Royal Griffon Ch.5

The hunt for appetizers was quick and successful. While servers still seemed unwilling to hand things over to Nic, Isabella was always in position to intercept. Working together, they quickly gathered a great bounty of cakes, sweets, and drinks, all of which they carried to a quiet corner to begin feasting.

As they ate, they entertained themselves by watching the endless stream of guests flowing into the hall. Most of them were griffons, Nic quickly losing track of all the names and titles Isabella helpfully provided. He was much more taken in by the vibrant colours of their coats and feathers, each one distinct and personalized to the individual griffon, some in technically impossible ways. Apparently not even the sky was free of glamour styling.

The same extended to the non-griffon guests as well. They were far fewer in number, one in ten at most, mixed in like mice among a den of lions. Nic recognized a few members of the City Council, notable techne, industrialists, and politicians, both human and otherwise. The kind of people who sat in the important chairs and had both hands on the levers of power

“Are all these people retainers?” Nic asked.

“Not the ones from the ground, no.” Isabella said, delicately popping another candy into her mouth. “They’re just guests.”

“Important guests,” Nic said, his eyes drifting back over the crowd. Next to the throne, Orlin and Worthington still sat together, conversing with one another as Zulathon doled out greetings. “What about those two?

“That I don’t know for sure,” Isabella said. “Story goes that your old man and Worthington did something years ago to help Zulathon back before he was crowned Hierarch.” She sipped her decanter of chilled tea. “Knighted them both for it.”

“Something?” Nic pressed, deeply interested.

Isabella shrugged. “No one knows for sure, not even Worthington is telling. For services to flock and the great tree, that’s all Zulathon said about it when he knighted them.” She paused, glancing at Nic. “Did he not tell you about it?”

Nic shook his head, looking to where Orlin sat at the right hand of a literal king. The fact that he looked bored out of his skull was both absurd and entirely appropriate.

From the start of his apprenticeship, Nic had known that Orlin Greytower was a deep well of secrets, but it still managed to astound him just how deep the well went. It seemed like you couldn’t walk down the street without stumbling over some facet of the man’s hidden history.

And yet not once had Nic seen the elder techne brag, regale, or even just bring any of those adventures up unprompted. He was not a sharer as a rule, and most of his time was spent either glowering at things or telling Nic to stay focused on his lessons. Nic wasn’t complaining, not much anyway, but by the dark and dead what he wouldn’t give to be told just a few more of those stories.

“Well,” Isabella continued, sensing Nic was drifting away. “As I said, not even Worthington talks about it, and you couldn’t shut him up if you stole the air from his lungs. Probably some kind of state secret.”

“Right,” Nic said.

A gong rang out through the hall, louder than the previous, more insistent, intentionally drowning out conversation and drawing all attention without question. Nic first looked to the archway but no one new entered, leaving only the throne as the focus of proceedings. Zulathon had risen from his dais, spreading his wings to show off their brilliance to the crowd.

“Friends!” he called, his voice crackling with magical translation. “We welcome you all to our house and thank you for attending this joyous day!”

Polite applause broke out around the hall, Nic and Isabella joining in. It faded quickly, Zulathon easily commanding silence without moving so much as a single feather.

“It is always an occasion worthy of celebration, the hatching of new life, and a joy in which we all this very day shall share.”

Behind the throne, a door slid open and a large box hovered into the room. It was escorted by no fewer than six guards, two of them griffons in full armor. Murmuring broke out in the crowd as the box was brought before the throne, the guards making a show of deferring to the Hierarch before taking up defensive posts.

“Behold!” Zulathon said. “The heir of Harakin Aerie.”

A panel on the front of the box de-tinted, turning to a clear window to reveal the contents. Nic was too far away to see it, but the box had him covered as a projector came to life and displayed an image on the air above.

It was an egg. A very large egg, even considering it was being sized up, easily twice the size of a large housecat with its feet tucked underneath its body. The shell was smooth and glossy, a pale tan colour with speckles of red and brown across its surface like freckles. It sat upon a fine cushion of purple velvet; the colour only partly washed out by the soft orange glow that suffused the interior of the box.

New murmuring broke out, this one tinged with coos and smiles as everyone took in the sight. Those nearest to the box edged closer, only to think better of it when the guards stared them down. The faux pas was quickly forgotten when the egg suddenly moved, shifting slightly but notably upon the cushion. Renewed murmuring broke out at the sight, the excitement palpable throughout the crowd, such that many openly called their congratulations to Zulathon.

