Free The Dark Griffin by K. J. Taylor

chamber at the centre of the Eyrie. It dominated the structure, taking up two storeys. Arren was happy to pass through it. It was almost certainly the grandest room anywhere in the Eyrie, and definitely the grandest in the city: the grand council chamber, where Lady Riona and the elders she led met to discuss affairs of state and diplomacy, and make important decisions. Once these meetings had been open to the public, but not any more. Even junior griffiners, such as Arren, weren’t allowed to attend unless it was for a purpose. Arren had often wished to see the chamber when the councillors were in it. As it was, he stopped to admire the lofty ceiling with its painted frieze of stars and flying griffins, and the brightly coloured banners that hung from the gallery. The Mistress’ seat was right in the centre.
    Today, there was someone in the chamber already.
    Arren paused in the doorway. The stranger was sitting on a couch set up next to the Mistress’ carved chair, eating a bunch of grapes and looking very much at his ease. There was a griffin crouched beside him.
    The stranger looked up. “Hello,” he said. “Have you come to bring me a message?”
    Arren came toward him. Eluna went ahead of him to size up the man’s griffin, clicking her beak diplomatically. The griffin was larger than her, though not enormously, and had dark-brown feathers and fur. It was female, and its neck was an extraordinary red colour, unlike anything Arren had ever seen before. She stood up and sniffed cautiously at Eluna, who bowed her head and chirped.
    Arren, meanwhile, was looking at the man. He was tall and thin, like himself, and his skin was a rich brown colour. His hair was black and rough, and he had a neat moustache, sprinkled with grey. He eyed Arren through a pair of intelligent dark eyes. “Good morning.” He had an accent unlike anything Arren had ever heard before, quick and slightly nasal.
    Arren bowed. “Good morning, my lord. I didn’t expect anyone to be in here. I’m Arren Cardockson.”
    The man looked at him with renewed interest. “So, you are the Northerner I have heard about.” He stood up. “My name is Vander Xantho, and this is Ymazu. I am pleased to meet you.”
    “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, Lord Vander,” said Arren. “May I ask where you’re from?”
    “You may. I have come from Amoran to speak with the Mistress of the Eyrie.”
    “You’re a diplomat?”
    “Yes.”
    Arren thought quickly. “Amoran, that’s in the East, right?”
    Vander nodded. “So it is.” He was looking at Arren, taking in his sharp features and black eyes. “Forgive me. I have never seen a Northerner who was not—”
    “In chains?” Arren interrupted, more sharply than he had intended.
    “I am sorry,” said Vander. “I did not intend to offend you.”
    “It’s all right, my lord,” said Arren. “My father was set free when he was a boy.”
    “I see.” Vander rubbed his neck. “It was a strange thing to come here and find no slaves.”
    “There were plenty here before I was born,” said Arren. “Lady Riona sold them all after the famine.”
    Vander nodded. “Yes, I had heard that story.” He smiled slightly. “I am glad to have met you, Arren Cardockson. I have heard a great deal about you.”
    “You have?” said Arren, surprised.
    “Oh yes. The only Northern griffiner in the country, or so they say. And something of a rising star, it would seem. Master of Trade at—how old are you, may I ask?”
    “I’ll be twenty in a few months, my lord.”
    “Nineteen years old,” said Vander, shaking his head. “Astonishing. I was nineteen when I first met Ymazu here. Tell me, how did you come to be a griffiner?”
    “My parents were visiting the hatchery,” Arren explained, “to talk with Roland—that’s the man who runs it. They took me with them; I was only three. I wandered off while they were busy.”
    “A small child alone in a building full of griffins,” said Vander. “Not a