Prologue: The Madness of King Jeremy the Wicked
Guards stood straighter as Lord Jason walked by. They stood straighter still when they realized he was angry, clutching their spears tightly. Whispered curses escaped Jason’s beak, echoing off the stone walls of the castle and leaking out onto the cloisters below Xenophon’s Tower. Jason had climbed the tower to see his father, growing more agitated with each stair he stepped. Jason had become quite angry. The tower was from a time when castles were made of wood and dirt, and it was the tallest stone structure for nearly a century, until the Goddesses had erected their castles.
Lord Jason pushed his way past the guards standing in front of the throne room; they gave him no trouble. He pushed open the creaky wooden door and strode inside. The handsome young griffon was bathed in torchlight; his snow white feathers clashed with his grey fur and black beak. His red and gold tunic matched the motif of the carpeting and banners hung high from the ceiling, and his dark grey wings stood proudly against the cloth. Flickering firelight reflected in his green eyes.
“Father!” he called out to the old griffon on the throne. “I’ve had enough of your tricks!”
“Heh!” cackled his father, lighter in fur and yellow in beak, but still wearing the same white Erenco family feathers. “She was a right trick, that one, eh?” He continued to laugh, drink bubbling in his throat as he wiped his beak on his velvet robe. “ ‘f I send more like her, do you think it’ll be more or less likely to cure you? How long until you have a son, then?” King Jeremy Erenco of Rigstadt wanted an heir. An heir with an heir. An heir capable of producing sons. Jason’s older brother, James, had only daughters.
“You know that won’t happen, father,” Lord Jason said through grit beak.
King Jeremy raised an eyebrow, taking another sip from his goblet. He had just returned from a his a retreat to his summer castle at Merindale, after which he had toured his kingdom visiting his people. He hadn’t expected a clash with his middle son so soon. But he had earned it.
“You’d do well to address me as ‘Lord Father,’ and don’t forget it,” he said. He put his goblet down and rose from the throne. The guards along the walls remained impassive. Torchlight illuminated their neutral expressions, but Jason knew they were afraid.
“You’d also do well to remember that your Lord Father gets what he wants,” he said, walking down the steps from the throne to Jason. “And your Lord Father wants a GRANDSON!” he bellowed in Jason’s face, anointing him with spittle and wine. Jason wiped his face, but was more calm in his response.
“You shan’t get one from me,” he said coldly. “You’ll have more luck talking to Jamie.”
“Prince James is an invalid,” King Jeremy snarled, quivering with madness and anger. “Not one son after no less than seven eaglets! And worse, he turns away the wives I send him. And you,” he said, pointing a claw at Jason, “are the biggest disgrace of all.”
“Oh no, evil Jason hasn’t had a child by age twenty-one; what a knave,” Jason said sarcastically. “But I have to say that I’m disappointed with this try. Sending me a griffoness who is already with egg? Were you hoping you could foist her hatchling off on me if it was male?”
King Jeremy’s expression of addled anger darkened.
“You brought this on yourself. You’ve never even tried to give me a grandson. You’re even less willing than Jacob,” he growled. Jason recoiled in horror.
“Jacob? Father, Jack is eight,” Jason spat incredulously. “You’ve completely gone off it.”
“What was that?!” the king roared. “You dare to question me? My daughter gives her husband sons, and I don’t have a male line!”
Jason had put up with his father’s madness for long enough. He was able to play him for the fool he was, but his something had to be done to protect his youngest brother. He turned his tail on his father and walked out of the throneroom, ignoring his father raving behind him. He even had enough courtesy to close the door so the guards stationed outside didn’t have to hear his screaming.
He made his way down the tower, the quick way. Alighting nimbly on Prince James’s balcony lower down on the tower, he gave a gentle rap on the windowed door, shaking the reflection of the moon on the glass. A few moments later, his brother’s wife, Princess Elciana, appeared and let him in. She beckoned him to come in quickly with one claw, holding a candle with the other.
“Again?” she asked grimly, as she closed the door. She wore the snow-white feathers and light grey fur of House Nedara of the south.
“Again,” Jason nodded.
“When is that old vulture going to eat the stone?” said Prince James, striding into the room, holding his youngest daughter, Denura. “He’s been pulling your tail about sons ever since Rhena was born.”
