Chapter 15
Anya Delemond
The plush bed at the Phoenix Nest failed to garner Anya any restful sleep. She even tried sleeping as a wolf, but it only served to make Blackbird more comfortable. Her lady-in-waiting never turned down the chance to share a bed with a fluffy, cuddly wolf that wouldn’t eat her.
As soon as morning light hit the stained glass of their room, she got up and moving. Blackbird, of course, woke with some cajoling. And a pillow to the face. But she’d be damned if she let Roderick call her a princess for “sleeping in” on the first day of their expedition.
She fiddled with the foreign fashion that was the belt meant to bring her shirt and trouser ensemble together as she recounted Yomira’s daring dive the night before.
It had seemed far simpler than a corset, but her claws kept digging into the black leather and catching on the tiny metal buckles, made to hold her scabbard as well.
“You really don’t remember any of that?” she asked incredulously, tugging at the contraption.
“I remember when we landed,” Blackbird answered with a shrug. “I feel so safe with Sir Oshfeldt, I must have drifted off.”
“You should tell him that. He might walk on air to Aquillas.” She shoved the white shirt under her high-waisted trousers.
The flowing sleeves came down to her elbows, which she tucked into thin leather gloves.
She needed to be agile aboard the ship. If she tripped over her skirts in front of Roderick, she would never hear the end of it.
She had practical dresses along, but she wanted to get her sea legs back before daring to wear them.
“What? No!” Blackbird scoffed and struggled to pull her arm through the sleeve of her linen day dress. “You jest.”
“I would never jest about matters of the heart!” Anya laughed and helped Blackbird pull her arm through. Three taps at the door silenced her laughter and sent her pulse into a frenzy.
“We’re awake! We were waiting for you!” Anya called, forcing her black boots on as she made her way to the door.
“All right, um, good for you?” Sir Oshfeldt’s voice came through the crack in the door.
She finally reached the door and swung it open, far too out of breath for someone who was ready and waiting.
“Have you seen Roderick?” Sir Oshfeldt asked, his eyes flitting into the room.
She scowled. What a stupid question. “Of course not. Why on earth would he be in here? Did he not share a room with you?”
Sir Oshfeldt pinned his ears back, shook his head, then sighed. “He came up to the room with me, then left to smoke some peppermint. His things are still in there too.”
“Perhaps he and Yomira went to practice for the next time they try to give me a fright—which would be about as wise as a mouse in a milk dish. Your liege forgets whom he prods.”
How he’d been able to be so cruel so quickly after seeing the sick children was beyond her. He’d been so gentle and sweet to Mabel, from the way he danced her doll to make her laugh and the animated motions he made as he told her the story of the knight and the Princess.
Just another mask, she supposed.
“I will speak with him about that, Your Highness.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then muttered, “Once I find where that bastard wandered off to.”
“No! No! Do not do that. I am ordering you not to do that.” The last thing she needed was to seem like a child tattling to their teacher.
“As you wish, Your Highness. If you are ready, we can look for him together while we purchase supplies.”
“All right.” They donned their packs and followed Sir Oshfeldt out into the streets of Little Wing.
Having arrived the night prior at near midnight, the town had been nearly dead. Now, the populous was resurrected in the sunlight, with nearly as many gryphons as there were people milling about.
She considered herself up-to-date on every region in the Valerian mainland.
She’d pored over every report, map, and financial ledger she could get her hands on.
From a trade standpoint, gryphons were not goods.
They were far testier than even the wildest of stallions if they didn’t want to be ridden.
But all the books in the world couldn’t have prepared her for the culture shock of walking among the thick—or feathers—of it.
Gryphons of every size and color sunned themselves on balconies, perched on rooftops, and slept outside shops and houses.
The citizens seemed to hardly notice them.
Being springtime, fluffy down feathers littered the edges of the street.
A grumpy owl-headed gryphon swiveled its head in an unnervingly smooth motion, watching them pass by the blacksmith shop it seemed to call home.
“Sweet Spirits! You are beautiful!” Blackbird practically skipped over to the grouchy gryphon.
“You shouldn’t—” Anya warned, then halted her words.
The intimidating creature was happily accepting beak scratches from Blackbird, giving a deep, rolling hoot.
The ritual continued with gryphon after gryphon as they slowly worked through their supply list. Sir Oshfeldt followed Blackbird over to a fluffy chick perched atop a barrel.
