His entire body was on fire. Every muscle, every ligament, every nerve, and every inch of skin, fur, and feathers burned with more intensity than Lord Jason Erenco was certain was possible to endure. The shock of it when he awoke made him gasp; the act felt like he was tearing his chest open, and the air was like broken glass in his lungs. He screamed, which only made his agony worse. He gasped and cried and spasmed; everything he did tormented him. His mind was completely blank save pain.
“Hold him down!” a voice yelled from the front of the hay cart.
Jason saw, but could not feel, a pair of claws descending onto his writhing form. He could tell he was pinned, and between squirms of utter anguish, he caught a glimpse of another griffon. Familiar words came to his beak.
“Kill me!” he screamed. “Kill me, please! KILL ME!”
He wanted nothing more than for his pain to end. The other griffon looked up to the driver of the cart with simpering eyes, unsure of what to do.
“Give him water,” the driver called, throwing a skin of water back to the griffon on top of Jason. He hastily uncorked it and tried to force it into the writhing griffon’s beak.
“I order you to kill me!” Jason yelled, panting. Anything for the pain to end. “Please!”
The griffon on top of him succeeded in showing the skin into Jason’s beak. Jason hacked and sputtered, and was unable to swallow.
“Idiot! He’s choking!” the driver called derisively. The younger griffon sighed and massaged Jason’s throat, almost having to force the water down his esophagus like he squeezed milk from a cow’s udder. Jason shut his eyes as hard as he could, still coughing even after he was made to swallow. Tears came unbid to his eyes, and his shrieks of agony descended into moans as his vocal cords simply would not function under such stress. The griffon pinning him down took pity, and a swift blow to the head eased his suffering.
------------------------
Lord Jason awoke in a bed, this time. He was warm, and rather comfortable, though he wasn’t able to move his limbs or wings. His eyes seemed fine, however, and he took stock of his situation. The room was modest, a small fireplace near the foot of the bed; a two-log fire crackled happily in the stone hearth. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all plaster and stone, but the floor was hidden under velvety carpet. A light autumn breeze wafted in from a window in the wall, shutters bound open with silken rope. He was on a feather bed, under a thick cotton blanket. He didn’t see Erenco hangings, so he wasn’t in Xenophon’s keep, but it was better than being dead.
A chill crept up Jason’s spine. He had nearly forgotten; his father was dead. He had killed him with enough hemlock to lay out two griffons, and he would have died as well if he hadn’t put the antidote in the goblet he brought. He counted on his father’s paranoia to get the better of him, and it had paid off. The hemlock did have its ill effects on Jason, though… Tremendous pain, and paralysis….
Paralysis.
The word cut through his self-contented thoughts like a talon through a stuffed rabbit. He traded his life for his father’s. He took solace in the fact that James would make a good king, just and kind, and that Jacob would be safe. Whatever life Jace had left to live would be short, even with the care he was receiving at the hands of the hay-cart griffons. He thought back to his brief period of awakening, but couldn’t remember any detail besides the hay. He mused on what would be done with him. Did they know he was the prince of the Kingdom? Who were they? Where was he? Jason brooded over these questions and more for some time, until he was broken from his thoughts by the sound of a creaking door. Jason reflexively tried to turn his head to see, but his muscles did not respond. He could only glimpse the door out of his peripheral vision.
“I expect you’re well rested,” he heard his sister say. Ingrid’s voice cut through his dull mood like a knife through cheese. He could barely contain his smile as his sister strode into view. She looked just like Jaime, snowy feathers and yellow beak.
“And I expect you’re the chambermaid, here to change my sheets,” Jason snarked. He had been put in a good mood, and a safe place.
“Enough of that, Jace,” Ingrid said, giving him a playful knock on the head. It hurt Jason more than he wanted to let on. “I’ve heard you’ve killed father.” She always had a knack for getting right down to things.
“Well, it’s not as if Jamie has clean claws, either,” he said. “Even sweet Elciana shares some blame.”
“That’s the king and queen you’re speaking about, mind you,” she said, in a feigning gruff offense. She dropped the act when Jace rolled his eyes, one of the few movements he was able to express. “But I am surprised, dearest brother, that you’d stick your dainty claws in a pie such as this.”
“Dainty?” he said, feigning incredulity.
“Perfectly manicured,” she quipped.
“Perfect isn’t easy, but it’s me,” Jason said, grinning. After a short pause, they both burst into laughter. She rushed to hug him.
“You always were such a diva,” she said into his ear. “Welcome back to Merindale, Jace.”
“Look at that, you’ve only just gotten rid of Father, and now I’ve come to visit, immobile and all; what a shame. Lester must be hungry,” he said in a redolent tone. She gave him another playful knock on the head.
