20. Chapter 20
20
BEATRICE
“Oh! Chicky’s hatching!” I exclaimed.
Win was too preoccupied with Dodger to acknowledge me. “You’re gonna be the biggest, baddest griffin ever,” she crooned to the sleeping griflet, rocking him like a baby.
I stared in disbelief. Win, being motherly?
Beeetrice! Play? Sing? Hold?
Still dazed, I turned to the Gamekeeper’s shadowy form and relayed Chicky's request.
“Are you sure you want to let a griflet boss you around?” he asked.
“How about you stop talking so Dodger can sleep!” Win growled.
Please? Chicky pleaded.
These four-way conversations got really confusing.
“Only if you be a good girl and work at hatching,” I warned my griflet aloud, and Win huffed her annoyance.
Chicky be good girl. I hatch now.
Playing the piano with a huge egg in my lap was awkward, but I performed two lively songs before checking on Chicky’s progress. She had chipped a neat crack around the smaller end of her shell, offering dramatic glimpses of her yellow beak. “Looking good! Keep up the good work, baby girl.”
“Dodger and I are going out for a walk in the garden,” Win announced in a haughty tone. “It’s too noisy in here.”
I turned to the Gamekeeper, muttering, “Is it safe?”
“They’ll be fine,” he assured me.
“Okay,” I called after Winifred, who was already in the hall. “But don’t forget that Dodger needs to eat frequently.”
“Duh! I’m taking a bowl of his disgusting food along.”
Once she was gone, I could play whatever I liked minus the criticism. Another hour of that, and I was nearly hoarse from singing while Chicky dozed.
“You’re so close to hatching,” I pointed out. “Just a few more pecks and shoves, and you’ll be free.”
I tired, Chicky grumbled . Sing “Someone to Watch Over Me” song.
The little diva.
Of course, I played and sang it for her. Again. Along with several more love songs.
“How are you doing?” the Gamekeeper asked. Feeling the warmth of his body at my back, I was tempted to lean against him.
“My voice is giving out,” I admitted while vamping another jazzy chorus on the keyboard. “I can feel her moving in there. She’s tired, but she’s awake.”
“You do realize she’s drawing this out for maximum drama, don’t you?” Dry humor laced his voice.
I tipped my head back and groaned. “Of course, she is!” Clapping both hands over my face, I giggled. I must have sounded loopy, but I couldn’t help it. If the Gamekeeper thought I was out of my mind, so be it. I was halfway in love with a mostly invisible monster-man while also cherishing a crush on a handsome dream king. If that wasn’t the definition of insanity, what would be?
As soon as I could speak, I asked, “What should I do?”
“I suggest you take Chicky back to the nestbox and leave her there until she hatches.” The fond amusement in the Gamekeeper’s voice was as welcome to me as his physical warmth.
So, I slid off the bench with my arms beneath the bundle of egg and blankets, soothing my griflet with the voice I used only for her, “Chicky babe, we’ve got to move you back to your nest by the fire now.”
She seemed a bit sulky, so I whispered, “I’m so excited to see your little face for the first time!”
That cheered her. And it was true. Thanks to Dodger, I knew what to expect. I was ready to coo over my Chicky to her little heart’s content no matter how homely she was.
The Gamekeeper offered me a cushion to shove under my backside, and I settled onto it beside the hatching box. His quiet support was reassuring. “You could sit beside me here,” I offered. “There’s plenty of room.”
With no warning, Chicky started hammering at her shell. Worried, I bent over her, but she ignored my inquiries, completely focused on her task. When I saw the crack in her shell widen, my hand twitched with the desire to help, but I pulled it back. “Is she all right?” I couldn’t help asking.
“She’s doing well.” He spoke near my ear. “She is irked, but that should motivate her to finish up.”
Why would Chicky be irritated? Was I thinking too much about the Gamekeeper during her big moment? Could she read my mind?
Chicky shoved again, and pinfeathers appeared in the crack. Another shove, and when I saw her wing struggling to be free, I reached out, then flinched. “Oh! I keep wanting to help her.” Without thinking, I slipped the erring hand back over my shoulder, and he took it in his.
For a moment I forgot the hatching griflet. The Gamekeeper’s hand was very large. Powerful. And a bit furry.
My heart raced in a confusing blend of fright (the claws I felt could easily rip me to shreds) and delight (I was holding hands with the Gamekeeper!) and more emotions I couldn’t (or chose not to) identify. I could’ve pretended he was simply being helpful by preventing me from interfering with Chicky’s hatching, but I knew better.
