Page 29 of Queen's Griffon

Chapter 10

Griff

Griff hadn’t meantto blurt the truth, a secret he’d held tight for so long that it felt odd to finally say it aloud. Only once before had he tried to tell someone. He’d been a teen with too much to drink and he’d mentioned it to Kreed.

“Fucking dragon.”

“What dragon?” slurred his friend.

“The one fucking up Verlora. One day I’m going to hunt it with a spear and free our land from its menace,” Griff had declared with drunken brashness.

“I didn’t take you for a believer in old wives’ tales. Bwahahaha.” Kreed fell over laughing.

And that was the last and only time Griff ever told anyone his theory. After all, he could be wrong. He’d never actually seen what plagued Verlora, but he’d had dreams. Dreams where he flew above a land surrounded by mist. Where he dipped and soared as he hunted, surveying his domain. A place empty of humans but for the remnants of their cities.

Of late his dreams had him soaring past the banks of fog to skim above the ocean’s waves, finding larger prey to satisfy the need to feed. Diving into the waters, which sizzled in contactwith his skin. Scouting the marine life that couldn’t escape his arrowing maneuvers.

Griff always woke from those dreams confused and disoriented. The vivid recollection, the way he could feel everything, was not easily shaken.

Dream, or was he actually seeing from the eyes of a dragon? He had no one to ask. No one to confess. No one who would believe…

Even Avera, who claimed to be fighting some evil entity buried in a mountain, had eyed him with amusement. Worse, his admission hadn’t appeared to deter her whatsoever. On the contrary, he had a feeling he’d only made her more determined to visit his doomed country.

Griff shoved the dragon thing to the back of his mind. It had no bearing on the here and now. He had an isle to run. People to manage. After all, he wasn’t just a pirate, but a leader, chosen by the citizens even though he’d tried to refuse. Everyone—not just the resettled Verlorians, but also those who’d more recently found their way to Saarpira—looked to him for guidance, and he didn’t understand why. Despite his best efforts, their population declined. The pirate isle wasn’t an ideal home, so the younger folk kept migrating elsewhere. He couldn’t blame them. Theirs was a hard life. The problem being, as residents departed, they took with them the children they would have had. Bit by bit, the Verlorians were becoming extinct, and Griff didn’t know how to stop the decline.

After his conversation with Avera, Griff spent the next few days being a leader. Settling disputes. Signing documents. Doing his best to avoid the little queen even as he found himself inquiring as to her actions and whereabouts. She didn’t stray far from the castle but rather spent her days cloistered in the library. According to Kreed, she’d been filling sheets of paperwith handwritten notes. He could already guess what they contained. Dragon and Verlorian lore.

When Avera did finally leave the castle, Griff only happened to notice because she passed by the window of the wine shop where he was conversing with Bertha, the owner. He cut short their discussion to exit and follow the little queen as she headed for the tavern closest to the dock.

The fool went inside.

Alone.

Griff hastened his step and entered in time to hear laughter and a patron yelling, “You’ll need more than a boatload of gold to convince someone to take you to the dead land.”

“Surely there’s a captain who isn’t afraid?” Avera taunted. She was dressed in britches, and yet despite her boyish attire, looked very shapely, very womanly.

“It’s called self-preservation, lass,” stated Captain Koonis, his clean-shaven face a familiar one in Saarpira. While not a pirate, the commissioned officer in the Merisu fleet often came to Saarpira to trade. Koonis leaned back in his chair. “Can’t spend money if we’re dead.”

Griff remained in the shadows by the entrance and kept watch. He’d only act if necessary. It would do her some good to hear others reject her demand. Maybe then she’d understand how unreasonable her request was.

“You wouldn’t have to dock, just get me close enough so I can row to shore,” she offered.

“I’ve got something you can row,” stated a sailor who stood and grabbed his groin.

Avera stiffened and stood taller if possible. “If that is how you flirt with women, I can see why you’ve not found anyone to marry.” Her rebuke brought laughter as the sailor, who’d thought himself clever, got taken down via words. The man sat down with a scowl.

The little queen wasn’t done. “If there is a captain who is interested in providing me with passage, then you may contact me at the castle on the hill.”

Silence fell at her announcement before someone shout-whispered, “I’ll be damned, it’s the Daervanian Queen the Griffon kidnapped. Holy shit boys, we’re talking to royalty.”

Not surprising word had gotten around about Griff’s guest. No point in calling her a prisoner since he’d only locked her up those first few days on the ship, and that had been mostly so she wouldn’t wander around on deck during the first storm they encountered.

Avera didn’t bother denying her identity. “Yes, I am Queen Avera Voxspira of Daerva, and whoever aids me in my quest shall receive a full pardon for any crimes, as well as monetary compensation and even a commission should they wish to serve in my navy.”

Raucous laughter met her proposal. Avera’s hands tightened into fists by her side.

“I heard you got dumped from the throne for killing your family.” The sailor who’d made the rowing joke remained sour.

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