He was right. When James’s fifth daughter had been born, various maids had begun appearing in Lord Jason’s chambers, some more subtle than others, but all under orders to bear him a son. King Jeremy must have decided a baseborn grandson was better than no line of male succession. It had been going on for five years, and Jason hadn’t so much as touched any of the griffonesses his father sent to harangue him. He sent them away in various ways, none without a stout purse of gold and a smile on their beak. The most recent had been too much; King Jeremy sent a griffoness who was ready to lay an egg, hoping that Jason would be blamed or take credit.
“This time she was with egg,” Jason said. “He’s getting desperate.”
“All we have to do is wait the crabswobbler out; he can’t have much more left in him. Samson says the madness eating his mind is also eating his heart, and he doesn’t have much time left.” James said, cradling a sleeping Denura against his shoulder. He was the image of his father in his thirties, white plumage, light grey fur, grey winged, and yellow beaked, he was handsome and kindly countenanced; the very model of a prince.
“Perhaps,” Jason mused, rubbing his beak. Samson, the Erenco family doctor, barber, and alchemist, had seldom given bad advice, and even then, never intentionally. He turned to Princess Elciana, who wore an expression of concern. She knew she would be the target of the king’s ire soon enough, having not yet laid an egg containing a son.
“You were young when you married,” Jason said to both of them. “How young, again?”
James absentmindedly massaged the space between Denura’s wings as she clutched her father tighter in her sleep.
“I was twenty-two, if I recall…” he said.
“And I was nineteen,” Elciana said shortly.
“Ah yes, you were nineteen, thank you, my dear! Why did you want to know, Jace?” James asked, using his brother’s familiar name.
“Jamie… He’s doing it to Jack, now.” Jason said quietly, avoiding making eye contact with his brother.
“Oh, heaven,” Elciana gasped, and James snapped something more harsh. Denura stirred, but did not wake. In the adjacent room, though, somebird did call out; Rhyssi or Rhena, Jason guessed. Jamie had so many daughters it was difficult to keep track of sometimes. He ducked out to quiet the eaglet and to deposit Denura in her bed. He closed the door upon his return, and quietly beckoned his brother and his wife to follow him out to the hallway.
“How did you learn this?” he asked Jason with a serious tone.
“The bastard told me so,” the younger griffon spat.
“He’s completely lost it,” James concluded. The lighter griffon started walking towards the northern side of the castle.
“I’m going to get Samson,” he said. “Find Jacob and stay with him. Elciana, guard the eaglets. I’m afraid Father might try something if he knows we’re all together. I’ll be back with Sam soon.”
Jason and Elciana nodded. As he set off for Jacob’s room, he began to wonder why James would want Samson. It was clear their father’s mind was gravely ill, and despite his best efforts, Samson had proven no more able to save the king’s mind than he was able to do magic. He’d even tried magic, calling in unicorn doctors from Saddle Arabia, but nothing had worked. The king’s mind was a graveyard now, all logic gone, and no boundaries too sacred to cross.
Lord Jason rapped lightly on his youngest brother’s door. No answer came from inside.
“Jacob?” he called tentatively. Still no answer. “Jack?” he called. A muffled voice said something from beyond the door.
“I’m coming in, okay?” he said slowly. He pushed the door open, taking great care not to surprise his brother. He heard sniffling and stifled bouts of crying. Little Lord Jacob sat on the bed, his tunic torn and sheets strewn about. His feathers were ruffled and his face was wet from crying.
“Jack, what happened?” Jason exclaimed, rushing to his brother and holding him close. Jacob sniffled and shuddered.
“She touched me, Jace,” he said, trying to hold back more tears.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Jason said, holding his brother’s head into his own warm chestfeathers as he held back tears of his own. “I’m here now, nobird’s going to hurt you.”
Jason felt small claws reach around his back as Jacob cried into his chest. He reached a claw up and gently stroked his brother’s head.
“It’s ok, Jacky. It’s never going to happen again, I promise,” he said gently.
All hear in reply was a muffled “Why?”
Jason interpreted this as Jacob asking why a strange griffoness came in the night to make him do things he didn’t want to do.