As I drew a long, quivering breath, I realized that he was as spellbound as I was. There I sat, hunched over a hatching griffin egg and holding hands with the most powerful mage in the world, who wasn’t exactly human. If that wasn’t the definition of foolish romanticism, I couldn’t imagine what would be. Yet I didn’t care. I’d loved him for years, and our connection didn’t have to be that kind of romantic. We were just . . . very good friends. I knew instinctively that he was every bit as hungry for emotional connection as I was. Maybe more like starved .
With a crackle and a slurping sound, Chicky used her head to pop the top off her shell, then thrashed one slimy wing until it slid free. But the rest of her was still trapped in the shell, which infuriated her. Amid a flurry of flapping and squawking and glaring eyes, I heard “Off it! Off it!” in the strangest voice I’d ever heard—something between the call of a bird of prey and the snarl of a big cat, only in falsetto.
“She can speak!” I realized in sudden pride. My beautifully hideous griflet flopped and thrashed, scattering straw everywhere. One foot wriggled free, and the other slipped out of the shell as I watched, breaking off another large chunk of shell. Then her whole body convulsed, and she leaped from the remaining dome of eggshell to sprawl halfway out of the nesting box with her sharp beak and eagle talons in my lap, her lion body and legs stretched thin, and her hind paws and tail still tucked inside the last bit of shell.
“Beeetrice,” she squawked with almost frightening clarity. “ My Beeetrice.” Her yellow eyes, still bleary, focused on the person looming at my shoulder as if warning him away.
“Love is given and received freely, never claimed.” The Gamekeeper’s tone was firm.
After a brief standoff, the griflet blinked, and her defiant attitude dissolved. “Chicky hungry.”
“I will bring your food,” the Gamekeeper said.
“Thank you!” I reluctantly released his hand as he rose, doing my best to focus entirely on the newborn griflet. Who was truly fascinating. I realized that Chicky could become intimidating if I failed to establish authority immediately. “Now, baby girl, you must focus on drying yourself and exercising your wings and legs.”
Chicky blinked again. “Chicky love Beatrice,” she cheeped sweetly.
My heart melted. “And Beatrice loves Chicky very much. I would like to hold and hug you, but first you must free your feet and tail, then walk to me.”
She brightened, and I sensed her determination. Kicking with both hind legs, she rid herself of the last piece of shell. Her hindquarters resembled a lion cub’s apart from the long stringy tail, but she was more developed than any newborn lion or bird of prey. I felt rather like a griflet expert after watching two of them hatch.
Chicky struggled to draw all four limbs beneath herself, hampered by the clunky raptor toes and talons on her front feet and the soft toes and claws on her hind feet, not to mention her flailing wings. The wet, sticky hair on her back, belly, and hindquarters would soon dry into the soft fur of a cub, and the globs on her head, chest, and wings would dry into fluffy down, but both griflets’ pinfeathers would probably be unattractive until they were nearly grown. What a fascinating and biologically impossible combination griffins were!
Just as Chicky successfully climbed into my arms, the Gamekeeper returned with her meal. I smiled up at him over the bedraggled baby curled beneath my chin, who was purring like a chainsaw. As soon as I looked away, I realized that I’d seen him clearly.
For an unguarded instant there, I’d looked into his eyes.
But I recalled only the warmth in his gaze. Maybe later I would remember more, but just then I needed to help Chicky eat her first meal. “Do griffins need a litterbox or papers on the floor, like in a birdcage?” I asked.
“A litterbox is right over there, ready whenever she needs it.” He tipped his head.
Sure enough, to one side of the entry doors, someone had set up a bin filled with sand or litter or something. I couldn’t tell from a distance.
Chicky began her first meal with live crickets, pecking them out of a bowl. Next, my griflet figured out how to arrange strips of venison in her beak for easy swallowing. Then, the freshly dead mice, rats, lizards, gophers, moles, and a small snake went down her throat, headfirst. The insects hadn’t bothered me when I fed Dodger, but . . . a snake?
I had to mentally disengage from reality.
“So,” I began, struggling to frame my question delicately, “when Chicky swallows, does her food go into a crop or a stomach?
