Page 33 of Queen's Griffon

“We would have been like siblings,” she joked.

He stared at her and shook his head. “I doubt I’d ever have seen you as a sister.”

Her smile fell and chagrin beset Griff at seeing she’d misunderstood. It led to him stepping close and tilting her chin to softly say, “What I feel for you is anything but brotherly.” Her eyes widened, and annoyed at having admitted that much, he gruffly added, “I’ve work to do.”

He abruptly strode away, mentally cursing himself, because what he felt for the little queen couldn’t be indulged in. For some reason, he couldn’t help but recall something else his crazy mother used to say, something that stuck with a little boy. “The little tiara will stick a knife in you.”

Chapter 11

Avera

Avera had a problem.

And no, it wasn’t the fact no one would take her to Verlora.

Or the doubt suddenly creeping in about Opal’s motives.

Her problem was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome.

When Griffon told the sailors he might be marrying her, she’d had an inexplicable spurt of excitement that she quickly squashed because she wasn’t about to wed the man who’d kidnapped her and held her prisoner—a prisoner with a luxurious room, no tethers, and free reign of his castle and isle. However, the fact remained she couldn’t leave.

It rankled, especially since she’d found out so much about Verlora since her arrival. Not just the fall of it, but the country itself before its demise. The pirate isle held a surprising amount of literature, some of it brought by those who’d escaped as well as accounts written by those who’d survived. Between them, she’d gotten a fairly comprehensive overview of Verlora and its many modern amenities from running water—both hot and cold!—to commodes that were flushed with water. They had something they called trains run by steam engines, a method of transport that could traverse the continent, linking towns, carrying not only goods, but people, too. The more she read, andthe more people she spoke to that were old enough to remember, the more she wished she could have seen Verlora in all its glory.

Alas, those same people were quite clear about its destruction, although, it should be noted not one mentioned the word dragon. Cursed by a monster, yes. Plagued by an evil force. Haunted by ghosts. She’d heard all kinds of theories as to why no one ever returned. No one, that was, except for a single man called Vinmo.

Supposedly, he’d sailed there with a brash group of explorers, young men able to fight and raring to be heroes. They’d set off in a skiff rather than sail their schooner into the mist.

Three days they were gone.

Three days of the captain keeping watch.

When the small boat reappeared, those left aboard the schooner thought it empty at first as it bobbed without direction or anyone manning the oars. The current pushed it out far enough the captain could retrieve it. In the bottom, lying huddled in a ball and unconscious, Vinmo, his skin burned in patches.

The doctor on board did his best to soothe the injuries, and while they did heal, they left deep scars, but none so deep as the one on Vinmo’s mind.

According to a sailor who’d been on that ship when Vinmo first woke, he’d screamed and kept screaming. The doctor had to drug him to make it stop. When next Vinmo regained consciousness, he didn’t speak. Ever. He did hide, however, cramming himself into tiny nooks, whimpering if someone tried to oust him. More than a decade later, apparently that hadn’t changed.

Vinmo still lived on Saarpira, if apart from the main colony. People brought him food, leaving it outside the little cave of stone he’d taken as his home, a broken man who acted as areminder of the death and tragedy to those who ventured to Verlora.

With little else to do, and lacking more books to peruse, Avera went to visit him, not alone, though. The moment Simhi heard her plan to meet the lone survivor, she insisted on accompanying her.

They picked their way over rock, a proper path not having been created because, according to Simhi, “Vinmo don’t like trails that lead to him. Every time even a faint track appears, he changes locations.”

“That doesn’t make sense since everyone knows where he lives,” Avera pointed out.

“He’s fine with people knowing. I figure he’s worried whatever hurt him might come back to finish the job.”

“From another continent? Surely he can’t still believe that. It’s been more than a decade since that happened.”

Simhi shrugged. “Not for Vinmo. In his mind, every day he’s back on Verlora, facing and hiding from that threat. He relives it over and over again. Or so I assume. He hasn’t spoken since his return, although sometimes at night, if the wind is blowing just right, we can hear him wailing.”

“That sounds horrifying,” Avera murmured.

“Agreed. It’s such a shame what happened to him. He used to be such a handsome man. I was young, of course, when he and the others set off to explore, but I remember all the girls swooning and batting eyes in his direction.”

“Was he a good fighter?”

“Decent enough. They all were. It was a huge blow to have so many young men taken at once, but it also acted as a warning to those who’d been thinking of attempting the same thing.”

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