“Because Father is mean,” he said, putting it in the simplest terms he could. “Jamie is going to make sure it doesn’t happen again, I promise,” Jason said, beginning to rock back and forth. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort his brother or himself.
But he did believe and take comfort in his words; James was going to save them from their father, as he had done so many times before. Jamie was eleven when Jason hatched, so his father, busy with training the Prince, hadn’t spared much time for Jason or his sister Ingrid, who was three years older. Ingrid did have the benefit of being Queen Olympia’s favorite before the queen had passed, but she felt her father’s sternness as much as Jason had. As Jason grew, his father’s sternness turned to coldness, and shortly after Jacob’s hatching when Jason was thirteen, King Jeremy’s coldness turned into cruelty as he spiralled from forgetfulness and lapses in logic to full-blown insanity. James had always been there, either to take the blame for himself, or at very least provide a shoulder to cry on and a warm wing of sanctuary.
After holding his younger brother for what seemed like an eternity, Jason felt the claws around his back relax and Jacob’s breathing become regular. He picked up the sleeping eaglet and carried him gingerly. He looked much more like his mother than Jamie, Ingrid, or Jace; his feathers were colored like sandalwood, his fur the color of wet earth, and his beak was chestnut. He wore the colors of the Eldraz family, rather than King Jeremy’s, and he had always scorned Jack for it. Ingrid had tried to shield him as much as possible, especially after the queen’s death, but the best result that they could achieve was to make their father act as if Jacob didn’t exist. How long he had been sending griffonesses in the night, Jason prayed he would never know.
Jason was better than most at walking on his lion paws, and returned to James and Elciana’s solar in short order. Once inside, James lay Jacob on his bed, and brought Jason into the dining area, where Elciana and Samson were discussing something in hushed tones. The dining room was austere as far as castles furnishings go; Erenco house drapings and silver candelabras were the only decorations to accent the wooden table and stone walls. James waved him inside and locked the door behind him.
“What we’re about to discuss,” Prince James said, pacing the floor. “Does not leave this room.”
Samson, a small, thin old griffon nodded. Nobird had lived long enough to remember what his original coat looked like, as his feathers and fur had faded to white. Even his black beak had streaks of white. Elciana and Jason looked at each other with concern. It wasn’t like James to be this serious, even in a situation as dire as this. He was famous for bringing gallows humor to every occasion.
“Good,” he said, nodding gravely. “Simply put, I want to speed along my father’s demise.”
There was a sudden cacophony as all three griffons tried to speak at once. Jason deferred to Elciana, who in turn deferred to Samson. With a short nod, he began.
“My Prince,” he said in a raspy voice. “What you are suggesting is treason! If you are plotting to depose the king, I will have no claw in it!”
“Samson,” James said. “I’m not certain you understand the severity of the situation we’re in.”
“Sam,” Jason began. “I don’t think you know this, but Father has been sending somebird to Jack and I every once in a while to bear baseborn eaglets.”
“To...To Lord Jacob?” Samson asked, incredulous.
“Yes. Ordinarily I wouldn’t complain to anyone but Father, since I’m good at, shall we say, resisting their wiles, but Jacob is only eight. If you still have doubts about Father’s sanity, rest at ease,” Jason said darkly.
“Oh my,” Samson said, covering his beak with a claw. “The madness is malevolent… I had hoped it would be benign, but it has turned him cruel.”
“Accented his existing cruelty,” Elciana said.
“Yes, yes…” he mused, obviously plunging deep into thought. Before he could stray too far, James laid out his plan.
“I proposed we give him sleeping draught. Enough that he’ll sleep all day and all night, and we won’t have to worry about him,” he said simply.
“I’m afraid that wouldn’t work,” Samson said. “Your father barely sleeps as is; insomnia is part of his condition. I’ve tried giving him sleeping draught, but to no avail.”
There was a long silence. Nobird wanted to suggest stronger poisons, and even James, for all his military campaigning and courtyard swordplay, wouldn’t suggest a knife between the wings.
“Perhaps…” Samson began. “Perhaps we are making a kraken of a kappa, here. His Grace has simply made an error. We can amend it if we discourse with him,” he finished tentatively. Prince James snorted.
“The only discourse he’s like to engage in is how I’m an invalid and Jace is an abomination,” he spat.