I heard the smile in my companion’s voice. “Unlike a lion cub, she doesn’t have any teeth, and she couldn’t possibly nurse from her mother, so I would guess her stomach is more of a crop. Her head is much larger than an eagle’s or hawk’s—large enough to hold her intelligent brain and her incredibly sharp eyes. Of course, she is quite impossible without magic.”
I wanted to ask if he was possible without magic but couldn’t come up with a way to phrase it that wouldn’t sound incredibly rude.
When Chicky was finally full, she began preening and stretching her limbs and wings. Stiff from sitting so long on the floor, I stretched while she did. Around that time, I realized someone had placed chairs and a loveseat near the hatching boxes. “Thank you from the depths of my heart, thoughtful person, whoever you are.” With a groan of pleasure, I flopped into a chair. Moments later, Chicky climbed into my lap, curled up in my arms, all fluffy, prickly, and warm, and fell asleep.
But I desperately needed to get up and move.
As if he’d read my mind, the Gamekeeper said, “She’ll sleep for hours now. I’ll keep watch over her, and Dodger too, once Win brings him back. The palace staff is on top of things. Go ahead and get some rest.”
I knew it was winter and the days must be short, but when I glanced at the nearest window, I could hardly believe it was twilight already. On the other hand, it felt as if I’d been in that room forever. Hadn’t Auntie Bella said something about time working differently here? “I suppose she’ll call me if she needs me in the night,” I mumbled after settling my sleeping griflet into her sweet-smelling bed of fresh hay.
The palace staff must have been working like crazy all around me, and I’d never noticed a thing. I wasn’t hungry after snacking on fruit and meat pies and other treats all day. What I really wanted was a warm bed. “Talk about prepared for anything—you’re the best staff ever,” I addressed the apparently empty space around me. “Thank you.”
I turned to the Gamekeeper. “You must be tired too.”
“I’m fine.”
His voice was wild and deep, yet I felt peace and a sense of . . . rightness. “Chicky is asleep. Do you think she’ll be okay? I mean, without her real mother?”
“I believe that you offer her the ideal blend of authority and love, and Chicky has fully imprinted on you.”
“She likes you too. I mean, you mostly fed her today.”
“But you’ve been her mother for several days now, and she won’t forget.”
I rubbed both hands down my face. “I’m exhausted, but I don’t want her to grow up too quickly.”
“She’ll be ready to leave the ‘nest’ in about ten days.”
“So soon!” I exclaimed, then sighed with genuine regret and stooped over my griflet’s nesting box. One of her paws twitched, and her beak opened and closed twice. “How do they learn to fly?”
“It’s mostly instinctive, but if they need help with flying, they’ll receive it. If you encourage and praise her, she will learn new things, both to please you and to keep up with or surpass her brother. Their competition will be beneficial if you can keep them from fighting.”
“Sounds like some human siblings I’ve known.” I strolled over to the piano and straightened the sheet music.
After a companionable silence, he said, “I never had a sibling.”
“Neither did I. Were you lonely?”
“Not really. I had a cousin who was like a big sister, or maybe more of a second mom. She was the only person powerful enough to keep me in line.”
“Powerful?” I closed the piano’s keylid. I was puttering, tidying things that didn’t need tidying. I really needed to go.
“Magically powerful. My parents had no magic.”
“Did you still respect them?” His simple answers provoked so many more questions! How could the parents of a beast-man-creature have no magic? Such beings must be inherently magical.
Or must they?
He sighed, long and low. “My parents loved me, I’m sure, but I never measured up to their expectations. As a young adult, I was self-absorbed. I fulfilled my role in public, but otherwise I did my own thing.”
“What did they expect from you?”
“Nothing too unusual. I tried to be an obedient, noble, honest, competent, and responsible son. To please them, I put on a good public show. But after my father’s premature death, I worked out my frustrations through perilous pursuits, which frightened my mother.” His voice held profound regret. “Later, I became so obsessed with having my way that I turned to unlawful and dangerous magic.”
Still only halfway to the door, I shook my head, frowning. “I can’t imagine that. You’re a highly responsible person, caring for magical beasts and protecting Faraway Castle the way you do. And you’ve always been very good to me.”
“Your friendship is a treasured gift. But in truth, any wisdom or virtue I may possess was acquired far too late.”
“Better late than never.” Since he was being open and honest, I admitted, “I know my father cares about me, but as a diplomat he travels a lot and always seems stressed. When I was little, he encouraged me to help him with practical things like gardening and carpentry—teaching me life skills, really—and that time together was precious to me. I realize now that we were never very close, but over the years we’ve grown far apart. When I get back home, I want to . . . I don’t know. Try to get to know who he really is. Appreciate and hug him more. I guess I always took what he offered me for granted.”
