14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Ariella
H ow long have I been crouching here? If the state of my limbs is any indication, a fucking month. There’s a griffin nest thirty feet ahead, and the beast herself sleeps curled in a way that makes her appear smaller. But by the Angel, the single foot I can see looks to be the size of my head.
She’s beautiful. Her white, feathery exterior would completely blend with the snow if she were not in her nest. The mixture of sticks and foliage are a pleasing contrast to her color, which made finding her suspiciously easy. I can just make out the sharp point of her beak, most of it hidden within the tufts of her mane. I see no evidence of the artifact, though I pray to the fucking Angel the person who brought it here threw it at the first griffin they found and that it was her.
My tongue attempts to wet my lips, but my mouth is too dry. It’s a futile effort. I glance at the snow and focus on the small river my feet have created. The flowing water taunts me, whispering enticingly and hoping I’ll break my concentration to swallow it.
I fear that would be too loud—Griffins have impeccable senses. My nose scrunches as an uneasy feeling settles in my gut. I am uneducated in the minute details of the creatures, leaving me no choice but to assume she cannot detect me at this distance.
I’m stalling.
Fuck the king and his son; I need to succeed in this trial if I’m to ensure Isaiah’s victory. The reminder dissipates a small amount of the tightness in my throat. It’s easier to do everything when it’s for him, as I’ve no regard for my own survival. The only objectives that flit around my thoughts at all times are to murder the prince and ensure Isaiah lives through this competition.
I inhale a deep breath and relish the burn in my lungs before silently releasing it.
Rising until my knees are just slightly bent, I tug on my pyro strand once more and begin melting the ground beneath me until it is soft enough to dampen my movement. Weaving myself into the shadows would be the best method of obtaining the artifact, though the itch in the back of my mind keeps returning, signaling that I am indeed being watched. This effort will be for nothing if I’m caught using essence I claim to not possess.
My feet inch forward, slow enough to remain soundless, though fast enough that I’ll be able to grab the artifact and make it to the castle before dawn.
If the artifact is even here.
If nothing were to go wrong…like her using those frighteningly large talons to slice my face apart.
I barely blink as I stalk the distance between us. She remains still, aside from the shallow breathing that disrupts her top feathers with each inhale. My legs pause just a few feet in front of her. If it were not for the heavy wind, I’ve no doubt she could hear the rapid beating of my heart. I open my lips, nearly groaning when I finally get enough air.
I need to calm my body down or it will give me away.
My fingers dig into my thigh hard enough to bruise when she shifts. Is it her sleepy movements or the faint glow under her belly that is making my hands tremble?
I’m going to vomit.
Biting my cheek, I dip further into my stance and inch the remaining space with every skill I have. Walking back to the castle would take less time than this. I become paralyzed when something falls through my vision, and it takes me several agonizing moments to notice the amount of sweat running down my face.
Too soon am I standing directly beside her. My only reprieve is that her face is hidden beneath a leg while her breathing remains steady. I meticulously melt the snow that prevents me from kneeling, careful to avoid heating her body. Would she wake from that?
I lower to the ground and lean on my hands. There is a slight gap from the curve of her abdomen that will allow me to reach into the nest. The artifact isn’t large—the one fucking thing that has been kind to me today—though it’s in the shape of an egg. A griffin-sized egg.
I’m concerned with my ability to pull the gilded object out with only one hand, but there is no other option at this point.
If I am honest with my scrambling thoughts, getting the egg out will be the easiest task in this trial. I cannot gauge the weight of it, but the artifacts in the first trial were gold, so it’s not difficult to imagine the egg is not just merely painted that repulsive color. It will be heavy and loud. If I allow even the lightest clink to its side, I’m dead.
I never thought there would be a day that I’d miss Jaxon and the fanatical workings of his mind—he would have an answer right now.
Clamping my lips together, I reach under the griffin and feel for the egg. A feather brushes against my forehead, and I strain my arm, stretching it past its natural allowance to avoid touching any other feathers. One of my nails taps on the metal, the sound barely audible to me, but I freeze all the same.
One. Two. Three.
I count to thirty before I realize I’m no longer breathing, and my vision darkens at the edges. She has not moved, nor has the rhythm of her breathing changed.
Perhaps the Angel doesn’t loathe me.
The sweat covering my body has cooled, creating a sticky layer over my fingers. They complement the surface of the egg, practically fusing the object to my hand. This was a needed development as the egg is larger than I’d anticipated.
I grip the artifact firmly and slowly lift it from the nest, careful to avoid the sticks and feathers. The uncontrollable shaking in my arm does me no favors, but I still manage to slip the egg out undetected. I set it on the damp grass and scrunch my eyes closed, taking several measured breaths before focusing once more.