“Sam, you didn’t see what my father did to Jack,” Jason snarled at Samson. The wizened griffon held up his claws in a weak surrender.
“Very well,” he rasped. “But I shall have no claw in spilling my liege’s blood.”
“Good!” James said darkly. “I don’t expect hemlock spills blood.”
The air in the room felt dense, and the tension was almost tangible. Jason was the first to recuperate from the shock.
“I’ll slip it in his drink; I have the least to lose,” he said. Elciana and Samson looked at him as if he had sprouted a third wing.
“Jace, think about that,” the princess said slowly. “You’d be killed.”
“Just what he wants,” Jason said. “If it wasn’t for the vow he swore to my mother, he’d have sent me off or killed me long ago since I’m not likely to do much for the family line except embarrass you.”
“I’ve tried to explain to His Grace that it’s not an unheard of affliction, and it’s something that is even well-known in Equestria,” Samsom posited sheepishly.
“It’s not an affliction, it’s ennui,” James intoned. “Still, I’m pleased that we have a volunteer,” he said, grinning meekly.
“Do you think you can mix some up tonight, Sam?” Jason asked, glad to be off the subject. He hated it when somebird talked about his “selective insanity,” as Samson had called it. The doctor had explained it all when Jason made some comments as a young griffon, telling him to keep it to himself if he wanted to live. All his siblings thought he was simply uninterested, but Jace’s mother knew better. She made his father swear on her deathbed that Jason wouldn’t come to harm. He wasn’t so sure his father would remember that promise for long.
“I have a jar of it in my tower,” he said, crossing his forelegs, hating to be part of such a conspiracy. “Second shelf on the right. Labelled clearly.” he spat. Jason wondered why the old bird had a deadly poison laying around, but he didn’t quite have time to argue.
James let him out, putting a claw on his shoulder.
“You’re sure you’re alright to do this, Jace?” he said.
“I’m certain, Jamie,” a half-hearted smile crept onto his beak. “King James has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“I hadn’t even thought of that,” he said, surprised at himself for not considering.
“Long live the king,” Jason said, his weak smile becoming a more genuine grin. He was surprised when his brother pulled him in for an embrace. James’s wings wrapped around his younger brother, cloaking him grey feathers.
“Long live Prince Jason,” he said, pressing his forehead to Jason’s. After a moment, he released him. “Be quick about it, he might be asleep soon.”
Jason nodded and padded away. His trip to Samson’s room was short. A small dropper of hemlock was more than enough to kill two griffons. He procured a goblet and a bottle of wine, added the poison, and set to finding his father. A passing guard he queried told him that the king had retired to his chambers for the night, and he wasn’t to be disturbed. Jason lied to the guards at his door, saying the king had sent for him. He pushed open King Jeremy’s door, revealing his chamber. It was spacious, and grand in every sense of the word. Tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of Xenophon the Builder constructing his famous tower. Under him, griffons, ponies, and even a dragon lauded him. The carpet was Erenco red, and the furnishings were cast iron with gilded accents.
“Who DARES to disturb-” King Jeremy roared at hearing somebird enter. He saw Jason and shut his beak. “What have you come for?” he snarled, eyes narrowing.
“I’ve come to make a peace offering,” he said, feigning apology. “I’ve come to realize that the family is more important than petty squabbles.”
“Petty squabbles, is it?” he rattled, as Jason closed the door. “A king trying to do best by his sons, more like!”
Jason grit his beak and smiled, trying hard not to draw the knife at his belt and slide it unto his father’s skull for what he had done to Jacob.
“Yes, Father,” he said with as much genuinity as he could muster. “I’d like to be married.”
“Married?!” Jeremy hooted. “My, my, the hatchling is eager to please tonight!” he said to the thin air. His smile lessened slightly. “Why the sudden change of heart?” he asked apprehensively.
“I’d gone to visit James,” he said, hoping this wouldn’t endanger him should his plan fail. “And saw how happy he was with Elciana. I thought I might like a wife of my own.”
“Ah, finally, he’s become randy!” the king said gleefully. The smile vanished from his face as soon as he noticed the wine and goblet in Jason’s claw. “What’s that?” he grunted, nodding towards the wine.
