“What was that?”
Ronan holds a finger to his lips. Taran, closer to the noise than we are, turns and draws his sword.
We creep along the canyon floor, the crunching sounds of our boots on stone suddenly amplified by our heightened awareness. When we get to Taran, Ronan places a hand on his shoulder, and we all three crouch down behind a large boulder.
There’s a long silence, so long that Ronan laughs and begins to rise.
And then there’s the unmistakable flap of great wings from fifty feet above us. I lean back in time to catch its enormous silhouette cross the sky.
Oh, gods.We’re fucked.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The griffin stands before us, as beautiful and deadly as the cliffs it came from. Its head is that of an enormous brown eagle, with a curved beak and sharp golden eyes that track our every breath. Its feathered wings rest on the ground before it, talons flexing. Behind it, the golden tail of a lion swishes, the dark tuft of fur at the end moving so rapidly my eyes blur the motion.
It's at least twice as large as I was imagining. It’s bigger than a horse, bigger than my father’s destrier had been. Now I see why Ronan said we’d be lucky to take it down with a single party.
And all we have is half of one.
I can’t help but think what a pity it would be to kill it. It’s a majestic creature. What must it be like to see the world through its eyes? To soar above it, taking in a view so few get to see? I have an absurd notion that it would be fun to ride on its back. Maybe I can convince Ronan to spare it. We can scare it away so the others never find it.
Beside me, Ronan places a hand on Taran’s shoulder to still him from reaching for his bow. He must have felt what I wanted. “Not yet,” he says.
Then he begins to rise.
What the hell is he doing?
“You can’t mean to approach it,” says Taran. “If we have any shot, it’s from back here.”
“I can feel her,” he says. Taran and I both turn to look at him.
“What?” we ask together.
“The griffin. I hardly ever feel animals. Just their fear, and rarely. But I can feel her. She’s curious about us.”
Oh, gods, he’s gone insane. “Did you feel me wanting to ride it? I wasn’t being serious. It was just a silly thought. You don’t need to do this.”
“Listen to her, sir. Listen to yourself. Do not go out there—”
Ronan ignores us. He rises, and the griffin scratches the ground with her talons.
Itstalons. I do not believe he can tell that it’s female.
Taran looks at me, and I look back at him, our bewildered faces mirrored. “You’re the one who’s supposed to protect him,” I say to him.
“Kronor, sotero,” he says, a curse in the Orsan language, judging by his delivery.
Taran slowly stands to the side of Ronan.
“It’s alright, girl,” says Ronan, the absolute imbecile. He holds out his hand in front of him in a nonthreatening gesture.
The griffin scratches the ground again, huffing.
Ronan takes a step back to walk around the boulder, and I grab his wrist. “I will not let you die out there, and neither will Taran. If she attacks, we’ll kill her.”
Ronan tucks a strand of my hair back in place and kisses my cheek. It’s so soft and familiar that I forget my worries for a moment. “Trust me,” he says.
I do trust him, but I don’t trust anyone or anythingelse.