He sighed heavily. “Children seldom truly honor or value their parents until they’ve experienced the trials and disillusionments of life for themselves. And I expect parents seldom realize how brief is their opportunity to offer guidance and affection before their children are grown and gone.”
I wanted to ask more about his family, but I’d already kept him talking too long. In the doorway, I turned back. “Thank you for today. For all you’re doing for me and Win and the griflets.”
“Beatrice, I love you dearly. Will you marry me?”
I couldn’t help shuddering. “Oh, please don’t ask me that anymore! You’re good. A g-good beast. My dear friend. But I . . . I cannot marry you!” How could he even imagine such a thing?
He heaved a ragged sigh. “And I cannot stop asking.”
Like a frightened child, I ran to my room as if pursued by harpies and flung myself into bed without bathing or even changing.
Beeetrice!
I sat upright in bed, feeling for my egg. Chicky?
Beeetrice, I need you! Why you leave me?
Oh! Right. She’d hatched. How was she calling me all the way from the music room? I flung off my coverlet, but as I staggered toward my bathroom, I realized that she sounded demanding, not desperate. My pace slowed, and I paused for a huge yawn. My face felt stiff and puffy, and when I squinted at my reflection in the mirror over the washstand, a groan escaped. Pathetic. I looked as if I’d cried myself to sleep.
Most likely because I did.
I did not want to think about it. This day would be all about Chicky. She was calling for me.
Even so, I took time for a bath and washed my hair. My invisible maids kindly provided practical clothing—corduroy trousers, a red-flannel shirt, a faux-fleece jacket, and sturdy boots. On a whim, I asked if someone might braid my hair?
Voila! I ended up with beautiful braids that merged into one thick woven rope of hair down my back. “You are the best! Have I mentioned that? Thank you so much!” I felt a bit guilty about leaving the maids to straighten my messy suite, but Chicky’s calls sounded needier by the moment.
I found her standing on her back paws in her nestbox, her eagle claws gripping its edge. Her huge golden eyes fixed on my face as I entered. Chicky called and called! My voice was like thunder!
“Yes, darling, and I came as soon as I could.”
Chicky was still larger than her brother, but both had markedly grown overnight in size and strength. Dodger squawked his own protests and demands, and I ended up helping each of them into a litter box. That duty done, I sat on the floor and let them climb into my lap—and soon regretted it. “Ouch! Watch your claws, you two! My skin and clothing are fragile.”
While I was wondering if I should feed both griflets, Win entered the music room, groggy and frazzled but fully clothed. “You’re right on time,” I greeted her. “Their food just arrived.”
Win’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she snapped. “You stole my gold egg, but that bond won’t last. I’m their nanny, and in the end, they’ll both stay with me.” The griflets went very still, huddled against me.
I slowly, deliberately stood upright, holding a griflet in each arm. It took a lot to rile me, but Win had just exceeded my patience quota for the year. She backpedaled a few steps, her eyes widening as I approached and loomed over her.
“Look, Miss Winifred, if you want to blame someone for this situation, you might take a look at yourself. If you hadn’t twice attempted to ditch me in a cave, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Chicky and I are bonded. Done deal. Either you start accepting reality, or you’re going to have an extremely rough time of it in the future.”
Arabella
Those first days after I sent Beatrice into the griffins’ nest must have aged me a decade or more. I could only hope she had safely reached the Forbidden Palace along with the griffin eggs and their nanny. Since time behaved erratically in the Forbidden Lands, I didn’t know whether she’d crossed its border five minutes or five weeks ago in her time. The one thing I did know was that, in our time, the Gamekeeper’s barrier remained—in a weakened yet still effective state—so it still protected Beatrice, the eggs, the nanny, and my cousin.
The longer we could keep the Mirror and its minions focused on taking Faraway Castle, the better. The dozen clueless guests who’d remained at the resort despite all our warnings were certain the siege was an advertising gimmick to gain media attention and draw future guests. They kept sending complaints to the main desk regarding poor service, noise issues, and low-quality special effects, along with helpful suggestions for ways to make the danger seem more real.
The only damage to resort property at this point was due to a swarm of pixies taking revenge for being banished a few years earlier. They had somehow sneaked onto the property, broken into the empty staff cabins, and shredded everything they could find—which wasn’t much, since the human staff members had already retreated to emergency quarters beneath the castle.
