.

“Darling,” Caspian says in a wry tone. “Have you never seen a library before?”

I shake my head. “I don’t . . . think so?” House Kraken doesn’t have a library, at least not anymore. Books tend not to do so well at sea, plus ships are cramped, and there isn’t much space for such things. If there had been a Sphinx library, it was most likely burned to the ground. “Not a lot of use for books in the Nakumba sewers,” I say, trying for humor to defuse the situation.

It has the opposite effect. Vivian’s expression goes from amused to horrified, while Elias looks away, ashamed. Only Caspian is unmoved, a short nod as though he understands completely.

Vivian recovers and clears her throat before she moves to a scroll that has been laid out, decorative crystals weighing down the ends. “I had it pulled from the archives specifically for your visit,” she says. She gestures, and the boonlights are moved so that I can take my goggles off once more and lean over the scroll with Elias and Caspian, the colors brighter and the artwork more vibrant without my smoked lenses.

“It’s called the Fall of the Empyreals. It dates to more than a hundred years ago, when the Last Phoenix disappeared. From the texts I’ve studied, that was the last time anyone saw a true Regent, a human able to shift into something more.”

“It’s thought that House Dragon killed the Phoenix in a fit of rage,” Caspian says, tone dry. “And knowing the temperament of my ancestors, it’s probably true.”

“Only a hundred years ago? How is it that no one knows the truth?” I ask.

“When the empyreals fell, we lost a number of records,” Vivian says. “There was a virulent plague in the immediate aftermath which devastated the land. Not to mention the other challenges we’ve had finding historical records. The library here burned to the ground, as though the Last Gryphon wanted to take the knowledge with him. All that you see here has been retrieved from other places. My House has worked tirelessly to gather every scrap of knowledge from across the continent.”

“This is where you should wonder just how many of these volumes were taken in the fall of House Sphinx,” Caspian says, his whisper loud enough to carry.

“Quite a few,” Vivian says. “And House Gryphon will be happy to make copies and return the originals.”

I’m only half paying attention to Vivian and Caspian’s banter. Instead my attention is locked on the artwork before me. In it men and women wail as though in pain, while each of the House regents—Cockatrice, Gryphon, Sphinx, Dragon, Barghest, and Kraken—fall from the sky, twisted in the throes of death. Over it all is the outline of a fiery bird, the shadow of a phoenix.

“It’s said in a number of accounts that Houses resolved their differences in battles using their true forms,” Vivian says, her voice low as we all take in the painting. “It’s why we refer to the heads of our Houses as regents. The true leaders of the Houses, the true princes, were the empyreals who protected those who swore loyalty to the House.”

Talon chooses that moment to throw open the main doors of the library and stride in. He bows, and as he rises, his apologetic gaze falls on me. His lips part in shock, and I grow hot at the way he stares at only me, as if I’m the most important thing he’s ever seen in his life.

It’s a terrible thing to realize that I actually missed his presence.

As though I don’t have enough to think about.