Lost

 Lost Heir

Chapter 1 - Midnight Visitors

506 years after the founding of Breyconland

The growls slithered their way into Sheralie’s dreams, and she restlessly rolled over right onto Ginny’s tail. Her familiar squawked in outrage, and Sheralie jerked awake.

Watch out!

“Sorry, Ginny!” She lurched upright, still tangled in her blanket. Ginny squirmed free and stalked several paces away.

You should be.

Sheralie rubbed her bleary eyes. “What time is it, Jaron?”

When Jaron didn’t answer, she blinked in confusion and stared around their small camp. Jaron’s bedroll was empty, though that wasn’t a surprise. It was his watch. But normally he sat next to the fire or he walked around their camp, staying within sight.

“Ginny, do you know where Jaron is?”

How should I know where the stupid human is? she grumbled. Then the grumbling grew louder until it was almost snarling in Sheralie’s head.

“It was an accident, Ginny. You don’t need to growl at me like that.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. I’m not. She stood and started to circle the outer edge of their camp, her tail lashing slowly.

Sheralie sucked in a breath. She was hearing some other animal in her head again. It was not a happy one, judging by the menacing sound. “Maybe Goldy is upset for some reason?” The griffin left to hunt before Sheralie went to sleep, but perhaps she had returned without success.

The griffin is not nearby. Ginny disappeared under a nearby bush. But something else is.

Sheralie climbed from her bedroll and started to creep away from the fire. Jaron. Where is he? What if the growling creature had found him first?

As she approached the tree line opposite from Ginny’s bush, the mental growling grew louder. She summoned a tendril and slipped around a tree trunk, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

By the horses, Spark! Ginny warned.

Sheralie readjusted her direction, hoping she was going the right way. They had chosen a camp site not far from a rushing stream, and the horses were picketed a short distance from the water. She paused right before she reached the small grassy clearing. The horses were stamping and blowing nervously, but she hesitated to rush in before she even knew what she was facing.

Daikens, Ginny warned. Don’t look at their eyes, or they will mesmerize you.

Daikens! She peeked around the bush to see two terrifying creatures standing upright on two legs, with long bony arms ended with clawed hands. The bodies were covered in thick, coarse fur, while the snouts were bare and bony and didn’t hide their razor-sharp mouthful of teeth. She tried not to look directly at their eyes, as Ginny ordered, so all she could see was an orange glow emanating from the side of the narrow head.

Sheralie bit her lip. She’d never learned much about daikens. What were their weaknesses? Fire? Most creatures of darkness feared fire, yet Sheralie couldn’t start a fire using magick no matter how hard she tried. What about griffin magick?

Before she could summon a tendril, one of the daikens made some kind of strange, whistling croon and one of the horses turned to look at it directly. The daiken stared at the horse for a long moment, and the horse settled, calmly staring at the daiken without even fidgeting. The daiken stepped closer to the horse, and Sheralie noticed that its feet ended in wide, splayed claws that matched its hands.

Sucking in an alarmed breath, she sent two tendrils at the daikens, intending to wrap them up and trap them. However, the crooning daiken slid another step closer to the horse, passing right through the griffin tendril as if it weren’t there.

Oh, Visroc. Now what?

Ginny hissed from somewhere to the side, and both creatures swung in her direction, peering at the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. Sheralie ran through the offensive weapons at her disposal. She had a crossbow with a quarrel charmed to attack dragons, though the griffin magick would probably not do much good if the tendrils had no effect. She knew how to put mammals to sleep, but these things, whatever they were, probably weren’t mammals. Though perhaps it would affect them anyway. She knew the cauter charm, which had worked temporarily against a mataconda—but to use it she would have to get close enough to touch one of the daikens without getting attacked herself. And what good would the cauter charm do if it only made them angry? Perhaps if she shot the daiken to weaken it first she could risk charming it afterwards?

One of the daikens returned its focus to the horse, which was still standing placidly, while the other two horses stamped and snorted in alarm, pulling at the tether. The other daiken moved closer to the bushes.

Trusting Ginny to take care of herself, Sheralie carefully raised the crossbow and aimed at the daiken by the horse. She was a terrible shot, but at only ten feet surely she should be able to hit the daiken and not one of the horses. She drew in a deep breath, aimed, and exhaled, pulling the trigger.

