Fridays With the Wizards by Jessica Day George
“What?” Celie stared at her sister in astonishment. “Me? I’m not the one who’s getting married far too young, and being given a ship that someone else discovered the materials for!”
“Aha!” Lilah shouted, pointing a manicured finger at Celie. “You’re jealous! You’re jealous because we’re going to take a piece of your precious Castle without your permission!”
“Delilah, that was quite rude!” their mother said.
“It’s not my Castle,” Celie said, but couldn’t muster much conviction.
That was almost exactly how she felt. She wasn’t jealous of Lilah and Lulath getting a lot of attention: if anything, she was glad. She preferred to wander the halls of the Castle alone or with Rufus for company. But she was jealous of the fact that her discoveries were always taken away from her so quickly. The moment she found a new room, the rest of the Castle’s residents would start filing through it to have a look. Even with Rufus, Bran had only helped her keep him a secret because the Castle actively tried to stop anyone else from seeing the griffin.
Lilah opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again when she saw the expression on Queen Celina’s face. The queen didn’t speak for a moment, either, but held up a hand to signal that she was thinking.
“Celie is right: this is all moving much too fast. And something else is troubling me. The last time Celie found something in the Castle, which the Castle seems to have put there specifically for her to find, it was Rufus. Perhaps your father should not have been so quick to promise the ship to you and Lulath,” the queen said, tapping her lips.
“Mother!” Lilah actually put her hands in her hair, mussing the carefully arranged curls in distress. “You can’t take back a gift! Not one that Father gave in public, and to a foreign prince! Wars have been fought over insults like this!”
“Please stop being so dramatic.” Queen Celina sighed. “It does look bad to take back a gift, so we won’t, though I doubt Lulath’s father is going to declare war on us—at least not before the betrothal contract is even signed!
“But we do have to consider that, if this figurehead is part of the Castle, the Castle may have plans for it.”
“Like going to find the unicorns it scared away,” Lilah offered, innocently smoothing her hair.
“Or being used as a scratching post for baby griffins,” her mother countered. “Either way, we are going to slow things down a bit. Celie, you will start coming to your fittings, because you do need new gowns.” Her expression softened. “But it will be some time before you leave the Castle, and we will make sure that you are consulted on all matters concerning ships, journeys, and the Castle, all right?”
Celie nodded, not trusting her voice. She wanted to include news about Arkwright in that list, but didn’t dare.
“As for you, miss,” Queen Celina said sternly to Lilah. “You need to start acting like a young lady about to be married, and less like a spoiled girl who just wants presents.”
“Mother, I—”
Bran threw open the door and leaned inside. “Is everyone in here all sorted out?” He rushed on without waiting to hear their answer. “Doesn’t matter—there’s an egg hatching, and if you want to watch, you’ll follow me.”
Chapter
7
This was the first egg to hatch in the Castle since griffins had returned to Sleyne. Celie and her companions had brought half a dozen eggs from Hatheland, along with the fully grown griffins, all of them mated pairs, but there were only four hatching towers. The eggs that Ethan had judged would hatch first had been put in the towers; the rest were in nests in one of the griffin stables. Most of the griffins had recognized their own eggs and were taking care of them, but two of the eggs were orphans, thanks to Wizard Arkwright’s uncle, the Arkower. He had killed adult griffins and stolen their eggs as part of his plan to raise a griffin army.
The Arkower had also tried to bond with dozens of griffins, as had his followers, and all those newly hatched griffins had died. No one knew how baby griffins selected the person they bonded with, and they didn’t have to bond with anyone at all, but there had been something lacking in the Arkower and his followers. Perhaps they were too greedy, too power-hungry, and the young griffins had sensed it and refused them. And because the Arkower had separated them from their parents, the little griffins had died of hunger, since they would only accept food from their parents or their bonded human.
