The Silver Gryphon

patted her hand. “I trust that is romance enough for your practical soul?”

She laughed giddily. “I think so,” she said, feeling as light-headed’as if she had just drunk an entire bottle of wine. “I—I’m not nearly that eloquent—”

“Neither is the falcon,” he said, releasing her hand. “But she is admirable for her grace without need of eloquence. Go become a passage bird, Silverblade. When you return, we shall try out hunting in a cast of two.”

Blade hadn’t needed to do all that much packing last night, but she had pretended that she did—and as soon as she was done, she blew out her candle and willed herself to sleep. The need for rest was real, and if she had not torn herself away from her overly-concerned parents, she would not have gotten any. They would have kept her up all night with questions, most of which she didn’t have any answers to, since all of them were fairly philosophical rather than practical.

She dressed quickly and quietly, and without relighting her candle. With any luck, only her mother would be awake; Winterhart, for some reason, seemed to be handling this better than her spouse. Don’t people usually complain that their mothers never see them as grown up? she thought, as she pulled on a pair of light boots, then fastened the silver gryphon badge to the breast of her tunic.

The Silvers had no regular uniform; Judeth thought it better that they wear the same clothing as those around them. Uniforms might remind people too much of the regular troops, and war, and even the most battle- hardened wanted to put warfare far behind them.

Now—if I can just walk quietly enough, I might be able to get out of here without another discussion of my life-view.

Her father Amberdrake was notorious for sleeping late—to be fair, it was usually because he’d been up late the night before, working—and she hoped by rising with the first light, she might avoid him at breakfast.

But no. When she carried her two small packs out to leave beside the door, she saw that there were candles burning in the rest of the house. Amberdrake was already up.

In fact, as soon as she turned toward the rear of the dwelling, she saw him; dressed, alert, and in the little nook at the back of the main room that they used for meals, waiting for her. But so was her mother, which might temper things a bit.

She sighed, while her face was still in shadow and he couldn’t see her expression. Breakfast with Amberdrake was always a bit strained at the best of times, and this was not going to be “the best” of times.

He keeps remembering when he was the chief kestra‘chern and it was his habit to find out about -his fellows when they all drifted in for breakfast. He keeps trying to do the same thing with me.

“Good morning, Father,” she said, feeling terribly awkward, as she approached the tiny table. “You’re not usually up so early.”

She wondered if Amberdrake’s smile was strained; he was too good at keeping a serene mask for her to tell. However, it was obvious that he had taken special pains with his appearance. Silk tunic and trews, raw-silk coat, some of his Haighlei gift-jewelry, and Zhaneel‘s feather in his hair. You ‘d think he was having an audience with Shalaman.

She regarded him objectively for a moment. He was still a strikingly handsome man. Despite the white streaks in his hair, her father scarcely looked his age in the low mage-light above the table, and the warm browns and ambers of his clothing disguised in part the fact that there were dark circles under his eyes.

Caused by worrying, no doubt.

“I didn’t want to miss saying good-bye to you, Silverblade,” he said, his voice quite calm and controlled. “If I slept until a decent hour, I knew that I would. You dawn risers are enough to make a normal person’s eyes cross.”

She knew that her answering laugh was a bit strained, but there was no help for it. “And you night prowlers are enough to make people like me scream when we think of all the perfectly good daylight you waste sleeping!” She slid into the seat opposite him, and helped herself to fresh bread and preserves. He reached across the table and added thinly-sliced cold meat to the plate quite firmly. She didn’t really want anything that substantial first thing in the morning, but she knew better than to say so. Why start an argument? That would be a poor way to leave her parents.

What can it hurt to nibble a piece to please him? It can’t, of course. Not that long ago, she would have protested; now she knew there was no point in doing so. She’d only hurt his feelings. He was only trying to help.

And after today he won’t be able to be so meddlingly helpful for six whole months! I should be pitying the people, gryphon and human and her-tasi alike, who will wind up as my surrogates for his concern.

She ate one slice of the meat, which was dry and tasted like a mouthful of salty old leather, and went back to her bread. Amberdrake pushed a cup of hot tea toward her, then made a move as if he was about to serve her a bowl of hot porridge from the pot waiting beside him.