The quarrel snapped through the clearing and struck the daiken right in the upper chest. The beast threw back its snout and roared, its claws flailing about. Sheralie’s mind filled with pain and rage—mostly rage and confusion.

Visroc, it was going to injure the horses!

Sheralie gathered all the biologic magick she could manage and formed the sleep charm. “Please work,” she breathed, and then keeping her eyes focused downward on the chest of the daiken, she sprinted forward and thrust her hand at the belly of the terrifying predator.

For a moment the beast continued to flail and bellow, but then Sheralie felt the fatigue flood the daiken’s mind and it slumped forward, crashing to the ground. The mesmerized horse didn't react; it stood there motionless as the daiken nearly tumbled right into it.

Sheralie immediately whirled, keeping her eyes low. She couldn’t risk getting mesmerized herself or she would be a helpless target like the horse. The other daiken was snarling in her head now—no words, not like a margay or a griffin—but she could feel that this one was older and craftier.

The second it spotted Sheralie she could feel its intent change. It was no longer focused on hunger. It wanted only to destroy. It dragged a foot closer and crooned. Sheralie fought the pull to look higher. I can’t gaze at the eyes, or I am dead!

She had no time to load another quarrel. Instead, she prepared the sleep charm, gathering all the biologic magick she could handle at once. She felt the emotions of the daiken stiffen with resolve, and she widened her stance, bringing her hand out and ready, and keeping her gaze fixed on its lower torso. Suddenly it rushed her, swiping out with an abnormally long arm and raking Sheralie across the chest with its claws. Then it kicked out its muscular leg, the clawed foot connecting with Sheralie’s shins. She tumbled to the ground and lost the mental pattern of the sleep charm. The daiken grabbed her by both arms, its long nails digging right through her cloak and shirt and into her skin. Then with inhuman strength it lifted her right off the ground, holding her up before its face. Sheralie squeezed her eyes shut; no matter what she couldn’t risk the mesmer.

Her head filled with an uncanny, gloating chuckle, and Sheralie frantically summoned her biologic magick again. Whipping it into the sleep pattern as quickly as she was able, she blindly reached out, finally brushing the greasy fur with her fingertips. She could feel the hot, putrid breath of the daiken on her face and knew she was out of time. Slitting her eyes a bit, she spied the face of the daiken inches from hers just as she slapped the sleep charm on its bony snout.

Her last clear image was of the eerily beautiful golden eyes blinking shut and then her mind went blank.

***

Spark!

Ginny’s voice echoed through a long tunnel of darkness in Sheralie’s mind, and she couldn’t respond. Then she felt Ginny’s distinctive magick poking and prodding her, searching for a way to reach her consciousness. She latched onto Ginny’s magick and then suddenly gasped as all her senses returned. She blinked in confusion. She was splayed out awkwardly on the ground next to a slumbering daiken.

“Ginny?”

Finally. I thought you would never snap out of it. Ginny sounded annoyed, but she nudged Sheralie’s cheek.

“What happened to me?”

You got mesmerized by ugly there right as you put him to sleep.

Sheralie shook her head slightly, trying to clear her muddled thoughts. Then she crawled away from the daiken and dragged herself into a sitting position. “Ugh. They smell horrible.”

We need to find your scruffy mutt.

Sheralie scrambled to her feet. “Jaron. I hope they didn’t get to him first.”

They were hungry, and horses make better meals, Ginny pointed out. But I bet they mesmerized him. Stay quiet. There could be more of these things out there.

Sheralie retrieved her crossbow and loaded a quarrel as she followed Ginny back into the trees. They made a wide, sweeping circuit of the camp, keeping the glint of their dying campfire in view. Just as Sheralie was about to give up and start shouting Jaron’s name, Ginny froze in place.

Wait. I see him.

She streaked away between two bushes and Sheralie did her best to follow, picking her way among the prickly branches. When she made it to the other side, she caught sight of a figure hunched on the ground next to a fallen tree trunk.

“Jaron?” she called quietly.

He didn’t look up or react at all. Ginny reached him first, batting his arm. Jaron didn’t even flinch. Sheralie crouched down next to him and studied his face. His eyes were open, but they were completely blank. He stared straight ahead into a winterberry bush without blinking.

Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest. He reminded her of Bailey, during the months she was an empty shell. “Jaron?” She took his arm and pulled him into a standing position. He didn’t resist the movement, but as soon as she dropped his arm he simply stood there, staring aimlessly.

