Page 115 of Griffin Food

“Gladly,” I say. “Anything I can do to help.”

My brief glance at Atlas finds him watching me with a look that is hot and cold all at once.

“Your help would be greatly appreciated, Violet.”

So formal.

“Of course,” I say.

“Come, then, my dear,” Master Pugstone says. “With Atlas’s permission, we shall take our leave, and I will show you the way.”

Atlas inclines his head.

I go with Master Pugstone, Lark padding at my side. Rafe and Atlas follow behind for a short way before cutting off to the left. Master Pugstone is familiar with the eyrie and guides me through corridors and down stone steps until we emerge into a beautiful, vaulted room with a glass dome on the top that lets light in.

Lark takes up his usual position, flopping down across the door and creating a second barrier of fur and teeth.

It is not a vast library, as might be found at the High King’s court, which I visited once a long time ago. But it is intimate and beautiful, with the wooden bookcases, blackened by age, surrounding the titles that seem equally old. Stepping inside is like stepping into a magical kingdom, which I suppose it is.

“You will find texts here,” Master Pugstone says, breaking the spell, “that you will not find anywhere else.” He runs his fingers along the leather spines of a few books, and then pauses to tap one. “Indeed. It is not as extensive as many libraries within the lands, but it holds those important and unique to the griffins’ history… I have visited many times over the years. They allow me liberties even to take some out on occasion so I might study them at home. And I have quarters here if I wish to stay. It is a privilege to support the Cairnborn Pride in any way I can.”

“Quite so,” I agree.

He smiles. “You’ve had an adventure today, but ruffled feathers will settle. Atlas is a firm but reasonable leader. Why, Aribold the Great, one of his predecessors, had a temper, let me tell you.” His smile turns rueful, and his voice lowers conspiringly as though worried the books themselves might listen in and judge. “He was somewhat of a tyrant, although he did keep the eyrie safe. Still, it has been many years since the Hydornian kings took it upon themselves to launch an assault. And although they have not been sighted yet, we should reasonably assume the dark fae are involved until it is proven otherwise.”

He plucks a book from a shelf below and hands it to me.

“Let us begin our research. Anything and everything we might find pertinent. The books are well indexed.” He selects another book and adds it to my pile, and then another. “At the desk, you’ll find cards. Slip one against any passages or sections you feel are relevant. And we’ll go through them together.”

A knock sounds on the door. Lark rises, sniffs along the seal, and then steps back. The library door opens, and Posey arrives with a tray. She glances at Lark, not quite as wary this time. “Refreshments for you both,” she says, as she bustles over. “Aye, it’s going to be a busy day all round.”

“Thank you, Posey,” Master Pugstone says, as we spread out our books on a table.

Posey leaves. Lark resumes his position of vigilance.

This is familiar to me. Research. I may not be in a dusty cell somewhere in the bottom of the eyrie like Darrion and Fenix. But if this is my atonement, I gladly accept it.

It’s only when I open the book, and the letters do not blur before my eyes, that I realize something is wrong. “Oh,” I say weakly. “I do not appear to need my glasses anymore.”

Master Pugstone chuckles, and his smile turns mysterious. “You are the mate of a griffin now. And from what I discerned briefly, you have chosen more than one.”

I swallow. “Is that not usual, then?” My voice rises to a squeak at the end.

“It has happened before,” Master Pugstone says carefully.

“And is that significant?” I ask.

He smiles and taps his book. “That we shall have to see.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Darrion

It has been a long day. It’s late, supper has been brought, and the empty tray has been removed. My view is limited to either Fenix on the opposite stone bed—brooding like it is his fucking calling, the unfeeling stone walls, or the thick iron bars that give a view of an equally grim passage.

The stone is hard and cold under my ass. It will ruin a pair of my favorite silk pants.

“What the fuck was wrong with you, challenging Atlas like that?” I grit out.