“Wine to celebrate with,” Jason said evenly. He wasn’t going to give himself away here.
“Do you think I’m addled, boy?!” the king screamed out of nowhere. Jason instinctively held up his claws to shield his face.
“No! I only-”
“Trying to poison me! To poison his own father!” Jeremy raved, collapsing into his overstuffed chair and looking desperately at the tapestry of Xenophon. The ancient griffon king’s impressive tan coat and brown feathers stood out against the blue sky of the scene.
“I’m not trying to poison you, I’ve just had a change of heart!” Jason yelled. He was fearful that things had gone badly; he would be killed, and James and his family would be tortured. He needed to succeed.
As soon as the words left Jason’s beak, King Jeremy stopped his raving immediately.
“Drink, then,” he growled, pointing to the bottle.
“Father, this is too fine a vintage for-” Jason stammered.
“Keep your beak shut unless wine is going in it,” the king said, his eyes blazing with light from the fireplace. Jason felt like his father’s eyes were intense enough to burn holes through him.
“Very well,” Jason sighed, uncorking the bottle. He nervously began to bring it up to his beak.
“Wait,” the king said, holding up a claw. “Not from there,” he said. He gestured towards the goblet in Jason’s other claw. “From there.”
Jason gulped, and with a shaking claw, poured wine into the goblet. The king sunk smugly into his chair.
“Thought you could be clever with me, could you?” he cackled. “Heh, poisoning the goblet instead of the wine. That’s fairly clever.”
Jason held the cup full of wine, hesitating.
“Drink!” barked the king.
Jason swirled the wine around in the cup, hoping enough would mix with the wine to make it swift and painless. He upended the cup into his beak, spluttering as he did so. He swallowed every drop.
“Clever boy, you thought you were, eh?” the king gloated, rising and walking up to Jason, who had collapsed in a fit of choking. “Thought you could pull one over on the KING, did you?” he said, punctuating his title with a kick to Jason’s chest. Jason gasped. A few more kicks, and King Jeremy was satisfied. He picked up the bottle of wine from the floor and returned to his chair.
“I hope you can still hear me, you worthless worm. I’m glad you killed yourself; I wouldn’t want family blood on my talons, even dirty boy-loving blood like yours,” he said taking a swig from the bottle of wine. The last thing he heard as his vision faded to black was his father cackling like the madbird he was. The crackling of the fire slowed, and was replaced with a ringing crescendo of voices. His breathing slowed, and Jason let the black abyss take him.
His entire body was on fire. Every muscle, every ligament, every nerve, and every inch of skin, fur, and feathers burned with more intensity than Lord Jason Erenco was certain was possible to endure. The shock of it when he awoke made him gasp; the act felt like he was tearing his chest open, and the air was like broken glass in his lungs. He screamed, which only made his agony worse. He gasped and cried and spasmed; everything he did tormented him. His mind was completely blank save pain.
“Hold him down!” a voice yelled from the front of the hay cart.
Jason saw, but could not feel, a pair of claws descending onto his writhing form. He could tell he was pinned, and between squirms of utter anguish, he caught a glimpse of another griffon. Familiar words came to his beak.
“Kill me!” he screamed. “Kill me, please! KILL ME!”
He wanted nothing more than for his pain to end. The other griffon looked up to the driver of the cart with simpering eyes, unsure of what to do.
“Give him water,” the driver called, throwing a skin of water back to the griffon on top of Jason. He hastily uncorked it and tried to force it into the writhing griffon’s beak.
“I order you to kill me!” Jason yelled, panting. Anything for the pain to end. “Please!”
The griffon on top of him succeeded in showing the skin into Jason’s beak. Jason hacked and sputtered, and was unable to swallow.
“Idiot! He’s choking!” the driver called derisively. The younger griffon sighed and massaged Jason’s throat, almost having to force the water down his esophagus like he squeezed milk from a cow’s udder. Jason shut his eyes as hard as he could, still coughing even after he was made to swallow. Tears came unbid to his eyes, and his shrieks of agony descended into moans as his vocal cords simply would not function under such stress. The griffon pinning him down took pity, and a swift blow to the head eased his suffering.