You’ll have to use your magick, Ginny ordered. I had to use mine to get you to wake up.

“How? Is there a charm?”

Ginny sat next to Sheralie’s feet and twitched her tail. I don’t know. I just sent you my magick, like I always do to help.

“Hmm.” That didn’t sound too difficult. Sheralie summoned some dynamo magick into her fingers and pressed her hand to Jaron’s cheek. Nothing happened.

She frowned at her hand and then at Jaron’s blank eyes. Normally her magick reacted whenever she touched Jaron at all. Now that she was intentionally trying to send him magick it didn’t work?

Keep trying, Ginny urged. It took you several minutes to reach for my magick.

“Wait, I had to reach for it?” She furrowed her brow. She did have a murky memory of sensing Ginny’s magick and snatching at it. How could Jaron reach for her magick? He wasn’t an enchanter.

She pondered that while she continued to send her dynamo magick through her fingers into Jaron’s skin.

You always have to accept my magick to use it yourself, but you don’t have to be awake to do it. Ginny started to clean a paw. I gave you magick to wake you up after the first dragon attack.

“That’s right. At the bastion.” The dragon had stripped Sheralie bare of her biologic magick, sending her into a coma. She only woke up after Ginny shared enough of her own magick to bring Sheralie back to consciousness. Some part of Sheralie must have recognized her familiar’s magick and used it without conscious thought.

Could Jaron possibly do that? He had felt her magick dozens of times before, but could his unconscious mind sense it and use it?

Perhaps if she flooded his body with dynamo magick.

She placed her other hand on Jaron’s opposite cheek, cradling his face in her hands, and sent double strands of the golden magick gently through the tips of her fingers into his cheeks.

“Please, Jaron,” she whispered. “Come back to me.”

After what felt like an endless wait, Sheralie suddenly felt her fingers spark to life, tingling with an almost electric current, a buzz that felt pleasant. She held her breath in hope and then moments later Jaron’s hazel eyes blinked and focused on her, his chin dropping a bit.

“Hello, partner.” His husky voice eased all her fears of losing him like Bailey, and a smile bloomed across her face.

“Welcome back.” She still held his cheeks in her palms, and though she stopped intentionally sending her magick to him, she could feel the spark of it just the same.

“You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.” He stared down into her eyes, and Sheralie’s face flushed with heat. She dropped her hands and stepped back, away from the temptation to kiss him senseless in her relief.

He’d probably never let her hear the end of it.

Her reaction seemed to recall him to their circumstances. “What happened to me? The last thing I remember was hearing something rustling near the camp and going to see what it was.”

“You ran into a pair of daikens.” Sheralie shuddered. “You’re lucky it only mesmerized you. They were hungry and more intent on stealing a horse for dinner than a human.”

Jaron’s eyes widened. “Daikens? Here?” He scanned the ground around him. “What happened to my crossbow?”

“I don’t know.” She handed him hers. “Here. You’re better with it.”

As he took the crossbow his gaze caught on her chest.

“What happened to you?” he exclaimed.

Sheralie glanced down at her slashed uniform shirt. Now that he brought her attention to it, the gashes beneath the fabric began to burn. She sighed. “I wasn’t quick enough to get out of the reach of its claws.”

Jaron’s brows drew down. “We need to treat that right away.”

Sheralie waved a hand. “First, we need to see to the horses. Also, I left both daikens sleeping, but I don’t know how long it will last. We need to get out of here.”

Her partner slotted another crossbow quarrel into position and then handed her the crossbow back. “Let me grab my sword from the camp.”

A moment later they returned to the clearing with the horses. Tall Joe and Blackie had dragged their picket line free in their agitation, but they didn’t get very far. She could see them a short distance away, the rope and stake tangled in a bush. The pack horse still stood motionless next to the sleeping bodies of the daikens.

Jaron walked right up to the first daiken, the one Sheralie hit with the crossbow.

“Good shot,” he said, before yanking the quarrel out of the daiken’s torso and wiping it on a tuft of grass. He glanced up at the pack horse and frowned. “Max is mesmerized? Better lead him away.”

Sheralie grabbed the rope halter and gently tugged. The vacant-eyed horse followed her lead without protest. Sheralie led him to the other horses and started to untangle the picket rope. She glanced back at Jaron right in time to see him use his sword to cut the head off the daiken. She winced.

