Poison,I realize. Not the cup I just drank from. (At least, I hope not.) But what’s happening to Ronan. It could be poison, couldn’t it? The thing that’s making him lose his magic. It’s not a constant decline. Maybe whatever they’re poisoning him with doesn’t last long. Maybe it’s difficult to get access to him, so they can’t always keep his powers suppressed. But as long as he’s weak at the right moments, moments like the other night in the arena, that should be enough eventually.
But what about the taster? He has a taster eat and drink everything he touches, including this very wine. They would know if the taster was being poisoned, unless…unless the poison didn’t make them ill in any way. Would the taster even notice their powers were diminished? Or could an alchemist, an alchemist like Hermes, make a poison that would only affect the drinker’s magic? Or even one that could only affect the light-born, so that the taster remained unaffected?
Could it be in the very cup I just drank from, the cup Zara is drinking from now?
I try to ignore the nausea that begins suddenly after I have the thought.It’s not poison, I tell myself;it’s just anxiety.
Unfortunately, telling yourself not to be anxious doesn’t tend to do much for anxiety except amplify it.
After the rites have concluded, Cyrus stands at the altar to announce the hunt to the court. As always, he sounds vaguely annoyed to be delivering the message. “In consultation with the priests, we have selected a most excellent quarry for today’s hunt. The griffin of the Red Cliffs, a creature revered by Sai for its brutality and power. By taking it down, we honor Sai and the champions he has chosen. Hunting group assignments are available on the board in the back. Chariots are waiting outsideto take each group to the hunting grounds. May Sai bless this hunt and the hunters.”
We’re hunting a griffin? I thought we’d be after an alligator or a heron or something. I’ve never even seen a griffin outside of the pages of a book. I’m trying to remember which two animals it is—eagle and horse? Eagle and goat?—when Ronan approaches.
“I took some liberties with the hunting groups,” he says, his hand grazing the small of my back in a way that makes me shiver. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“You’ve assigned me to Lord Cyrus’s group then?”
He smirks. “Cyrus isn’t that bad. He thinks I’m a complete imbecile compared to my father, but he does what I tell him.”
Does he, though? Or could he be the poisoner?
I’m really understanding now what Ronan was saying about being unable to trust anyone. There are so many people here at court who have reason to act against him.
“You’ll have to tell me what that feeling meant when we’re alone later,” he mutters before greeting Queen Claudia, who wants to wish him luck.
I wait for him by our assigned chariot with Taran, who has conveniently been placed in our group as well. There are three others in the party, who are in their own chariot just behind ours: Nona of House Alta, Ronan’s aunt and current heir to the throne, Lucas, the second son of House Modesto, and a member of Ronan’s Royal Guard named Rhodes that I haven’t met yet.
“Keep an eye on him,” says Ronan as he joins us at last. He glances at Lucas. “He was caught near my chambers this morning without cause.”
“So you thought you’d bring him with us when we’re all bearing deadly weapons?” I ask.
“Just another day in Selara,” he replies with a shrug.
I get to see some of Selara today as the chariot passes through Faros, leaving the city walls and heading to the cliffs to the northwhere the griffin dwells. Beyond the reaches of Faros, there are only a few scattered structures amid the sprawling farmlands, where the little grain that Selara still grows is nearly ready to harvest. Herds of lazy cattle, goats, and sheep lounge in grassy fields under expansive blue skies. I envy them their naps—it seems a much more pleasant way to spend a late-summer day than hiding behind rocks, trying to kill something.
Civilization ends abruptly as we venture away from the life-giving River Mara. The fields give way to low, scrubby bushes and then empty patches of dusty land in shades of brown and grey. Then the chariot climbs hills that are low and gradual at first, like the barren desert we crossed when we arrived, but that become increasingly steep and jagged the further north we go. Before long, I hear the ocean again, crashing into the base of the Red Cliffs, which are appropriately named, somewhere to the east beyond sight.
We approach a small circle of tents on the hilltop. “The scouting party,” explains Ronan as we exit the chariot. “They’ve been tracking the griffin.”
“That seems like cheating.” I’ve never been on a hunt like this before. My father took Adria and Seth before the war, but I was too young to join them. The only times I’ve been hunting were with Larus, who was teaching me to use my bow to bring down deer and small game. We were rarely successful, largely because I couldn’t bring myself to hurt the animals. At the time, I thought I had Larus convinced that it was just because I had poor aim. But looking back, I’m certain he knew the truth.
“We’d be out here all month like them if they didn’t do it,” says Lady Nona. She’s a tough-looking woman: leathery tan skin, greying brown hair, and the kind of lean build that says she’s no stranger to these circumstances. She’s a war survivor, one of the few from her generation. “I, for one, would rather sleep in a bed than a bunk.”
The scouting party equips us with bows and arrows. When they hand me mine, they smile. “You’re the one to beat, they say,” one of them, a young servant girl, whispers to me.
I’m touched that she looks up to me, but unfortunately, she’s wrong. I’m about as likely to kill the griffin as I am to kill anyone, which is to say not likely at all.
Not unless it tries to kill Ronan. Then I might be motivated.
Ronan, for his part, looks about as uncomfortable as I am. I wonder if this brings up memories of his father. He said they once hunted together on our lands.
We hear from the scouts that the griffin was last spotted half a mile or so northwest, but that since it can fly, it ranges quite a bit during the day. It tends to dive to the shore for fish in the afternoons, and since it’s no longer mating season, it doesn’t roost anywhere in particular.
There are twelve hunting parties, most of them around the same size as ours, made up of everyone in the court who wanted to attend, along with their guards and servants.
“Twelve parties and one griffin?” I ask. “Is that typical?”
“Griffins are solitary creatures at this time of year, but it will likely take more than one party to bring it down, unless someone makes a very good shot. They have a thick hide, and they’re ferocious predators on their own. I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up empty-handed,” explains Ronan.
