Miles Cameron - The Dread Wyrm

“You killed her,” Gabriel said.

Ghause sputtered with indignation. “She was wild! And dangerous!”

“The same might be said of you, Mater.” Gabriel was gazing into the eyes of the monster. It looked back at him like a great daft cat.

“You have changed, my son,” Ghause said. “Look at you. A Power.”

“This is the wrong day for you to say that, Mother.” Gabriel stumbled to the window and looked out. Then he turned, unable to stop himself, and went back to the bird.

“But you are a Power, now,” she purred. “I made you to be one, and look at you. They worship you. They all worship you.”

“Stop it!” he said.

“When you take the kingdom, they will-”

He met the griffon’s wide, mad, delighted eyes.

“He’ll need constant attention, of course,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe how much effort I put into this, child. I-”

“Mother,” Gabriel said. “Please stop.”

He turned and they were eye to eye.

“You always were a stiff-necked boy,” she said with a sniff.

“You killed my tutor and my master-at-arms,” he said.

She frowned. “I most certainly did not. Henri killed your so-called master-at-arms, and Prudentia-” She shrugged. “I don’t honestly know what happened.”

“You ordered them killed,” he insisted.

“How tiresome. Stop changing your ground. Killed, ordered killed? What boots it, my child? They were nothing. They were leading you astray and, let us admit it, you needed to be a little tougher. Didn’t you?” She put a hand on his chest, fingers splayed.

He left it there.

Ghause looked up into his face. When last she’d seen him, he’d been a little taller than she, and now he towered over her. Suddenly her pupils widened.

“Where is Ser Henri?” she asked.

Gabriel laughed. “I am not you, Mother. I did not kill him. Only his amour propre took any injury.”

Ghause stamped her foot. “Let us not waste our time together, love. I have many things to share with you-workings to share, plans to make.” She smiled. “You are Duke of Thrake now!”

He responded to her smile and her tone of pleasure. She was his mother. “I am, indeed,” he said.

She laughed, a throaty, rich laugh. “Oh, my dear heart! Every inch of ground along the wall is ours. The earl and I-and you-what a kingdom we will make!”

Gabriel ran his fingers gently through the great griffon’s feathers. “No,” he said.

She frowned. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I mean, I have no intention of taking any lessons from you in diplomacy. Whatever you intend, I am not party to it. While we are on this uncomfortable ground, you may add the hermetical arts. I suspect you have nothing to teach me, and anyway, I wouldn’t trust you in my head.”

“Nothing to teach you!” Ghause replied, now stung to her core. “You are my child. I made you.”

Gabriel gave her a little bow with an ease that made him proud of himself. His mother terrified him, but by God, he was keeping it in. He clasped his hands together to hide their trembling.

“I had Harmodius in my head for a year,” he said, every syllable like the blow of a trebuchet.

“You work the gold ?” she asked.

In the aethereal , in her other sight, she watched as he plucked a ray of sunshine from the gold and her own breath from the green and bound them into an amulet. He handed her a little Herakles knot of rose stems.

She accepted it.

It burst-a little explosion of rose petals and incense.

“I have my own plans. They do not include you.” Gabriel bowed. “I admit I do want the griffon.”

Ghause bent her head. She backed away a step, in defeat. “As you will, my puissant son,” she said, and with the ease of years of practice, kept the ring of triumph from her voice.

My son! Together, we will rule everything. After I take you back.

An hour later, Gavin found his brother alone in his own outer solar. He’d been warned by Nell.

He found Gabriel feeding a dead chicken, feathers and all, to a griffon that seemed to grow before his very eyes. The very air was tainted with the thing’s smell, like a musky eroticism flavoured with blood.

“You alive?” Gavin asked. “What the hell is that?”

Gabriel sighed. “Very much alive. That is, sorry, hurting, anxious, and in a black mood. It’s like being fucking fifteen all over again.” He smiled bleakly. “But she gave me a griffon! He’s lovely, ain’t he?”

Gavin laughed and poured wine. “I’d like a griffon, too. I see I don’t rate one.” He shook his head. “Is my sudden desire to rut with any servant girl I find willing-”

Gabriel winced. “That may just be me. No, it’s the griffon. He can’t help it. They all emit love, and drink love, and… think love.”

Gavin laughed. “Blessed Virgin, it’s like being fifteen. Make it stop!”

“You mean the sudden peaks of desire, or the effect Mother has on us? Just like being fifteen,” Gabriel said. He tossed the chicken’s head into the air, and a great talon caught it and the eagle-beak crunched it. Gabriel stepped away, and Gavin, as if engaged in wrestling, tricked his weight and forced him into an embrace.

“No,” Gavin said. “We’re not children, and we won’t take sides. When we were young, she divided us and conquered us.”

Gabriel hugged him a moment and then stepped back. “She used Amicia against me.”

Gavin laughed bitterly. “You should have heard her advice about Lady Mary!” He blushed even to think of it. “I don’t feel I can just wander off to Lissen Carak and leave you.” He shrugged. “You know she has Aneas with her.”

“I know,” Gabriel said. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You know-sometimes, you really are the best brother,” he said. “Go and be with your lady love. I’ll stay home with our mother.” He sighed. “And Aneas.”

“And your lover, the nun,” Gavin said.

Gabriel sat down and put his head in his hands. “Exactly.”

“No one can say we aren’t an entertaining family.” Gavin sat opposite his brother. “Why the nun, brother? She’s pretty enough, I admit. I rather fancied her myself.” He shrugged. “But…”

Gabriel sat back. “How very often I’ve wondered, brother. I think I’m a bear-hunter caught helplessly in my own bear trap.”

“You worked something on her?” Gavin asked.

“Something like that,” Gabriel answered. He smiled wryly. “Whenever you think you are very clever, that’s when you are getting ready to be awesomely stupid.”

“Based on your own experience?” Gavin asked. “I should stop drinking if you’re serious about letting me go.”

“The fewer witnesses the better,” Gabriel said.

“And her notion of making Pater the King of the North?” Gavin asked, his hand on the door latch.

Gabriel smiled grimly. “The frosting on the bun, dear brother. She thinks I made myself Duke of Thrake to secure her borders.”

Ser Gavin turned, hand still on the door. “Did you?” he asked.

The silence stretched.

Ser Gabriel came and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Gavin, once upon a time, I had plans. Now, they have changed.” He looked away. “So the answer is not simple.”

Gavin nodded. Then gave up on annoyance and embraced his brother again. “You are the king of ambiguity,” he said.

“Send Lady Mary my best regards,” Ser Gabriel said.

The Council of the North started with little fanfare and less ceremony than anyone expected. The next morning, all the principals gathered in the great hall of the citadel. No trumpets sounded, and even the duchess seemed subdued.

Ser John Crayford sat at the head of the table. He was wearing a good green pourpoint and matching hose, and his businesslike attire was reflected on every participant except the duchess. She faced him down the length of the table, enthroned in a tall wooden chair her people had brought and surrounded by her maids. She wore figured velvet shot with gold thread-embroidered griffons.