Page 3 of Queen's Griffon

Griff couldn’t help a tremble of his lower lip. “But?—”

“No crying.” A stern admonishment by his father. “You must be strong. Everything will be fine. Here.” His father unbuckled his sheath with the sword Griff admired. “Keep this safe for me.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Soon.”

A lie, as it turned out.

Griff stood at the rail, watching his father stride back into the shaking city, then watching as the crew sailed theKalypsiinto the crowded bay, waiting for their chance to slip through the narrow inlet.

Saw as the mountain that shadowed Sitnalta appeared to explode, spewing smoke and lava, bright red gobs that landed like bombs on the buildings—and even a few boats.

A horrified Griff witnessed a large schooner, its decks teeming with people, catch fire and begin to list. The nightmare only increased as streams of molten rock started to run down the mountainside.

The volcano, long dormant, had woken.

Soon, he could see nothing as smoke, stinking and thick with ash, rolled over the city and into the bay. As it reached them, people began to cough, including Griff.

“Cover your faces! Don’t breathe it in,” screamed the first mate as he tugged his shirt over his mouth and nose.

Griff copied him, the fabric somewhat filtering the poisoned air. The world took on an eerie cast, with visibility restricted to the area around him, but the noise…

The groan of heaving stone and concrete, the wails and screams, the hum of the engine propelling them since there lacked a wind for the sails.

TheKalypsiemerged from the bay and kept going. The further they travelled, the more the smog lessened. The more Griff could see.

See his home enveloped in darkness.

His last sight of it.

His last memory.

The start of a hard, new life as a refugee with nowhere to go.

Verlora died that day, as did his father.

Chapter 1

Avera

Present day.

Avera was dying.

Just ask her poor heaving guts and spinning head. Her entire world had become topsy-turvy. She could only lie prone and hope she passed quickly to end the misery.

As if to compound her agony, a rather large man kept appearing in her slitted-eye view, pushing into her hands tankards of water, cruelly offering bowls of broth and bread. None of which remained in her stomach for long.

The misery wouldn’t end.

And then suddenly, Avera woke and realized she could open her eyes and that her stomach had decided it would no longer clench and spew. She might just live.

Or not. As Avera recovered, she noticed she’d woken in a strange bed that gently rocked, narrow of width and covered in a coarse woolen blanket. She had no recollection of how she’d gotten there.

Despite the weakness in her limbs, Avera pushed herself into a sitting position and almost smacked her head on the bunk above.

Where am I?

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