“Is that necessary?” she muttered. By the time she had worked the horses free of the bush, Jaron had beheaded the other beast. He wiped his sword off as best he could and then returned to help her with the horses. As Jaron reached her a large shadow swooped overhead and then landed with a thump a few feet away. Jaron whirled, raising his sword.

The huge golden griffin craned her neck and peered at the bodies of the daikens.

I was right. You are murderers.

“Where have you been, Goldy?” Sheralie demanded, ignoring the murderers comment. “The daikens could have killed us both, and you said we were in a safe location to camp for the night.” The griffin was the whole reason they were here, at risk of mind-controlling magick predators. She’d originally met the griffin—if one could call it a meeting—when Goldy attacked her in the Boneridge Mountains. Sheralie’s magick had drawn the griffin—a potent mix of her own golden fountain of dynamo magick and a collection of griffin magick in the emerald talisman she always wore on her chest. Goldy had accused her of murdering griffins and tried to kill her. Almost a year later, they crossed paths again outside Jafra. The blood boundary had disappeared, allowing dragons as well as Goldy to cross into Breyconland and attack the military fort town. Jaron and Sheralie and a squad of archers had injured the dragons, forcing their retreat back into the mountains, but with the blood boundary gone, it was only a matter of time until they returned. When Goldy landed on Sheralie (literally), Sheralie made a deal with her—Sheralie would lead Goldy to the other griffins in Clyris Cave, if Goldy taught her everything she could about the dragons.

Two weeks later, here she was, somewhere in the empty wilderness between Jafra and the Northern Teeth Mountains, with only a ginger cat and her Raptor partner as allies. She certainly couldn’t call Goldy one.

Goldy ruffled her beautiful mane. Daikens are not dangerous. It was a safe location, Abomination.

Not dangerous to you maybe, Ginny practically snarled at the griffin.

Daikens don’t eat cats, runt.

What about horses?

“Enough, you two.” Sheralie shoved her messy hair out of her face. She turned to the griffin. “The daikens attacked us, so yes, camping in their vicinity is dangerous.”

How was I to know? They never bother griffins.

Jaron joined their group and eyed Goldy warily. “She knew the daikens were nearby?”

Goldy tossed her mane. Yes, butcher, I knew.

Sheralie heaved a sigh. “Goldy is taking issue with us because we killed them.”

I know you can put them to sleep instead. Goldy fixed a beady eye on Sheralie.

Jaron shook his head. “I had no choice. That was a mated pair, and Sheralie gravely injured one of them. The other would have followed us until the ends of the earth to retaliate against us.”

How in the name of Visroc did Jaron know that? “You are well-informed about daikens. I’ve only heard vague rumors of them.”

Jaron shrugged. “Sir Eaton warned us to keep a lookout for them when we traveled this far north. Plus, I studied the journals of the older explorers in the royal library.”

Sheralie remembered that Jaron had also known about the monster known as the Shadeflayer that nearly killed Emilio and Ginny in Clyris Cave. “Good thing you were such an avid reader. Are there any other obscure monsters we might run into?”

The side of Jaron’s mouth crooked up. “I do not want to keep you awake at night.” His brow furrowed again. "Perhaps you should start warding the camp. A sentinel ward would keep all the magickal creatures out."

Sheralie sighed. If only she could. "I don't think Goldy would consent to stay inside a ward all night." And they both knew that the whole point of this expedition was to try and gain Goldy's trust. They could hardly do that while keeping her at bay with wards every time they stopped.

Let’s get out of here, Ginny complained. The daikens smell, and who knows what will come to investigate.

“I agree.” Sheralie turned to study the vacant eyes of the pack horse. “Can I wake Max from the stupor like I did Jaron? Or can you?”

Goldy answered instead of Ginny. You can't break the mesmer on a non-magickal horse, Abomination. He can't loop the magick.

“Loop the magick?” Sheralie's brow creased. “What does that even mean?”

Like you do to speak to me. Like the runt does to share magick with you.

“That still doesn’t even make sense.” Sheralie did not do anything intentional to speak with Goldy, or any other creature. She simply heard the voices in her mind.

Goldy ruffled her wing feathers in frustration. The mesmer traps the victim in darkness of the mind. One can only escape if she connects to outside magick and lets it pull her free. Mundane horses like this one can’t sense magick and can’t connect to it.