That horrified everyone in the Castle who heard about it, so King Glower had made a declaration: All subjects might apply to bond with a griffin, with the understanding that if a griffin didn’t bond with them, they were to abide by the beast’s choice, and not try to steal an egg or a hatchling. At every hatching, the king would draw the names of a handful of candidates from a basket.
When Celie and her mother and sister arrived at the tower, they found that the selected persons included two Castle guards, a Councilor by the name of Lord Sefton, and Rolf. The four candidates were standing in a line under the watchful gaze of the egg’s father, who was pacing between them and his offspring.
“How lucky for you, darling,” the queen had said, kissing Rolf on the cheek. “I’m so glad that your name was called; I know how eager you are!”
Rolf scuffed his toe against the floor. “Well, technically it was Micah.”
“Who’s Micah?” The queen looked around, puzzled.
“From the village,” Pogue said. He was helping Ethan arrange baskets of food along one side of the tower, under the approving gaze of the mother griffin. “The baker’s son?”
“Oh, that darling boy with the dimples,” Queen Celina said. “But then why didn’t he come?”
“He came into the main hall, took one look at Lord Griffin, and turned green,” Pogue told her. “He asked if they were all so scary.”
“And I said, they’re not scary, they’re wonderful,” Rolf said, taking up the story. “But just then Lord Griffin let out a screech, and Micah told me he’d changed his mind, and I could have his place.” Rolf shrugged. “So here I am.”
“We will keep young Micah’s name in the basket,” the king said. He was standing at the far side of the tower, watching the egg keenly. “He might change his mind again, once he gets used to them.”
“I don’t want anyone to think I scared him off, or pulled rank,” Rolf said in a low voice.
“Seems fitting to me,” one of the guards said. “Delighted as I am to have been chosen, I think the Crown Prince deserves first crack.”
The others all nodded, and Rolf looked cheered.
“Speaking of cracks,” Bran said.
They turned their attention to the egg, which was now rocking back and forth in its nest of moss and twigs. The griffin parents began to flap their wings and coo encouragement. Celie slid along the wall, staying clear of the wings and the rocking, and sat in the wide windowsill beside her father.
The agitated griffin parents-to-be screamed at any other griffins that attempted to enter the tower, so Celie sent Rufus to wait in the solar with his mother. At least, that’s where Celie had told him to go, and she hoped that he’d understood. She peeked out the window, and though she saw a few other griffins sunning themselves on the roof of another tower, none of them was Rufus. Celie hoped he would stay out of trouble.
Of course, now that her mother had reminded her that Lulath’s little dogs would make a tasty morsel for a griffin, she was more concerned about letting Rufus roam the Castle unsupervised. She turned to ask her father if he’d seen Lulath, and more importantly, Lulath’s girls, but the prince himself entered the room.
“How the excitement stirs the air!” Lulath announced as he leaped into the room. He threw his arms around Lilah and lifted her off the ground. “Can you smell the happening?”
“Yes,” Lilah squealed. “Please put me down!”
The griffin parents squalled, and Lilah and a temporarily subdued Lulath took their places against the wall. Celie tried to signal to Lulath to ask if his dogs were safe
Soon it held Celie’s attention, too. Griffin hatchings were always dramatic. The eggs rocked harder and harder, sometimes standing on end. Rufus’s egg had rocked, cracked all over, and then he’d stopped moving. When Celie had crept closer to make sure he was all right, the shell had exploded and the jagged pieces had almost struck her in the face.
“I am all in a mist, it is so the beautiful memory of my Lorcan when his egg was cracked,” Lulath announced. Lorcan had leaped from his shell and made a beeline for Lulath. No amount of coaxing deterred him from the prince, though a young Arkish man had been offering him food and begging him to bond.
Celie found that she, too, was a bit teary-eyed. Looking across the room, she saw Lilah holding tight to one of Lulath’s arms, and on his other side, her mother fondly patted his shoulder. Really, it would be fun to have him as a part of the family. As long as he and Lilah lived in the Castle, where they belonged.
“Here it comes,” Ethan announced.
