The White Gryphon

Oh, this is bright, Drake. You’re going off by yourself, without any reinforcements. You’ve assumed that Skan will be alone and relatively unguarded, but you can’t be sure of that, now, can you? So you’re going off to play the hero, and you aren’t exactly suited to the role, you know! And what are you going to do when you get there and find out that Skan isn’t alone, hmm? Try and talk your way out of it? I don’t think anyone is going to believe you just went out for a stroll and happened to show up where he’s being held! And with a pale face like yours, you aren’t going to pass for Haighlei!

The internal voice did nothing to still the fear; not even clenching his hands into fists kept them from shaking.

Buildings loomed all around him, poking up above the carefully sculptured foliage of the grounds, dark and lifeless. There wasn’t a hint of the sounds that usually filled the night here; no music, no conversation, nothing. Just lightless buildings, with the star-filled sky up ahead, and the white of the path barely discernible in the heavy, flower-scented dark. He couldn’t even make out much beyond the bare shape of the bushes and trees beside the path.

Thank you so much, Skan, for running off and not taking anyone to back you up. Even leaving Aubri up on a rooftop while you played mighty warrior would have been enough! Now you’re in trouble and I’m running to your rescue like the fool I am. In the dark. Alone. Oh, brilliant, Amberdrake.

This was as close to being blind as he cared to go, and it took all of his concentration to keep from stumbling over uneven places in the dark.

Which was precisely why, when a shadow separated itself from the trunk of a tree overhanging the path and flung itself at him, he didn’t have any time to react.

And he didn’t even feel the blow to his head that sent him into unconsciousness; there was only a sense of timelessness where awareness should have been.

His head hurt—

It throbbed, horribly, with every beat of his heart. His stomach turned over and there was a taste of blood and something bitter in his mouth. His lower lip stung; he tested it with his tongue, finding more blood, finding it swollen and cut.

His arms were twisted under him and behind his back in an awfully odd pose. He groaned, and tried to roll over. What had he done last night that—

A tugging at his neck stopped him. He couldn’t roll over. In fact, he couldn’t move at all.

Amberdrake’s eyes opened, but slowly, slowly, for they were sticky and felt swollen, and hurt too, though not as much as his head. He didn’t learn much of anything, however, for there was nothing more enlightening than a yellow marble wall in front of him. He was lying on his side, but someone had “considerately” propped him up and padded him with cushions placed beneath him in a primitive mattress.

Why does this not comfort me? Possibly because I have obviously been bludgeoned and am now tied hand and foot?

Moving even a little woke pain in his arms and neck, but also told him that much. His arms were pinned together by a restraint at the elbows, behind his back, although they had not been tied so tightly as to be uncomfortable.

Yet. Of course, I’m a kestra’chern, and I can force my muscles to relax, which might help.

His wrists were also strapped together, and there was a collar around his neck that was fastened to something behind him; that was what had kept him from rolling over.

So much for rescuing Skan. Whoever has him must have been watching our rooms. Gods, I hope they didn’t get Zhaneel!

Blinding pain washed a red haze over everything for a moment; when it subsided, he continued to take inventory of his situation. Curiously, though, he began to realize that he wasn’t afraid any longer. Maybe because the worst has already happened, so why be afraid?

His ankles were tied together, and his knees, although he could bend both. He craned his neck a little and bent at the waist as much as the collar would allow, to get a peek at the bindings on his legs. His head throbbed, but there was enough slack in his bindings for him to think about getting himself loose.

If I didn’t know better—

“Awake?” Skan rumbled.

“Yes,” he said shortly. “What time is it?”

“Mid-morning I think. Well after dawn. Which means the Ceremony is already underway.” Skan sighed gustily.