Anya took the opportunity to review the list, drawing a claw down the parchment.
Salt pork and cod, oats, apples, barley, cheese, biscuits, peas, lentils, jarred fruits, fresh water, firewood, soap—
A voice suddenly came over her shoulder. “You’re missing ale.”
“AH!” She startled and jabbed her elbow back. She was just about to go for second blow but stopped at the sight of Roderick doubled over at the waist.
“Hoo…Divine Almighty…” His chest heaved as he slowly straightened. “What…the hell, Anya?” He kept a hand on his gut.
Her heart raced as she dropped her arm, forcing on a cool facade. “Oh, Roderick. There you are. Nice of you to join us.”
“The feeling…haa…isn’t mutual…”
“Where were you?” she asked, hands on her hips. “I’ve been awake for hours.”
She hadn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Octavio snores,” he said simply.
“All right…But where. Were. You? Where did you sleep?”
Roderick rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Out in the field by Yomira. She was lonely.”
That was, without a doubt, a lie. But she couldn’t exactly ask the wyvern to confirm.
He probably went out for a cigar and went home with a lovely lady.
Or a man. Regardless, it was better for him to get it out of his system before who knows how long at sea.
She wouldn’t stand for him bedding any of the crew.
Not that she cared, personally—although the heat spreading from her neck to her ears begged to differ.
“Whatever you say.” Anya sized him up, head to toe. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair clearly finger-brushed. “Do you plan to inspire confidence in our crew looking like that?”
“Looks are only part of what gives one a commanding air.” He ran a hand through his fiery hair. “Not all of us are as vain as you, Princess.”
“Listen, you stinking son-of-a—”
“My Lord!” Sir Oshfeldt called, pulling Blackbird away from a cat-sized peregrine griffin. She waved goodbye to it and came along willingly. “Where have you be—”
Roderick cut him off. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let Her Highness forget the ale. You will have your vice.”
Sir Oshfeldt gaped his mouth and looked between Roderick and Blackbird. “I-I don’t—It’s not a vice! What are you talking about?”
“I am only kidding, Octavio. But we do need ale. Captain Verden will be heartbroken if he can’t share a drink with me. You don’t want that, do you, Princess?”
It was a rather affordable voyage as it stood, given the small crew and even smaller number of passengers. They could spare a few coins for some alcohol if it lifted the crew’s spirits.
“Fine. You take care of that if you want it so badly.” Anya’s claws barely grazed his open palm as she handed over six silver pieces, enough to get the entire crew drunk.
“Well? Get on then,” Anya goaded. “Have it brought to the ship. Lady Rowan and I will finish the list, greet the crew and get started on the port paperwork. Or have you forgotten time is of the essence?”
Roderick whirled his head back to face her.
“I could never forget that,” he muttered, clenching the coins in his hand. “Or how low you think of me, apparently.” He stalked off toward the brewer’s. Sir Oshfeldt parried his attention between his liege and herself, deciding who to follow.
Anya sighed. “We can manage ourselves, Sir Oshfeldt.” She tapped her scabbard. “Please keep him out of trouble.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The knight bowed hastily and trotted after Roderick.
“He saw the children too, Anya,” Blackbird said softly as they walked to the port.
“I suppose he did.” She hiked her pack up her shoulders. She felt a little guilty, but goading Roderick seemed to be the only effective distraction from worrying about the children back in Balcott. They seemed far from his mind already.
They worked through the list at a steady clip, finally reaching the docks after a brief sojourn to the library.
Their first week in Valerian waters was routine sailing and wouldn’t require her expertise.
It was precious time she could devote to reading up on Aquillan legends.
It wasn’t mere speculation anymore. After Marg’s admission, these tomes were as academic as any other.
Her thoughts shifted to the voyage as the Lupus Star’s telltale claw print flag rose above the rest of the billowing sails.
Dread swirled in her gut. Was it too soon to send Marg a message?
Was Cyrus already sniffing around her parents, planting seeds of doubt in their minds?
If she sent a letter now, she might be able to get a reply before they reached uncharted waters.
Once they reached that point, even the most powerful of mages wouldn’t be able to put their location into a hawk’s mind.
But if my ring heats up, or an urgent message comes, it isn’t like I can do anything.
She could make the ship turn around.