Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

CLIO

By the time the griffin city shimmered into view through the heat waves, Clio was ready to trade her soul for a drink of water. Her whole body felt like one giant bruise as she bounced in her saddle, jarred by the tachy 's rolling gait. The gentle herbivores lived mainly in the foothills, but they were almost as comfortable in the desert.

She, however, couldn't have been more uncomfortable. Riding was only slightly less demanding than walking, and she wasn't sure how much more she could tolerate. Her backside was on the verge of disintegration.

Relief swept through Clio at the sight of Aldrendahar on the horizon. It had been a long, trying two days. They'd set out the previous morning, traversing the full span of Irida to reach the southern border by nightfall. After only a few hours of rest, they'd headed through the foothills and into the desert before the sun had even breached the horizon.

Once full daylight hit, travel had become an exercise in torture, but finally, the end was in sight. Or, at least, a break. King Rouvin had explained that, depending on what officials were or were not in the city, she might have to travel onward until she could present his message to someone of a high enough rank.

Dark spots hovering above the horizon took the shape of flying opinaris. Her stomach turned over as light glinted off the beasts' plate armor, and soon she could make out their riders—equally armored griffins.

The captain in charge of her nymph escort called for a halt on the crest of a dune. Her tachy puffed for air, his sides heaving.

Six opinaris swept in and circled above her group. One peeled out of the formation and plunged down to land on the sand. Her tachy jerked his head anxiously, his dark horn gleaming. She laid a calming hand on his neck.

The opinari snapped its beak, wings flared. The soldier swung off, and Clio straightened in her saddle as he approached. For years, she'd thought of griffins as her ultimate enemies. They were still dangerous, but her job now was to prevent them from becoming real enemies.

"You carry the flag of truce," the soldier declared, referring to the white flag with a black circle in its center held by one of her men. "Are you bound for Aldrendahar?"

"Yes," she replied, surprised to hear her voice was steady. "I bear an urgent message from King Rouvin of Irida."

"We will escort you to the city."

She nodded and the soldier returned to his mount. The opinari surged into the air again, and the troop glided ahead, leading the way. She nudged her tachy into motion.

The last few miles took forever, but despite the endless hours of travel, she didn't feel ready to meet with important griffin officials. At least only minor nobles likely called the small outskirt city home.

For most of the journey, her thoughts had clung obsessively to an entirely different topic: Lyre. Where he was. What he was doing. Whether he was safe. Whether he was thinking of her as much as she was thinking of him. Pointless worries, considering she had no idea when she would see him again. Who knew how far she would have to travel? If she was lucky, the griffins would take her through a ley line instead of forcing her to continue across the desert .

The city walls loomed higher, spires rising behind them. The largest building, its thick tower topped with a round roof, sat in what had to be the city's center. The colossal gates were open, and two immense statues stood on either side of the entrance—twin opinaris carved from stone, their front limbs stretched out and paws touching to form an arch over the gateway. She swallowed, trying to work moisture into her mouth.

The sun glinted off a multitude of shiny surfaces just within the gate, but between the bright light and her vision-obscuring mask, she couldn't make out any details. The opinari escort swept over the wall and disappeared.

Alone with her guards, she pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin. This was it.

Griffin soldiers lined the parapet, watching as she urged her tachy beneath the statues. The creature loped forward, and the sudden clack of his hooves on stone after so long on soft sand startled her. As they came into an open plaza, a tall spire blocked the sun, and in the sudden cessation of its glare, she finally saw what waited for her.

Her heart hit her rib cage like a sledgehammer.

A griffin, flanked by two opinaris, stood in the center of the plaza, with a few officials off to one side. Those were the minor functionaries she'd expected. The one in the center, however …

He was no minor noble.

Her gaze slid over him as she pulled her tachy to a stop. Long blond hair, braided. Half his torso bared, his sculpted abs painted with designs in the style of griffin nobles. Wings folded against his back, and a tail ending in a fan of feathers rested on the flagstones behind him.

She swung out of her saddle and handed the reins away, scarcely taking her eyes off the griffin. Who was he? Could he be a Ra? The family was large; along with the queen and her children, dozens of relatives bore the Ra name.

Turquoise accents under his eyes drew her gaze to his yellow-green irises. With bold cheekbones, a strong jaw, full mouth, and those gleaming eyes, he was very handsome—young, though. Her age or a couple of years older.

Why did he seem familiar? She felt like she'd met him before, but when had she gotten a good look at a griffin's face out of glamour? The only daemon she could think of was?—

Her lungs seized with the realization.

She stopped in front of him, seconds left to decide how to react. Was he really the griffin from the embassy? She'd thought that daemon was a bodyguard to the princess. Yet, here he was, wearing a nobleman's garments. No one was introducing him, which meant they expected her to know who he was.

Gulping back her nerves, she dropped into a deep curtsy and hoped she hadn't guessed wrong. "Your Highness."

He nodded in acknowledgment but didn't speak, his eyes cool and unreadable. Since no one scoffed and corrected her, she must have gotten his title right.

"I bear a message from King Rouvin Nereid of Irida, to be delivered directly to the hands of Ra. May I present it to you?"

He dipped his chin in another nod, his stony silence unnerving. The weight of the mask hiding her expression was comforting. Slipping a hand into her fabric belt, she removed Rouvin's letter from the hidden pocket and offered it to the griffin.

He broke the royal seal and flipped it open. She didn't move—no one moved—as his eyes slid across the page.