His eyes were fixed on the egg, and his expression was strained. Since he had tried several times without success to bond with a griffin in his homeland, which he still called the Glorious Arkower, having been taught to hate Hatheland and the Hathelockes all his life, Ethan insisted that he wasn’t going to try to bond with another. He only wanted to help them all in their new home. He was waiting now, ready to help whoever was lucky enough to be accepted by the baby griffin.
And he was right. The egg rocked twice more. The griffin parents’ screaming changed to a low, throaty crooning, and the egg split down the middle. In the goopy wreckage of egg sat a large baby griffin, looking startled. It opened its mouth and let out a cry, and its parents rushed to reassure it.
“That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” King Glower whispered to Celie. “Imagine it turning into one of those!” He pointed to the adult griffins.
Celie giggled. “Rufus looked like he was put together wrong. His wings and tail were too big for him,” she whispered back.
“The paws on this one are enormous,” her father said. “If it grows into those, it’s going to be as big as the king!”
Celie watched for a moment as the parents cuddled their baby, rubbing their rounded eagle heads against the newborn’s. Her father was right, though: this one was definitely bigger than the other three babies she’d seen, and its lion-like hind paws were simply enormous.
Its initial cries of distress quieted, but then it began the mewing sound that Celie knew meant hunger. She whispered to her father that it was time to feed the baby, and the king nodded at Ethan. Ethan handed a seed cake to each of the prospective griffin riders. They all stood around awkwardly, holding the cakes in limp hands. Then Rolf squatted down and held his out on a flat palm, the way you would offer a carrot to a horse. The other hopefuls followed suit, and the griffin parents drew back a little, nudging their baby toward the men.
The baby griffin turned away, crying. Celie saw the blood drain from Ethan’s face. Ethan had stood by and watched as so many newly hatched griffins rejected riders, and then died, refusing to eat. Celie gripped her father’s hand, squeezing as hard as she could and feeling a sharp stab of sympathy for Ethan. At least the parents would take over in a moment, and they would feed the baby. They wouldn’t let it starve—it just wouldn’t have a rider. And there was nothing wrong with that.
The hopeful riders crept closer, holding out the seed cakes. One of them was clucking his tongue, like he was calling a horse or a dog. Rolf whistled to get the little creature’s attention, and it cocked its head, but backed up rather than take the offered cake. Its crying was growing in intensity, and the parents were stirring, also distressed.
Pogue squatted down and silently put some seed cakes near the parents, so that they could give them to the baby if they had to. As he straightened, he lost his balance a little and fell to one knee, muttering a curse. The baby griffin shrieked in surprise and spun around, falling on its beak.
“Sorry,” Pogue said, pushing the seed cakes closer.
He straightened and backed away, but the baby griffin scrabbled across the floor after him. It knocked the seed cake aside with one frantic claw, and kept on crying and crawling toward Pogue.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
“Give it the cake,” Lilah said, her brow creased with worry.
“I’m not supposed to,” Pogue said, sounding almost as frantic as the griffin. At the sound of his voice, the baby griffin let out another cry, and began trying to reach Pogue with even greater determination.
“Friend Sir Pogue,” Lulath said, flapping his hands to encourage Pogue. “The griffin is of the choosing, and the choosing is of you!”
“Give it the cake,” Rolf said, his voice rough. He backed away from the griffin, then tossed his seed cake over the griffins. It struck Pogue in the chest, and Pogue caught it reflexively before it fell to the floor.
The newly hatched griffin was leaping around at Pogue’s feet now, trying to snap the seed cake out of his hands. Every second leap it fell on its face or got a claw caught in one of its wings and toppled sideways, only to rise and try again. Pogue looked too stunned to help it.
“Give it the cake, lad,” King Glower called out. “Quick, now!”
“It’s not supposed to be me,” Pogue protested.
“But it is you,” Rolf said, and Celie could hear how much effort it was taking for him not to cry.