Lord Jason awoke in a bed, this time. He was warm, and rather comfortable, though he wasn’t able to move his limbs or wings. His eyes seemed fine, however, and he took stock of his situation. The room was modest, a small fireplace near the foot of the bed; a two-log fire crackled happily in the stone hearth. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all plaster and stone, but the floor was hidden under velvety carpet. A light autumn breeze wafted in from a window in the wall, shutters bound open with silken rope. He was on a feather bed, under a thick cotton blanket. He didn’t see Erenco hangings, so he wasn’t in Xenophon’s keep, but it was better than being dead.
A chill crept up Jason’s spine. He had nearly forgotten; his father was dead. He had killed him with enough hemlock to lay out two griffons, and he would have died as well if he hadn’t put the antidote in the goblet he brought. He counted on his father’s paranoia to get the better of him, and it had paid off. The hemlock did have its ill effects on Jason, though… Tremendous pain, and paralysis….
Paralysis.
The word cut through his self-contented thoughts like a talon through a stuffed rabbit. He traded his life for his father’s. He took solace in the fact that James would make a good king, just and kind, and that Jacob would be safe. Whatever life Jace had left to live would be short, even with the care he was receiving at the hands of the hay-cart griffons. He thought back to his brief period of awakening, but couldn’t remember any detail besides the hay. He mused on what would be done with him. Did they know he was the prince of the Kingdom? Who were they? Where was he? Jason brooded over these questions and more for some time, until he was broken from his thoughts by the sound of a creaking door. Jason reflexively tried to turn his head to see, but his muscles did not respond. He could only glimpse the door out of his peripheral vision.
“I expect you’re well rested,” he heard his sister say. Ingrid’s voice cut through his dull mood like a knife through cheese. He could barely contain his smile as his sister strode into view. She looked just like Jaime, snowy feathers and yellow beak.
“And I expect you’re the chambermaid, here to change my sheets,” Jason snarked. He had been put in a good mood, and a safe place.
“Enough of that, Jace,” Ingrid said, giving him a playful knock on the head. It hurt Jason more than he wanted to let on. “I’ve heard you’ve killed father.” She always had a knack for getting right down to things.
“Well, it’s not as if Jamie has clean claws, either,” he said. “Even sweet Elciana shares some blame.”
“That’s the king and queen you’re speaking about, mind you,” she said, in a feigning gruff offense. She dropped the act when Jace rolled his eyes, one of the few movements he was able to express. “But I am surprised, dearest brother, that you’d stick your dainty claws in a pie such as this.”
“Dainty?” he said, feigning incredulity.
“Perfectly manicured,” she quipped.
“Perfect isn’t easy, but it’s me,” Jason said, grinning. After a short pause, they both burst into laughter. She rushed to hug him.
“You always were such a diva,” she said into his ear. “Welcome back to Merindale, Jace.”
“Look at that, you’ve only just gotten rid of Father, and now I’ve come to visit, immobile and all; what a shame. Lester must be hungry,” he said in a redolent tone. She gave him another playful knock on the head.
“Quiet, the eaglets will hear,” she teased.
“Ingrid Coridalis, mother. I ne’er pray’d I’d see it wi’ me own beadies,” he quipped, affecting a bardic accent. His face grew serious before she could respond. “Where is Lester in all this?” he asked. Her husband, Lester, was the eldest son of Arnold Coridalis, lord of the lands west of Merindale. The city (and castle) had been a gift to the Erenco family from the Coridalises a few generations back after a rebellion; all the Coridalis and Erenco eaglets spent their summers there to affirm the friendship between the two families. King Jeremy and Lord Arnold had been good friends in their own right, but had the years had put some distance between them. He hadn’t seen much of King Jeremy’s madness. Jason wasn’t sure how Lord Arnold’s house would take his untimely death.
“He doesn’t know,” she said darkly, not at all phased by the change of mood. “The kingdom knows the king died, but most everybird thinks it was old age.”
“But Lester saw him a month ago…”
She nodded.
“He was in good health then, if not slightly insane, and then I show up crippled… What’s he to think?” Jason said.