Her skin prickled, a strange sort of restlessness shivering along her nerves. Despite her determination to stay focused on the Ra royal, her gaze darted away. It skittered across two nearby officials and jerked to a stop on the third one, standing a little farther back, his face shadowed by a deep hood.

For no reason she could determine, her stomach somersaulted with butterflies.

The Ra royal folded the letter again, and she wrenched her attention back to him. He tucked it into an invisible pocket in his flowing pants.

"My lady, you must be tired from your journey," he said. "I would be happy to host you in the citadel while I consider King Rouvin's missive."

His deep, musical voice was so unexpectedly beautiful that she almost missed the honorific he'd used .

"I—I'm not a lady," she protested, her voice losing volume.

"My apologies. How shall I address you?"

"Just … just Clio is fine."

His eyebrows rose and she inwardly cringed. She shouldn't have corrected him—at least not in public. Way to make things awkward.

"My people will tend to your animals and escort you to the citadel." He crooked a finger at the official beside him. "Lord Makin will see to your needs."

"Thank you, Your Highness," she managed.

"It is my pleasure." He bowed to her—a deeper bow than she would have expected—then walked away. His opinaris followed, tails swishing side to side. Lord Makin stayed beside her, but the other official scurried after the Ra royal.

The third one didn't move, and her attention was inexorably drawn back to him. She couldn't stop herself from checking out his deliciously toned abs, ink spiraling across his golden skin. The white clothes, accented with black and turquoise, were striking against his tan. Unlike the others, he had no wings. Was he in glamour?

Realizing she was blatantly checking him out—thank goodness for her mask—she peered at the shadows beneath his hood, but she wasn't the only one who'd noticed that the daemon had lingered. Abruptly turning back, the Ra griffin snapped his fingers imperiously.

After a brief hesitation, the official hastened away. Clio bit her lip, feeling oddly guilty. Admiring another man felt like a betrayal, but she hadn't done anything besides look. And Lyre wasn't even here.

As Lyre and the mysterious daemon twisted together in her thoughts, she scrunched her nose. She had bigger things to worry about, like the fact she'd just handed her father's letter to a Ra prince . Assuming she wasn't mistaken, that was Miysis Ra.

And Miysis Ra was the unconscious daemon she'd left Lyre with two days ago. Suddenly, she was dying to finish here so she could return to Brinford, activate her tracking spell, and confirm with her own eyes that Lyre was safe and well.

She and her guards spent several long minutes getting organized—griffin attendants collecting their travel packs and leading the tachies away, others offering water and sunshades—before Lord Makin and a troop of soldiers guided her group away from the plaza. She clasped her hands together, too nervous to appreciate the city sights. Her thoughts lingered on Lyre—with occasional intrusions of the mysterious other daemon.

Why was she so preoccupied with a stranger?

She finally started paying attention when they passed through another gateway and entered the citadel grounds. They climbed wide steps toward the citadel doors, set in an imposingly beautiful central tower. Inside was just as breathlessly overwhelming—polished marble floors, gold trim, another pair of huge statues. Two women this time, probably past Ra queens.

Lord Makin directed them up a wide staircase with a golden balustrade. They ascended several levels and entered a grand hallway, lined with pillars, ornamental wall sconces, and silk tapestries in vibrant colors.

Lord Makin approached a polished door, tapped on it, and when a muffled voice responded, he put his hand on the knob and glanced at her. "This suite is yours as long as you require. Your attendants may use the room opposite this one. His Highness awaits you to ensure all is to your satisfaction."

As her guards took up positions in the corridor, she tamped down her nerves. Lord Makin pushed the door open and a warm breeze smelling of flowers whispered from within. She stepped over the threshold, scarcely noticing the luxuriously appointed room. Her attention focused instead on its occupants.

Miysis Ra stood in the center of the room, his opinari guardians and armed escort nowhere in sight. Even at a glance, he looked more relaxed than he'd been in the plaza. He was speaking softly with the room's only other occupant: the mysterious official, his face still hidden by a hood.

She took a wary step into the room and dropped into another deep curtsy while Lord Makin closed the door behind her.

"There's no need for such formality, Clio," Miysis said. "Please, make yourself comfortable. "

She straightened—and something yanked her backward. Arms flailing, she stumbled and fell over, landing on her butt in front of the door.

A moment of silence, in which Miysis stared and Clio's face erupted into a scorching blush. Before she could get up from the floor, laughter burst from the other daemon—a rich, husky laugh that was so familiar her heart twisted into a knot. Her brain fizzled as the daemon started toward her.

"Stuck on a door again ?" he observed in that deep voice that crooned to her all night in her dreams. "I'm getting déjà vu."

Pushing his hood back, Lyre grinned at her, his golden eyes bright with humor. She gaped at him, utterly speechless.

He reached over her head, cracked the door open, and pulled her ungainly sleeve out from the gap where it had been caught. Then he crouched beside her, eyebrows climbing.

"Not even a word, Clio? You had a lot to say after the last door incident."

Her mouth opened but no sound came out. Lyre reached for her mask and she grabbed his wrist, stopping him. His fingers were hooked under the mask's edge, skin brushing her cheek—just like last time. In Chrysalis, he'd tried to lift her mask up after she'd freed herself from the warded door.

This time, he didn't withdraw his hand. He lifted the mask up until her face was exposed and her vision clear of the obscuring fabric. She stared at him, her heart careening wildly.

"Lyre?" she managed in a breathless squeak.

He smiled, and it was like all the weight of her burdens, all the stress and fear, and all the uncertainty lifted from her shoulders.