was thinking and what she wanted. And maybe then they could be friends.
On the second night after they had become partners, Laela returned to her room with Oeka, but without the sense of dread she’d had before. On the way she paused briefly to give a few orders to a servant, who hurried away to make arrangements. By the time she and Oeka had eaten, a hammock had been hung near the fireplace.
“There,” said Laela. “If yeh like that bed better, then keep it. I don’t mind.”
Oeka watched her while she spoke, and Laela imagined that she could see satisfaction in the griffin’s face. There was definitely a new air of energy about her as she picked over the bones of her dinner and went next door for a drink before returning and climbing into her new nest.
Laela watched her rearrange the shredded blankets and snuggle down, and felt an affection toward the griffin that hadn’t been there before. She was dangerous; Laela wasn’t about to doubt that now, but she was appealing, too, with those bright green eyes and the fluffy feathers on her chest. Laela wouldn’t have gone so far as to call her cute, but she was nice to look at, and there was something endearing about her slightly awkward, leggy frame and the way her head bobbed up and down when she walked.
With that pleasant thought, Laela snuffed out the lamp and climbed into her new hammock. She’d never slept in one before, but she was so tired that she was convinced she could sleep anywhere.
She was wrong. The hammock was uncomfortable and swung back and forth alarmingly whenever she moved too much, and the shock always woke her up. She tried what felt like half a dozen different positions, hoping to find one that would let her sleep, but none of them changed the fact that the hammock didn’t support her back and kept on threatening to tip her out.
Finally, after spending what felt like half the night trying to sleep in the wretched thing, she got out of it and padded over to the bed, rubbing her back along the way. She could just see the outline of Oeka in the middle of her nest. She could hear her, too-cheeping softly in her sleep.
Laela didn’t even think about trying to make her move. But maybe there was another solution.
She took a deep breath and climbed into the nest. Oeka stirred and clicked her beak warily, but she didn’t attack.
“It’s only me,” Laela told her. “Mind if I join yeh?”
There was a rustling as Oeka moved away, leaving a warm hollow where she’d been lying. Laela grinned and took it. Instantly, the musty smell of feathers enveloped her.
It wasn’t that bad.
The nest was surprisingly comfortable, and Laela quickly felt her tiredness take hold. As she started to drift off, she felt Oeka snuggle against her.
She smiled to herself and went to sleep.
The Amorani diplomat arrived two days after his message, his griffin coming in to land at the top of the Council Tower. Arenadd gave him the rest of the day and that night to rest, so they didn’t actually meet until the following morning.
Arenadd put on his best robe and the crown he usually avoided wearing, and met his guest in the audience chamber that had once belonged to Lady Elkin. It still had its old white marble floor, but the walls were covered by richly woven tapestries. Dozens of beautifully made, straight-bladed Southern swords hung there, too-trophies from the war.
Arenadd had managed to persuade Skandar to be there, and the giant griffin grudgingly stepped up onto the marble platform intended just for him. Arenadd sat on a cushion between his partner’s talons and waited.
Lord Vander came into the chamber, with only his griffin beside him. He was a short, middle-aged man with a thin grey moustache, and most of his body was covered by an enormous cloak covered in feathers that had probably come from his griffin. She was small, as Amorani griffins generally were, and had dark brown feathers with a patch of scarlet on the throat. Her legs and beak were yellow, and she wore an elaborate headdress.
Arenadd stood to receive them but said nothing and stayed where he was while Skandar stepped down off the platform. The ambassador stepped aside, and waited while his partner went to meet her own host.
If anything, the dark brown griffin looked even smaller next to the hulking Skandar, but she moved with a grace and confidence that impressed Arenadd. She bowed her head until her beak nearly touched her talons and waited submissively while Skandar walked around her, sniffing her up and down and nudging her none-too-gently with his beak. This would have been enough to provoke most griffins, but this one held still until Skandar moved away. When he was at a respectable distance, she raised her head-not too high, Arenadd noted-and spoke rapidly. She was using the faster, more basic version of griffish, which most humans were too slow to understand.
Skandar was also too slow. He waited until she had finished, and grated back.
This time, Arenadd understood perfectly, and he smiled to himself.
“I am Ymazu,” the ambassador griffin said at last.
“Am Skandar.” He turned to look at Arenadd. “This one not fight,” he said, and lumbered back to the platform. “Will mate with her later, maybe,” he added, and settled down to groom his wings.
The griffish formalities over with, Arenadd finally stepped forward to meet his human guest. “Welcome,” he said. “I’m honoured to have you in my Kingdom, Lord Vander.”
Lord Vander folded his hands together and bowed his head. “The honour is mine, Sire.”
Arenadd raised an eyebrow. “You speak Northern. I’m impressed.”
Vander smiled. “As an ambassador, I am expected to know the languages of the places I visit.” He spoke the dark tongue very well though with a pleasantly rounded accent.
Arenadd extended his good hand. “As one griffiner to another, my lord.”
Vander hooked his fingers with Arenadd’s, and tugged briefly in the traditional griffiner gesture of greeting. “I see that your fingers are in better condition than I expected, Sire.”
Arenadd held up his maimed hand. “Not these ones, I’m afraid.”
“Ah.” Vander inspected it briefly. “Yes. So that story of you is true.”
“Story?” Arenadd couldn’t help but be intrigued. He gestured at the seat by the platform as he spoke.
“Yes,” said Vander, taking it while Ymazu settled down beside him. “In my homeland, they call you the King with the Broken Fingers. It is said that you snapped the bones with your teeth to prove to the chiefs of your people that you did not feel pain.”
Arenadd rubbed the fingers in question. “I wouldn’t dream of ruining such a great story by saying anything about that. So tell me, my lord-I’m curious-where did you learn my language?”
“From one of your people, Sire,” said Vander. “You may know that there are black-haired men in Amoran who do not have our skin.”
“Yes,” Arenadd said gravely. “I know that. I’m surprised you were prepared to learn from a slave.”
Vander ran a delicate finger along his thin moustache. “How else could I have learned their language, Sire?”
“Most people think they’re above even talking to slaves, my lord.”
Vander touched his neck. “I am not, Sire.”
“And neither am I.” Arenadd leaned forward. “My lord, I’m sure you’re aware that my main condition for making this alliance with Amoran-apart from promises of military support-is that I want those slaves to be returned to their homeland.”
“I do know that, Sire,” said Vander. “And I expected it before I knew. After all, the freeing of slaves is something that you have become famous for.”
Arenadd touched the collar scars on his neck. “We all need to be set free, in one way or another. Now, is the Emperor willing to accept that condition?”
“I think so,” said Vander, slowly and deliberately. “If the conditions are agreeable, Sire.”
“And what conditions would those be?”
“Conditions,” said Vander.
Arenadd resisted the urge to drum his fingers. “Be more specific. What does he want? Lower trade taxes? Money?”
Vander paused. “Tell me, Sire-are you still planning to come to Amoran?”
“If all goes well with our negotiations,” said Arenadd. “A courtesy visit to the Emperor would be expected of me.”
“The Emperor would like to see you, Sire,” said Vander.
