The Black Gryphon

Mostly it was because I was exhausted, but sometimes—Amberdrake, I just didn’t want to. There’s nothing there for him anymore, even if there ever was. I just wished he’d go away. So tonight, when his group came back in and he started on me—well, that’s when I told him that I wanted him to leave—and not just for right then, but permanently.”

“And?” Amberdrake prompted gently.

“He said—” she burst into tears again. “He started yelling at me, telling me how worthless I am. He said I was a cold, heartless bitch, that I didn’t have the capacity to love anyone but myself. He said I was selfish and spoiled, and all I cared about was myself. He said I was the worst lover he’d ever had, that it was like making love to a board, and that I’d never find another man as tolerant as he was. He said I was probably a Trondi’irn because no human would have me as a Healer, and if it weren’t for the fact that there’s no one checking on the Trondi’irn’s competence, I wouldn’t even have that job. He said I was clumsy, incompetent, and if there weren’t a war on, I’d be a total failure—” She was weeping uncontrollably now, and if Amberdrake hadn’t been listening carefully, he wouldn’t have been able to understand more than half of what she said.

“And you’re afraid that it’s all true, right?” he said gently, as soon as she gave him the chance.

She nodded, quite unable to speak, her eyes swollen and bloodshot, her nose a brilliant pink. She looked horrible. He wanted to hold her in his arms and protect her from the rest of the world.

And then he wanted to take the nearest crossbow and go hunting for Conn Levas.

And I told Gesten I couldn’t be angry with anyone anymore. . . .

But none of that would solve anything. She did not need to be coddled or protected; she needed to regain confidence in herself, so that she could stand on her own feet without having to hide behind anyone else.

“You think that what he said is true, only because you are very self-critical, and there is just enough truth in what he said to make you believe all of it,” he said firmly. “We both know what kind of a manipulator he is. He plays people the way a musician plays his instruments—and he can do that because he simply doesn’t care what happens to them so long as he gets the tune he wants.” He pulled away a little, and looked her straight in the eyes. “Think about him for a moment. Right now, the one thing he is afraid of is that someone will think you left him because he isn’t ‘man enough to keep you.’ He said what he did to make you feel too afraid to leave him. Let’s take the things he said one at a time. What is the first thing that you can think of?”

“Th-that I’m a c-cold bitch?” she said, in a small voice.

“By which he means that you are both uncaring and an unsatisfactory lover?” he replied. “Well, so far as he is concerned, that’s correct. You told me yourself that you didn’t care in the least for him, emotionally, when you made your arrangement with him. You used him to protect your real identity. Reanna would never have had anything to do with someone like him, which made him perfect as part of your disguise. Right?”

“Reanna would never have taken any lover, much less a lowborn one,” she replied, her cheeks flaming. “I—I—”

He shook his head gently. “You made an unemotional bargain, and you expected it to remain that way. It didn’t. In part, because he was good enough at winkling, out your real feelings and using them against you. Which by definition means that you are not without emotion. Yes?”

She nodded, still blushing, her eyes averted.

“He also claimed that you are incompetent and clumsy, and you are professional enough to fear that he is correct in that assessment as well.” He thought for a moment. “The worst that I ever heard about you—and trust me, kechara, a kestra’chern hears a great deal—was that you parroted rotten orders without questioning them, and treated your charges as if they were so many animals. No one ever questioned your competence, only your—ah— manner. And now that you treat your gryphons as the people they are, you have the highest marks from everyone. Cinnabar included.”

“I do?” She looked at him again, shocked.

“I don’t know Conn Levas very well on a personal level, nor do I wish to,” Amberdrake continued. “I had him as a client once, and I managed to avoid a second session; I have seen far too many people with his attitudes, and I don’t feel I need to see any more. Furthermore, every other kestra’chern that he has gone to feels the same about him as I do. The center of Conn’s world is Conn; he is interested only in someone else insofar as they can do something for him. In his world, there are users and the used; once you took yourself out of the ranks of the latter, you must have become one of the former, and thus, you went from being his possession to his rival. So that is why he flung the other insults at you, about being selfish and spoiled. To his eyes, the universe is a mirror—he sees himself reflected everywhere, both his good and bad traits. People who are good to him must be like him—and people who are bad to him must also be like him.” She nodded, and rubbed her eyes with the corner of the towel.

“As for the rest of his accusations . . .” he paused a moment, and assessed his own feelings. Should I? What happens if I do? And what would happen if I don’t? “. . . would you care to have a professional assessment?”

She pulled away, eyes wide with surprise. But not with fear or revulsion, the two things he had been worried that he would see in her expression.