“But I woke Jaron, and he is not an enchanter.” She frowned thoughtfully in his direction. “Though you do sense my magick, don’t you?”

“I am not sure exactly what you are talking about.” Jaron’s eyes flicked between Goldy, the pack horse, and Sheralie. “However, I do sense your magick when you touch me.”

Sheralie was about to ask Goldy more about looping magick when Ginny interrupted, her tail flicking in impatience.

Talk about it later. So what if the horse won’t wake? He will still go where you lead him.

Sheralie sighed. “So much for sleep—and I really hate riding in the dark.”

***

Fortunately, Ginny was right. Once their camp was packed up and the bags were loaded onto Max Jaron was able to lead him behind Tall Joe without any trouble. First they forded the river, which fortunately was fairly shallow. (Jaron thought from his reading that daikens did not like to get wet, so it seemed like a reasonable precaution.) They stayed near the river though, despite the challenge of picking their way around the vegetation that sometimes grew right up to the bank. Goldy flew above and occasionally gave mental warnings about upcoming obstacles. When they did have to detour because of the terrain, the griffin was able to direct them back to the river. By morning they had covered enough distance that Jaron felt it was safe enough to stop again. They unburdened the horses, and Sheralie gently stroked Max’s muzzle, trying to send some of her magick his way. She gave it at least five minutes, but the poor horse never perked up. She sighed and abandoned the effort, joining Jaron in setting up their camp.

Once she had a moment, she grabbed her spare uniform shirt, a canteen, and their jar of healing salve and ducked behind a bush to treat her gashes again and change. When she emerged Jaron offered her some hardtack and jerky. She accepted the unsatisfying breakfast and sat down on her bedroll.

“How do the wounds look?” Jaron asked.

“Not bad.” She grimaced. “They hurt but it’s bearable. They’re not deep, and I cleaned them well.”

“Make sure you check them every time we stop. I do not want a repeat of the margay infection.” He shook his head at her. “I still cannot believe you left that injury untreated for days without saying a word. You would have died if that caravan had not caught up to us.”

Sheralie picked at her jerky and blushed. “Yes, well, I couldn’t see the gashes, and I was far too embarrassed to let you look at them.” The margay had clawed her upper back, and there was no way she was going to strip off her blouse in front of Jaron. Certainly not back then, and she wasn’t sure she could do it now. He’d rescued her from her abusive school headmistress and helped her escape from Queen Aston, guiding her on a dangerous journey from Stramere, through the Razorwood forest (where they ran into the margays) and the Balder Wasteland, to a safe haven in the Boneridge Mountains. She was thoroughly infatuated with him by the time they reached Raoulin Tower.

Where she then learned of his betrayal. He’d only rescued her as an assignment to bring her to her power-hungry, treasonous grandfather, the leader of the Silver Wolves.

Of course, then he’d abandoned the Silver Wolves, joined her when she and her Raptor partner Emilio were convicted of treason and sentenced to Clyris Cave, and earned a pardon by Queen Melania alongside them for retrieving the Aegis Stone. When Emilio vanished in an effort to protect her, Jaron had stepped in to take his place as her new partner. He’d proven again and again that he was willing to risk his life to protect her.

The one thing that had never changed during the tumultuous ups and downs of their acquaintance? Sheralie’s overwhelming attraction toward the handsome scoundrel.

Needless to say, her relationship with Jaron was…complicated.

The irritating man could practically read her mortified thoughts. “Modesty is a wonderful thing, but if your life is at risk…” Jaron raised his hands. “We are partners who have to rely on each other completely, Sheralie. There is no one else out here.”

I’m here. I can help you. Ginny stalked past Jaron. Stupid mutt.

Sheralie smiled. Her familiar tolerated Jaron, but only barely. “Ginny volunteers to inspect my back if it’s needed again. But don’t worry about these scratches. I can handle it myself. I’ll put the salve on it religiously.” She sighed. “Too bad Jewel isn’t here. Or even Ivy. I wish I could heal like they do.”

“Well, even the Gifted royal prodigy cannot do everything, you know.” Jaron grinned at her.

Gifted royal prodigy, Goldy snickered from her makeshift nest. That sounds pretentious for an abomination.