“Our thanks to you all,” the Hierarch said, his bearing never wavering from perfect dignity. “We too look forward to knowing them soon.”

“Wait,” Nic said, quickly parsing the words. “How close is that thing to hatching?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Isabella said. “Doubt we’ll be leaving until after the naming ceremony.”

“Oh good,” Nic said, pulling out his tablet to check the time.

“Still using that thing huh?” Isabella asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

“What?” Nic said, pulling the device in close. “Does exactly what I want, doesn’t need to be fancy.”

“And you’re just accidentally covering the engraving?” Isabella asked.

“No!” Nic lied. “I mean, yes!”

It had been one of the poorer decisions he’d ever made with his tech, to splurge on a nano-scale engraving for the case. It was supposed to be an image of an aethership, the famous Aria May, but the printer had screwed up tremendously. It had come back looking nothing like the reference images, the sleek profile of the hull broken by printing errors and cracks. An entire mast was missing and the two that were present were in the wrong places. It was an ongoing fight trying to get his money back and worst of all, the case was still perfectly functional despite appearances. There was no reason not to use it, even if it meant putting up with constant teasing.

“I believe you,” Isabella said.

“Anyway!” Nic said pointedly. “Does this mean we get to stand around doing nothing for hours?”

“Nic, Nic, Nic,” Isabella said, pulling a deck of cards out of nowhere. “We really need to get you a party survival kit.”

“Uh, where were you keeping those?” Nic asked, looking over her pocketless dress. Isabella just smiled at him.

“Secrets, Nicholas. Secrets.”

Nic smiled back, about to retort when a gasp ran through the crowd. He turned back to the dais in time to see another griffon entering through the same door the box had. She was dressed down by the standards of the room, though that did nothing to diminish her presence. Nic frankly doubted anything could do that given that one of her legs was metal. A fully articulated cybernetic at a guess, one that she favored heavily as she walked.

A small cluster of attendants trailed behind her, torn between staying in formation and assisting her movement. Whenever one went to try the latter, she would open a wing to wave them off, though the process of closing it again was notably strained.

Nonetheless she persisted, crossing the floor to stand before the dais. She bowed, slowly and with great difficulty, this time accepting help from her attendants when she rose.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice crackling with translation.

“Lady Harakin,” Zulathon said. “Should you not be resting?”

“I am not so delicate,” she said. “And it does me no good to be separated from the heir for too long.”

“We see.”

Zulathon glanced to the Seneschal, who had been standing unnoticed next to the throne the entire time. The goblin immediately stepped forward, floating up from the ground to make himself seen.

“Presenting her Ladyship Nuthani, High Queen of Harakin.”

The crowd applauded, several people going so far as to bow or curtsy. Nuthani accepted them all, holding herself with a grace that reminded Nic of Isabella. Zulathon watched the scene impassively, shuffling sideways to make room for his queen to join him on the dais. She settled there naturally, though it didn’t escape Nic’s notice that she seemed grateful for the excuse to get off her feet.

After she settled, she nodded to both Orlin and Worthington, saying something Nic was too far away to hear. Whatever it was produced a hearty laugh from one and a quiet chuckle from the other, which were roughly equivalent things from Nic’s experience.

“Something the matter?” Isabella asked.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Nic said. “Just don’t see Master Orlin laughing all that often.”

“That sounds a bit sad,” Isabella said.

Nic shook his head.

“Not really. When he does it usually means I’m in trouble.”

That got a laugh out of Isabella, Nic joining in as the party resumed. People were beginning to cluster around the throne, a queue forming to greet the queen personally and to view the egg up close.

“You want to go up to coo at it?” Isabella asked.

He kinda did, if only to say he had, but the line was getting very long.

“Maybe later,” Nic said. “You going up?”

“What, you don’t see the line?” Isabella said as if he were five. “Be half an hour just to get near the front.”

Nic chuckled. Birds of a feather he supposed.

“Fair enough.” He pointed at a table set along the side of the room. “You still got those cards?”

With a snap of her wrist, she produced them from thin air.

“You any good at Three Fingered Coup?” she asked.

“Is that a game?”     

Isabella said nothing, just smiled widely as the dagger was fully drawn. Nic couldn’t help but notice that Orlin was laughing again.

*

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