Chapter 10
Griff
Griff hadn’t meant to 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 contact with 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 paper with 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.
“That treachery was Benoit’s doing. That pretender lied and killed to have me ousted. As soon as I am done with my task on Verlora, I will be removing him from my seat.”
“You and what army?” someone else drawled. “Seems to me you ain’t got shit.”
“I’ve got the truth on my side, and the fortitude to fight back.” The little queen did not cower or relent. Admirable, if stupid.
“Rumor has it you’re worth an awful lot. I wonder who would pay us the most to have you dumped at their feet.” The crude male would of course be the first to suggest auctioning her off.
Griff had heard enough and pushed into the room, stating, “Anyone who thinks to remove Avera from Saarpira will regret it. The little queen belongs to me.”
His statement fell with a thud in a room gone silent.
“I thought the so-called pirate king didn’t believe in selling folks,” blustered the crude man.
“Who says I’m selling her?” Griff crossed his arms and arched a brow.
The sailors glanced at each other before one ventured to ask, “Why else would you have taken her?”
Lacking an excuse, he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Might be time I took a wife, and who better than a royal with Verlorian blood?”
In the shock that followed—which included Avera with a dropped jaw—Griff grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her out of the tavern. As they hit the street, she found her voice.
“Marry? I don’t think so.”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning to. However, it’s best the sailors believe I might.”
“Why?”
“You have to ask why?” He glanced at her. “Did you not notice how poorly they received your attempts to bribe them to transport you?”
“They didn’t seem too receptive,” she mumbled.
“Because they want to live. Because they’re scum who are only interested in the easiest route that earns them the most money. Given the choice between risking themselves for a disgraced queen with nothing to her name or exchanging her for a bounty, what do you think they’ll opt for?”
Rather than reply, she retorted, “Why are you following me?”
“I wasn’t. I happened to see you and wondered what you were up to. Apparently, trying to make yourself into a tempting target.”
“Simhi says kidnapping and murder aren’t allowed here.”
“Aren’t allowed doesn’t mean it doesn’t occasionally happen.” Griff reserved the right to roll his eyes later at her dumb remark.
“You can’t be mad at me for trying. I told you I would try to find someone to take me.”
“Who says I’m mad? More like astonished you could be so stupid. Then again, I should have guessed you lacked mental capacity given your insistence on going to Verlora.”
“I’m not giving up,” she huffed. “Every day I spend here is another day Zhos machinates to get free.”
“So you keep claiming, but did you ever stop to wonder if this Opal, who strongly insisted you go, might be working for Zhos?”
She blinked at him. “She’s a guardian trying to prevent his escape.”
“According to who?”
Her mouth opened but she said nothing.
“According to her. A person you yourself claimed to have only met that one time. A stranger, and you believed everything she said.”
A flustered Avera blurted, “Opal wasn’t ensorcelled like the others doing Zhos’ bidding.”
“Ever think she acted of her own volition?”
“No.” Avera shook her head. “You’re wrong about Opal. You didn’t meet or speak with her. She was nice.”
“So are many murderers, doesn’t mean they don’t have a dark streak.”
Avera’s head ducked as they walked back to the castle. “Why would she send me for the stones if they weren’t needed as seals?”
“Maybe because she wanted you to die? Or maybe the stones were never stolen to begin with. After all, you only have her word on that score. Ever think the objects you’ve been sent to fetch might belong to Verlora, and this Zhos needs them for its escape?”
“You sound like Gustav,” she grumbled.
“The soldier you had as bodyguard.” Stated more than asked.
“He was more than that. He was the only father figure I had growing up. The only person I could confide in, not that I ever confessed much.”
This wasn’t the first time she’d revealed a less-than-ideal childhood.