At last Pogue bent down and offered the cake to the baby griffin. With a cry of sheer delight it grabbed the cake and ate it in two bites, and then it began to rub itself against Pogue, cooing even as it searched his pockets for more food. The other hopeful riders, all looking just a bit disappointed, filed past and handed Pogue their cakes, which he fed to the griffin one after another.
The griffin parents crowded around Pogue, buffeting him with their wings and clicking their beaks in approval. Pogue crouched between them, looking stunned and feeding the hungry baby, which was trying to climb inside his tunic and eat at the same time. Pogue’s face had gone from shocked to elated, and with his free hand, he shakily stroked the little griffin’s head.
“A griffin,” he said softly.
“A fine griffin,” the king agreed.
“It’s going to be huge,” Bran said. “I think it’s male.”
Rolf plunged his hands in his pockets, nodded once, and then went out. Queen Celina made a little sympathetic noise and followed him. Pogue looked up, his expression clouding again.
“There was nothing you could have done,” King Glower said, guessing what was troubling both Rolf and Pogue. “Rolf knows that.”
“It’s hard, I’m sure,” Bran said. “But he’ll be fine. And there are three other eggs I predict will hatch this week. Rolf will have his chance.”
“But the lottery,” Lilah said. “What if his name isn’t drawn?”
“The lottery won’t work,” Bran said. “Clearly.” He waved a hand at Pogue. “Pogue was the one this griffin wanted, and his name wasn’t even in there, was it?”
“I put it in and took it back out,” Pogue admitted. “I thought it seemed . . . greedy. I spend a lot of time at the Castle and with the griffins already.”
“See?” Bran shook his head. “We’re going to have to file anyone who might like a griffin through the room next time, have them all offer the hatchling a cake. They need more than four people to choose from. And those of us who don’t want one or already have one should just stay away, so that there’s less confusion.”
“It sounds like chaos,” King Glower said, looking unsure.
“But it will give the hatchlings the most options,” Bran said.
Everyone turned and looked at Celie to see if she approved. She blinked, and then remembered that she’d had a griffin longer than anyone else, and as such was considered the expert.
“It makes sense,”
“I’ll announce the new rules tomorrow,” King Glower said, as though Celie had been the deciding vote. Which, she realized, she had been. Her father turned back to Pogue and smiled. “What will you name him? I should also announce your good fortune.”
“Bronze Arrow,” Pogue said without hesitation. “Arrow for short.”
“You’re worse than Bran!” Celie blurted out, then put one hand over her mouth, embarrassed.
Bran, who had suggested names like Proudclaw and Goldenwings for Rufus, blushed.
“I think it’s a fine name,” King Glower said, giving Celie a faintly reproachful look.
Pogue hunched his shoulders. “It just suits him, all right?” he muttered.
“It does,” Lilah agreed.
“It is being the finest of names!” Lulath cried.
“I’m really sorry,” Celie said, contrite. “It’s a lovely name.” She supposed she couldn’t make everyone name their griffins normal, sensible things like Rufus. And she had to admit that Lilah had done a very good job in naming Juliet.
“Oooh, it’s another one,” Ma’am Housekeeper said from the doorway. “Well, keep it out of my linens!” She sounded less than delighted to find another griffin in the Castle.
“Of course, Ma’am Housekeeper,” the king said. “Has there been a problem with the griffins?”
“Them, or some very large rats, Your Majesty,” she said bitterly. “I’ve come to speak to you about that, if you are done here. I’ve had outside of enough!”
Chapter
8
“Let’s leave Sir Pogue and his new griffin to get to know each other,” King Glower said. “Celie, would you mind coming along? To see if you think it’s the griffins?”
Celie had been watching Pogue and the griffins and listening with half an ear to her father and the housekeeper. Now she gave them her full attention.
“Griffins chewing the linens?” she asked. Rufus was awful about chewing things he shouldn’t, but—other than Celie’s blankets—he was mostly interested in shoes, and Lorcan and Juliet showed the same tendencies.