“He’s to think whatever King Jamie tells him,” Ingrid said. Jason wasn’t so sure. His sister had always had faith in the authority of the king, and rather liked lording over other families, but Jason himself had proved that the griffon who sat on the throne was a cheap trick away from the grave, and he had read enough of the family histories to know the house that claimed royalty depended on who had the biggest army. House Erenco had the most swords by quite a margin, but House Coridalis was a close second. If they found reason to ally with the Houses Nedara or Eldraz… The head that wore the crown might roll down the steps of Xenophon’s Tower.
“Speaking of our dear brother, why did he send me here?” Jason asked.
“Ah, I forgot to mention; you came with a letter!” she said, walking to the mantle and picking up a scroll sealed with the Erenco family seal. “Like a little lost puppy,” she said. Jason stifled a groan.
“Care if I read it?” she asked.
“No, let me come do it myself,” Jason said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Ingrid made a face of pure poison, but Jason had handled worse. She broke the seal with a talon and started reading.
“Dear Prince Jason,
First, I’d like to apologize about the trip. I’m not sure how much you’re going to remember; since at the time of writing you’re basically dead. Samson says you’ll live, but you’re not going to be happy when you wake up. He said you took more hemlock than you should’ve. I’m impressed that you got him. The guards (who I’ve had to knight, in order to keep them quiet; welcome Sirs Phillip and Bernard to your own personal guard) heard the whole thing and they’re about as happy as I am. I’ve sent you to stay with Ingrid and Lester for a while so you can lay low. The griffons I paid to move you to Merindale are the best cleanup artists we’ve got, but they’re a little rough around the edges. Sorry in advance. I’ve written Ingrid telling her all about the situation. Come back in a month or so when Denoir and Faramond stop asking questions. Find a girl.
I, the King.”
There was a brief silence when Ingrid finished reading.
“He actually told me to find a girl?” Jason asked, breaking the silence.
“No, that was me,” Ingrid said, smiling guiltily. Jason narrowed his eyes at her.
“How could he be so stupid?” Jason asked.
“He’s related to you, after all.”
“He sent me to the one griffon who saw Father recently. I can’t believe him. And he knighted the guards who heard the whole thing,” he said, incredulous. “Ingrid, I think we’re related to a madbird.”
“That’s two, now,” she chuckled, nodding. She tossed the parchment into the fire, watching it shrivel as the wax dripped down one of the logs. If Jason could have buried his face in his talons, he could have.
“How’s he going to fend off Denoir and Faramond by himself?” he said, miserable. Denoir, the high priest of the diocese of Rigstadt was a shrewd griffon, and a powerful one, being Lord Arnold Coridalis’s grandfather. He’d survived two rebellions, and still managed to come out of them smelling as sweet as a rose. And then he became a priest. Faramond was the King’s minister of foreign affairs, and general right-claw bird. He was a younger son of a minor free lord, but the griffon’s ink was as black as his feathers; Faramond Clawston had increased trade with Equestria twofold, brokered a peace treaty with the Island Kings in the East (albeit while Jamie was dictating terms to them on the battlefield), and kept King Jeremy popular amongst those who owed him fealty. Jason wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t a wizard.
“He’ll probably be fine; he’s smarter than he acts,” Ingrid offered.
“Perhaps… But they’re dangerous with the new king. They were frightened enough of Father not to cross him, but what with Denoir Coridalis and Faramond Clawston… They’re smarter than him. Faramond’s almost certainly smarter than me,” Jason said, hating to admit it.
“Doesn’t say much,” Ingrid deadpanned.
“Will you stop the jokes for a moment, Ingrid?!” he said, frustrated. “I’m trying to work out how to help Jamie while laying here crippled!”
She leveled her face with his.
“I’m telling you you’re stupid because you’re lying here crippled worrying about Jamie. I’ve already got an apothecary brewing you something that might help your body, but your mind is out of reach,” she said. Her expression softened, and she put a claw to his face. “Everything is going to be okay, alright, Jace? Try to relax.”
Jason’s temper flared for an instant, then cooled. His sister really did mean well. There wasn’t much he or she could do to change anything at the moment, so he might as well come to terms with the new reality he’d crafted for the family. A world where King James sat on the throne, and trouble loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon.
“I… I will,” he sighed, defeated. A mischievous grin sprung to his beak. “Now change the sheets, chambermaid!”
It earned him a slap on the head and a bout of renewed laughter, the sort of laughter brother and sister hadn’t shared in years.