On the third day, to everyone’s profound relief, Briar, Rosa, Ellie, and Omar appeared in the empty ballroom, greeted by joyful brownies. Sten and Nillie briefed them on recent events and directed them down into our headquarters.
As soon as he entered the main cave, Prince Briar asked, sounding cross, “Someone tell me, please, why guests are playing bunco in the game room while the resort is under attack?”
“They refused to leave while it was safe,” I answered, sounding even crosser, “and as long as we feed them well, they’re happy to laze about and play table tennis, billiards, and card games. If they take it in their heads to go outside, we create the illusion of a blizzard. If the situation truly endangers them, Cog and Kai have promised to help me transport them to the nearest airport and send them home. Now, tell us about Pukai. I’m assuming you successfully rescued her?”
Rosa chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare use that word in her presence, but yes, she is safe.”
Prince Omar spoke first. “Ellie ordered Queen Pukai to get away from the door. I mean, she spoke into the queen’s mind, you know, the way she does?”
“You went down into the oceanic trench?” I blurted, staring at the handsome young royal who was not a mage of any kind.
Omar nodded, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Briar put each of us into one of his magic bubbles,” Rosa explained.
“Which are surprisingly comfortable,” Omar added with a grin. “We could see and hear everything around us at the bottom of the deepest rift in the ocean floor. Unbelievable! The magical three opened the cave.” He indicated his wife and his in-laws. “I wasn’t of the slightest use down there, but I cheered them on.”
For a nonmagical human dragged into a magical war, Prince Omar was impressively chill.
“We brought him along because Ellie wouldn’t come without him,” Briar said frankly, then raised his hand to forestall his sister’s protest, “which was fine by all of us.”
“It required all three of us to break that horrible spell they’d put on the cave door,” Rosa added.
“And once Pukai sensed our magic, she joined in,” Briar continued his tale. “By the way, I’m afraid that cave no longer exists. We observed firsthand that sahira mer-royalty don’t take kindly to betrayal.”
Ellie took up the narrative: “Still, Queen Pukai seemed weak and shaky, so Briar popped her into another bubble, then instantly took us all to her home island—I have no idea where that was, but it’s a gorgeous place. She decided to recover there for a few days before she joins us here. She said something about her cousin bringing military reinforcements, so that’s encouraging.”
My traitorous heart gave a leap. Her cousin? Could she possibly mean Kapono?
With effort, I returned my attention to the matter at hand. “So Pukai is all right? Did you check her for fay curses or tracking spells?”
When Prince Briar directly met my gaze, my heart gave a jolt and my breath hitched.
No, it wasn’t insta-love. (Seriously, at my age?) More likely he’d sensed my heart’s reaction to the mention of Pukai’s military-commander cousin. Foolish! Why should I assume she meant Kapono? Pukai had as many relatives as an anchovy!
In the past few years, I’d heard my beastly cousin praise his wonder-boy apprentice, Geoff Bryant the Magical Creature Controller, so often that I’d fully expected to dislike the hotshot young enchanter who was really a prince.
What I had not expected was to be evaluated in return.
“Ah, Lady Arabella. I am pleased to meet you.” He spoke in an undertone while the others discussed Pukai’s plans. “Your magic is familiar to me.”
My heart nearly stopped. He knew. I never would have expected this . . . this wet-behind-the-ears marvel to guess my identity and my secret. The secret I shared only with Pukai and the Gamekeeper. How could he possibly know? “Did he tell you?” I whispered.
The prince spoke into my head: Never a word. It is your story to tell.
Aloud, he said, “My twin has often mentioned you, and I owe you a great deal for rescuing her all those years ago.”
“And for teaching me how to use my magic,” Ellie added, joining our side conversation. “I thought you were holding me back, Arabella, but you simply made sure I understood the basics and ethics of magic before I attempted anything too ambitious. I owe a great deal to you.”
My heart warmed to her, and she knew it. “Yes, yes, this is all well and good,” I remarked gruffly, “but last night we had two breaches in our defenses. It’s time to rejigger our tactics, lay out some plans and contingency plans, brief our people, and start expelling these traitorous so-called mages from Faraway Castle property.”
Rosa, Omar, and Ellie agreed, but before I could escape, Prince Briar caught my eye and said, “First, we all need to hear your story.”
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling old and frail.
And terribly guilty.