Page 30 of Ties of Death

I’ve never been so jealous of a gryphon bond before.

“Is he going to be all right carrying both of us?”

Daenn shrugs. Without the link, I never would have noticed the undercurrent of worry that clings to him. He hides it well. “He is probably one of the few gryphons who could do such a long distance, but even he will have to go slower than usual. We should still reach the temple by nightfall.”

Nightfall, instead of midday, as we had originally expected. How long, then, will it take us to get home if Storm has to carry us both?

Daenn helps me up into his saddle, settling me in front, and then he leaps on behind me. His warmth is a wall at my back, his breaths a breeze against my ear.

My traitorous body wants to sink back against him, sink into the safety that instantly envelops me, as if everything else he’s done recently doesn’t matter, only the fact that he saved me. Protected me.

I don’t have time to argue my body out of it, however, because as soon as Storm pushes off the ground, working to gain air, I reflexively lean against Daenn for support, and, in response, he wraps one arm around my waist tightly. A wave of protectiveness softens his constant worry and anger.

There’s no point trying to speak as we fly—our words would be lost to the wind—so I let my thoughts wander, and, maybe just a little, I let myself savor the safety of being protected by Daenn Henriken.

17

A Risk I’m Willing to Take

We stop only once, and we do reach the temple by nightfall. Barely.

Shadows crawl around us as Storm angles down toward the stone structure. The Bompurak Jungle spreads out ahead, dark and menacing in the dusk. It was already less than inviting in the distance as we approached, but it only grows more ominous as darkness falls. I’m grateful yet again that we’ve only come up to its doorstep and we don’t have to go any farther.

The trees all around the temple have been cleared away, and as we descend into that clearing, we push past a resistance, a zing in the air that makes my ears pop.

“What was that?” I say, speaking loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“Some sort of ward,” Daenn responds directly into my ear, and I have to work not to shiver against his breath on my skin.

His answer sets me on edge. Wards, while something I’ve heard of, are a foreign concept. Is that why I feel like I’m being watched? Or is that the jungle?

Both possibilities aredisconcerting.

As Storm touches down before the temple, the doors swing open and two robed men exit.

One is tall, taller than Daenn, and thin. He’s likely in his mid-thirties. The other is old and so hunched he’s shorter than me. Both have long beards and knotted bead ropes wrapped around their waists, looped in on themselves to make belts.

Daenn dismounts and helps me down before stepping in front of Storm, spreading his arms wide. “We come on an errand of peace, monks of Lirev. Will you bid us welcome and hear our plea?”

“We bid you welcome.” The old monk’s voice is frail and scratchy in the air. “Come inside. Your mount as well. It’s best not to linger out of doors after nightfall.”

We make our way up the stone steps. The monks have to open the doors all the way for Storm to fit through, but he does fit, and once we’re all inside, the monks shut the doors with a heavy thud. My ears pop again as a sizzle of magic seals us in. A second layer of wards, perhaps, in case the first fail? It’s not a comforting thought.

The entrance hall is an austere grey room with half a dozen hallways branching off it. Glowing lettering on the walls lights the space, but it’s not an alphabet I’ve ever seen before.

“I can tend your gryphon if you’ll have him follow me.” The younger monk gestures to a side hall far wider than the rest.

Daenn nods and flicks a hand gesture to Storm. “There’s dried meat in the left saddlebags to feed him.”

Storm clicks his beak together, less than thrilled about the dried meat. He much prefers to hunt for his meals, but we have the meat on hand for when that’s not an option, like tonight.

“We have plenty of fresh flesh we can share with him,” the monk says, bowing a little, and Storm brightens.

“Thank you,” Daenn calls at the monk’s retreating back, because the monk is now being herded by Storm toward their exit.

I press my lips together to hold in a laugh. The older monk has been studying us this entire time, but he finally speaks as his compatriot’s and Storm’s sounds fade down the hallway. “Would you like a meal first, or would you prefer to share your plea immediately? I gather it’s a matter of some urgency for you to risk flying near the jungle at night.”

“We would welcome a meal,” Daenn says, “but you’re right that I wish to speak to you first.”

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