29. Metallurgical Equivalent of Poetry #2
“Soldiers are sweeping the countryside for a fugitive,” the king continued, watching Griffon closely. “It is reported that the queen’s tracker has been interrogating villagers. Quite forcefully, from what I understand.”
The air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. I glanced at Griffon, but his face had gone completely blank. I was beginning to recognize the now-familiar expression. It was the one he used when he was hiding emotions sharp enough to cut himself open.
“The level of intensity suggests this is no ordinary deserter. The queen even appears to be in the midst of some sort of rampage. It’s reported she publicly flogged six guards at Arcem Fortress for not reporting the fugitive’s movements sooner.” The king’s eyes remained fixed on Griffon.
“How recent is this information?” Griffon’s voice was steady, but conspicuously lacking in inflection.
“Three days old,” the king answered.
In a movement so brief I almost missed it, Griffon’s fingertips drifted to the hilt of the Viridis dagger at his thigh.
Like every time before, he wasn’t reaching for it exactly, but more like unconsciously touching a talisman.
As if the simple contact steadied him. I’d studied his careful control long enough to recognize when something slipped through the cracks.
But for someone who’d faced off with dozens of soldiers without flinching, the news that shook a man like Griffon even for a fraction of a second was concerning.
This clearly went deeper than a simple military desertion. Though, given what I knew about his former employment, it was probably an understatement anyway. One didn’t just quit being a royal assassin with a polite resignation letter.
“Thank you for the warning,” I said after realizing Griffon was too lost in his thoughts to respond.
“Absolutely. Though,” the king continued, “you may want to reconsider our offer to stay. At least for a little while.” He paused. “Until the situation blows over.”
“No.” Griffon’s firm answer startled me after his long silence. “We leave as planned.”
The king inclined his head. “As you wish. But know you have an ally in Solis if you ever need it.”
Griffon’s voice softened. “We appreciate that.”
The king rejoined the women as Griffon swung into the saddle of his mahogany bay gelding with a ridiculous amount of grace and looked down at me expectantly.
Right. The horse.
The dappled gray mare shifted as I took hold of the saddle. I can do this. Put a foot in the stirrup and swing the other leg over. I read The Principles of Mounted Travel. Twice. How hard could this be?
Very hard, apparently.
I managed to wedge my boot into the stirrup, but before I could pull myself up, the horse walked forward two steps, essentially leaving me dangling off the side of the saddle with my other foot scrambling for purchase.
The movement may have seemed reasonable from her perspective, but it was catastrophic from mine.
The horse snorted, clearly unimpressed with my acrobatic display.
In a last-ditch attempt, I hauled myself halfway up.
But then she turned abruptly and whipped me with her tail, dislodging me completely.
My backside hit the ground. Hard.
Somewhere behind me, the king choked a laugh and tried to hide it with a cough.
“Perhaps you should have mentioned you’d never ridden before?” Salma asked sweetly.
I glared up at the horse. “I’ve read extensively about equine biomechanics,” I answered with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Oh, little bird,” she said, no longer hiding her amusement. “I don’t think that’s the same thing.”
Griffon dismounted and helped me off the ground. “Why didn’t you remind me?” He asked with exasperation. But I detected a little fondness there as well.
Swatting the back of my pants, I brushed off the dust. “I didn’t want to seem incompetent.”
“Wren, you just solved a sixty-five-year-old riddle and saved both of us from certain death,” he said softly.
“Your competence isn’t in question. Besides, not having the chance to learn isn’t the same thing.
” He positioned himself next to the horse, bent down, and cupped his hands. “Come on. I’ll help you up.”
With Griffon’s help, I managed somewhat of a proper seat in the saddle. “Alright,” I said, taking the reins. “I’ve got this now.”
But then the mare walked backward. Then spun around in a circle. And then decided that a tuft of grass was much more interesting than her rider and dropped her head to graze so abruptly that I almost pitched over the front of her.
I was going to die.
Not from the unforgiving desert, or the moving vines of cursed forests, or from the swords of the queen’s soldiers. Or any other dangers we’d probably face on this journey. I was going to die because a very moody horse found me completely unworthy.
“Work with me here, you frustrating animal,” I hissed. “I’m trying to make a dignified exit.”
Griffon’s shoulders shook.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not—” He broke off as I bounced awkwardly in the saddle, my headscarf slipping down over one eye. “Okay, yeah,” he admitted. “Maybe a little.”
He moved his gelding alongside. “I’ll lead her until you get the hang of it.”
“I don't need—” The mare chose that moment to swing her head around to bite her flank, almost unseating me in the process.
Griffon took the reins.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my spine. Airship crashes, near drowning, and execution by fire weren’t enough to end me. Impossible puzzles and bargains with kings didn’t even slow me down. Being told I was worthless only forced me to rise above.
This horse would not defeat me.
“Fine. Lead the demon horse,” I said, meeting Griffon’s eyes. “For now. But by the time we cross over into Volantia, I’ll be able to ride her myself.”
A satisfied smile crept across his face. “I don’t doubt it.”
I reached down to pat her neck, but she tried to turn and bite my foot. “Your loyalty is noted,” I muttered.
Salma’s delighted laughter brought my head around as I was being led out of the palace gates like a child on a pony. I waved goodbye to her and the Soli royalty. Mali was openly grinning, and even King Faisal looked amused.
So much for a dignified departure. Apparently, I was leaving Solis the same way I'd arrived…disheveled, confused, and clearly in over my head.