Sheralie turned to her with a mock glare. “Don’t forget, I’ve seen your memory. You thought of me as very bright. Dazzling, even.”

Yes, a dazzling, foul abomination. Goldy mentally cackled. The amusement that accompanied the insult lifted Sheralie’s spirits. Maybe her plan to win over the griffin was starting to work. Goldy wasn’t nearly as hostile as she was at the beginning of their journey.

So far what Goldy had shared about the dragons was useful, but Sheralie suspected the griffin had access to information that was downright priceless. There was only one way to ultimately keep the dragons out of Breyconland. Sheralie needed to use the Aegis Stone to create a new blood boundary, and she had no idea how to do so. However, she knew that Goldy’s grandfather had seen the creation of the blood boundary.

That might be the key to everything—if she could get Goldy to trust her enough to share the memory.

“Go ahead and get some rest, Sheralie. I will keep watch for a while.” Jaron’s offer broke her out of her reverie.

She scowled at him. “I don’t think so. You took the last watch. You haven’t had any sleep at all.”

“But you are the one who is injured.”

Stupid humans. Ginny made some kind of weird hissing noise at Jaron. Go to sleep, both of you. I’ll watch.

“What is her problem?” Jaron shifted away from Ginny.

“She’s annoyed with both of us and volunteering to watch.”

Yes. Sleep and give me some peace.

Jaron eyed Ginny skeptically but fortunately he didn’t protest. “Fine. Wake me up in four hours.”

Of course, mutt.

“Sheralie?” Jaron eyed her. She lifted her unfinished jerky.

“I’ll rest after I finish eating. I promise.”

Jaron must have been more tired than she realized because he didn’t protest any longer. He curled up in his bedroll and within minutes he was already breathing deeply, his face slack.

Sheralie finished her jerky and turned to Goldy. “What about you? Are you going to sleep?”

Perhaps. Goldy blinked at her. If I grow tired.

“I wish I had your stamina,” Sheralie grumbled.

I am quite impressive, Goldy agreed. Then she tipped her head to the side. You have met other griffins.

“Yes.” Sheralie had met an entire conclave of them, inside Clyris Cave.

Are they like me? For the first time, Goldy sounded slightly unsure of herself.

Sheralie drew her blanket tight around her shoulders. “Like you in what way?”

Goldy huffed. Do they look like me? Do they talk like me?

“They generally look like you, but they are all individuals. They have different colored feathers and fur, for example. As for how they talk…” Sheralie bit her lip. Goldy talked far more than any griffin Sheralie had met. “I didn’t speak with many of them, so I am not sure. The elder I communicated with was more…solemn.” That was the most polite way she could think to describe it.

I don't want to seem strange when I meet them. Goldy shook her fluffy mane.

Could Goldy be scared of meeting the Breyconland griffins? Sheralie wondered. “You don’t know many griffins then?” she guessed.

My family was slaughtered by dragons. Goldy looked away.

Sheralie had already surmised from Goldy’s memories that she was an orphan, but it still saddened her to hear it confirmed. It also accounted for Goldy’s obsession with the dragons—though it didn’t explain her even stronger aversion to Sheralie—or her magick, rather.

“Why do you hate my magick so much?” she asked bluntly, since Goldy was in an unusually forthcoming mood.

Goldy glared at her. Your magick kills.

“Kills griffins?” Sheralie didn’t try to hide her skepticism. “The griffin elder I met five years ago exchanged magick with me, and it didn’t kill him.”

It kills griffin eggs, Goldy spat.

Sheralie sucked in a pained breath. “I guess it does.” It converted an egg into an Aegis Stone, anyway. That could be considered killing an egg. “But how do you know that?” There was no way Goldy was old enough to remember Queen Sephelia personally. Even the elder griffin, who was more than two hundred years old, only had memories of the process to create an Aegis Stone because his own grandfather passed them down. Goldy, by her own admission, was only sixty years old. She had to know about it from shared memories as well. Would she talk about it? Could Sheralie persuade her to talk about the creation of the blood boundary?

My line did not forget. And we do not forgive. Goldy’s icy voice scraped against Sheralie's mind, and then the griffin rose and stalked off.

“Well, that was a flat failure.” Sheralie sighed. Maybe when they found the other griffins, they could persuade Goldy to share what she knew with them. It was doubtful Goldy would ever share it with Sheralie.