Pushing back, I pause in a crouch and bring the artifact to my heaving chest. Fuck me, I’ve nowhere to store it. I’ll need to switch hands often if I’m to avoid losing one to the incessant cold. My eyes flick up briefly before I flex my legs to stand.
There is one other moment in my life I can recall my vision contradicting what my mind desperately wishes to be true.
Nine years ago, Marek decided I was ready to complete an assignment without his nosey self peering over my shoulder. Under one condition: Isaiah must join me.
His mistake was overestimating my capabilities.
My mistake was agreeing.
Is and I found our target—some foolish man accused of stealing coin from his boss. The owner of the shop commissioned the guild to punish the man for a crime we did not have evidence of.
As is the case with many of our assignments.
Some may call me an abominable murderer, and I’d agree. They spit obscenities about me in the perceived safety of their homes and shops, as if I should fucking care about ensuring rightful punishment at all times.
But when the assignment fought back, I was unprepared. None of the previous targets had quarreled, though Marek had the reputation I dreamed of at that moment. Of course he retaliated—he found it amusing that the guild had sent two children for the job. So when he swung his blade at Isaiah, I froze. There was ample time for me to block the strike, but I failed.
My best friend screamed as he was sliced open, the horrid sound allowing me to move. It was a mere moment before the man had a blade in his heart. My eyes flicked to Isaiah, who lay motionless on the ground.
I may not have wielded the blade that struck my best friend, but I did not intercept it. There was no difference.
My vision claimed he was dead. My mind could not grasp the truth of such a thought—the same issue I am currently experiencing.
I stare wide-eyed at the ground as my breathing shallows. I must be imagining things…I’ve been in the cold far too long to be thinking clearly. That is surely all this is, and I am panicking over nothing.
My gaze inches up slowly, sliding over thick fur, a dark, aggressively curved beak, and finally meeting bright, scalding blue eyes.
“Oh fuck. ”
The griffin cants her head at my trembling voice. We watch each other for several moments while I silently threaten the Angel. I whimper when she leans into me, brushing the firm, smooth surface of her beak over my temple.
If I reach for my blade and kill her, the king would execute me for harming a griffin. But if I don’t, I'll likely be her next meal.
Her hot breath fans across my face, and I instinctively lean away, struggling to swallow when she reacts with a low clicking deep in her throat. She pulls her head back, studying me curiously before her pupils dilate as she discerns what I am holding.
The hardening of her eyes dissolves any opportunity I had to live through this encounter.
My feet finally unlatch themselves from the ground when the griffin growls loudly, the chilling sound shifting to a screech. It could be sweat or blood running down my neck, though I’ve no desire to know which. I spin and sprint in the direction that will take me back to the castle, forcing my body to nearly glide over the packed snow. Wings shuffle behind me as another screech grates my ears.
She’s pissed and preparing to hunt. And this time, I’m the target.
“Shit!” My heels crunch as I dig them into the snow, attempting to avoid slamming into the creature that landed before me.
She spreads her wings to their full length, swinging them in my direction aggressively. I stumble back, my foot catching on something and forcing me to my ass. My breathing is erratic while my stomach flips in all directions. I frantically scan for an opening, but she’s too fast. Her claws swipe at my torso, catching the fabric above my knee when I hug the egg to my chest and crawl back on one hand.
I need to stand. I am too vulnerable like this.
Her eyes somehow become more crazed before her abnormally large body rears back. I roll in time to avoid being flattened, only to blind myself with small bits of ice. I turn my head to find her blurry form descending on me.
Holding up a hand, I scream, “Wait!” My eyes scrunch as I pitifully attempt to shield myself. It is several moments before I comprehend there was no impact and my stuttering breaths mixed with the piercing wind are the only things I hear. I peek to the side where the griffin stands with her gaze locked on me.
I slowly push to my feet, not looking away from her. “Listen…this is not your egg.” I hold up the artifact, gesturing to it as if she can understand me. “I am not stealing from you. I need this, okay?”
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 he ad 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. This is actually 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 was soon 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… “I am thinking 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.
Dying I can accept; but eating me alive ? My blade no longer seems like a bad idea .
The griffin chirps, rubbing the smooth of her beak against my swollen cheek. The rumbling soft noises vibrate my head, but those are not what catch my attention. The majestic creature steps back and looks piercingly into my eyes before nodding once. Her wings lengthen and she pushes to the air from her feet, shifting the ground beneath me. I tilt my head back, watching her reversed form fly over the nest into the darkness.
I watch until the stark white of her feathers disappears.
“Fuck me…I’m alive,” I mumble to myself, no longer caring for whoever watches me.
My teeth grit as I stand, pausing until the dizziness passes. I look to the sky, noting the positional change of the moon. It will be dawn soon. I force the pain down and jog back through the mountain, wondering which circumstance will claim me first: my wounds or the beheading from losing this trial.