Page 29 of Shadows of the Crown

My reputation would vanish if anyone in the kingdom knew I was trying to placate a fucking griffin.

I’d label myself as a fool if it didn’t feel necessary.

The air vibrates with her rumbling chest as she steps toward me. “Please, just look! You must see this is not your egg…” My words end on a whisper when she lowers her head until our eyes are level. My tie snapped at some point, causing my hair to blow straight back when she huffs a breath.

I search her impassioned eyes, finding everything I feel within myself but refuse to acknowledge. Rage, hunger, determination, emptiness, loneliness.

Have we seen the same things in our lives?

Her white, feathery fur ripples in the wind as she tilts her head and blinks questioningly at me. Her eyes flit between mine and the egg a few times, and I hold my breath, my muscles unbearably tense as I wait. I haven’t a second to process before the skin on her head scrunches together as she screeches, swinging claws at me once more.

This time, she doesn’t miss.

I fly through the air, landing roughly on my back. My lungs struggle to inflate, and my hands press against my chest, only to slide off from something warm coating me. I groan at the intense pain that shoots through me when I lift my head. Hot blood cascades from four deep, fatal gashes.

“Fuck!” I grit through clenched teeth, my vision blurring at the edges.

I tug on my vital strand, coaxing it to the burning wounds and gasping when another wave of blood gurgles from the openings.

Someone is watching you.

My eyes search the landscape, marking the griffin that stalks me. I see no other person, though their presence is practically inevitable, so I cannot risk it.

I pull a small amount of essence forward, using my hands to cover any light that would seep through the wounds. I can heal the most life-threatening parts of the griffin’s attack, though it will fucking hurt to walk back to the castle like this—if I survive long enough to walk again.

The bleeding slows to an amount I believe will be fine until I’m back in my room. Only there could I heal fully, claiming to have seen one of the castle’s healers if there’s a person foolish enough to question me.

I can think of one.

I cough, barely managing to spit the rising liquid out and settle for it draining down my jaw. The griffin hovers over my shaking body, and I briefly wonder if I did slow the blood down enough. Against my conditioned judgment and all of my training, I let my arms fall to my sides and soak in her warmth. Fuck, am I tired.

Her head drops to my chest, and she runs her beak over the shredded skin. I cry out, my hands jolting to grab her face. Her eyes widen at the touch as she leans in closer.

I’m going to die today.

The king will win. I will not get my revenge. Isaiah won’t make it through the last trial without me.

I stubbornly tuck the egg into my side, wincing. The griffin watches the artifact carefully, desperation flitting through her gaze. “You truly believe this is your egg, huh?” I mumble, my brows furrowing at the foreign tone of my voice. She lifts a claw and taps the egg lightly before looking back at me expectantly. “I don’t—wait, what?” I scoop my hand under and mimic the griffin, tapping a fingernail on the surface. My eyes snap to hers. “It’s hollow. Thisisactually yours, isn’t it?” She blinks once, watching me carefully.

I’m going to be sick.

I laugh wildly and choke on the movement. “You can have my life.” She pauses, tilting her head until I can only see one calculating eye. “Just promise me one thing…kill that fucking bastard for what he took from us.”

I let my body sag into the snow, enjoying the only moment of peace I can remember experiencing since my mother was alive. Will I see her?

For as many years as I’ve planned for my death, I have yet to consider what will happen when I die. Stories suggest our souls travel through the Aether Realm and live on as one of the beings that inhabit their lands. Others claim there is nothing after death, though I will not admit I know that is false.

I once summoned the spirit of a boy, not much older than I was at the time. I sat in my room, without a single clue of what wassoon to come. I may have held onto my mother a little longer at night.

She and my father spent much time alone those days—they behaved as if things were okay, though I could hear their arguments. The amount of times my father would say,“Valyria, please don’t do this! Think of Ariella!”Followed by the same words my mother uttered over and over…“Iamthinking of Ariella!”

More than twenty years later, and I still cannot discern what I did to make her end her life.

Just before her tragic accident, I had felt lonely and needed a friend. A young boy appeared and sat with me, though we never shared a word. My mother found us and screamed for him to leave me be, ignoring every protest I’d made. She explained what he was and how he was there, but that is not the part that poisons my dreams.

I think that boy was her breaking point. The reason she finally ceased fighting with my father and shoved a blade through her heart.

My surroundings come into focus when the griffin presses her beak to my chest. I groan loudly as my hands fail to grip the snow. She opens her beak and…scoops blood from the wounds, rotating her head as she licks it clean.

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