“Quiet, the eaglets will hear,” she teased.
“Ingrid Coridalis, mother. I ne’er pray’d I’d see it wi’ me own beadies,” he quipped, affecting a bardic accent. His face grew serious before she could respond. “Where is Lester in all this?” he asked. Her husband, Lester, was the eldest son of Arnold Coridalis, lord of the lands west of Merindale. The city (and castle) had been a gift to the Erenco family from the Coridalises a few generations back after a rebellion; all the Coridalis and Erenco eaglets spent their summers there to affirm the friendship between the two families. King Jeremy and Lord Arnold had been good friends in their own right, but had the years had put some distance between them. He hadn’t seen much of King Jeremy’s madness. Jason wasn’t sure how Lord Arnold’s house would take his untimely death.
“He doesn’t know,” she said darkly, not at all phased by the change of mood. “The kingdom knows the king died, but most everybird thinks it was old age.”
“But Lester saw him a month ago…”
She nodded.
“He was in good health then, if not slightly insane, and then I show up crippled… What’s he to think?” Jason said.
“He’s to think whatever King Jamie tells him,” Ingrid said. Jason wasn’t so sure. His sister had always had faith in the authority of the king, and rather liked lording over other families, but Jason himself had proved that the griffon who sat on the throne was a cheap trick away from the grave, and he had read enough of the family histories to know the house that claimed royalty depended on who had the biggest army. House Erenco had the most swords by quite a margin, but House Coridalis was a close second. If they found reason to ally with the Houses Nedara or Eldraz… The head that wore the crown might roll down the steps of Xenophon’s Tower.
“Speaking of our dear brother, why did he send me here?” Jason asked.
“Ah, I forgot to mention; you came with a letter!” she said, walking to the mantle and picking up a scroll sealed with the Erenco family seal. “Like a little lost puppy,” she said. Jason stifled a groan.
“Care if I read it?” she asked.
“No, let me come do it myself,” Jason said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Ingrid made a face of pure poison, but Jason had handled worse. She broke the seal with a talon and started reading.
“Dear Prince Jason,
First, I’d like to apologize about the trip. I’m not sure how much you’re going to remember; since at the time of writing you’re basically dead. Samson says you’ll live, but you’re not going to be happy when you wake up. He said you took more hemlock than you should’ve. I’m impressed that you got him. The guards (who I’ve had to knight, in order to keep them quiet; welcome Sirs Phillip and Bernard to your own personal guard) heard the whole thing and they’re about as happy as I am. I’ve sent you to stay with Ingrid and Lester for a while so you can lay low. The griffons I paid to move you to Merindale are the best cleanup artists we’ve got, but they’re a little rough around the edges. Sorry in advance. I’ve written Ingrid telling her all about the situation. Come back in a month or so when Denoir and Faramond stop asking questions. Find a girl.
I, the King.”
There was a brief silence when Ingrid finished reading.
“He actually told me to find a girl?” Jason asked, breaking the silence.
“No, that was me,” Ingrid said, smiling guiltily. Jason narrowed his eyes at her.
“How could he be so stupid?” Jason asked.
“He’s related to you, after all.”
“He sent me to the one griffon who saw Father recently. I can’t believe him. And he knighted the guards who heard the whole thing,” he said, incredulous. “Ingrid, I think we’re related to a madbird.”
“That’s two, now,” she chuckled, nodding. She tossed the parchment into the fire, watching it shrivel as the wax dripped down one of the logs. If Jason could have buried his face in his talons, he could have.
“How’s he going to fend off Denoir and Faramond by himself?” he said, miserable. Denoir, the high priest of the diocese of Rigstadt was a shrewd griffon, and a powerful one, being Lord Arnold Coridalis’s grandfather. He’d survived two rebellions, and still managed to come out of them smelling as sweet as a rose. And then he became a priest. Faramond was the King’s minister of foreign affairs, and general right-claw bird. He was a younger son of a minor free lord, but the griffon’s ink was as black as his feathers; Faramond Clawston had increased trade with Equestria twofold, brokered a peace treaty with the Island Kings in the East (albeit while Jamie was dictating terms to them on the battlefield), and kept King Jeremy popular amongst those who owed him fealty. Jason wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t a wizard.
“He’ll probably be fine; he’s smarter than he acts,” Ingrid offered.
“Perhaps… But they’re dangerous with the new king. They were frightened enough of Father not to cross him, but what with Denoir Coridalis and Faramond Clawston… They’re smarter than him. Faramond’s almost certainly smarter than me,” Jason said, hating to admit it.
“Doesn’t say much,” Ingrid deadpanned.
“Will you stop the jokes for a moment, Ingrid?!” he said, frustrated. “I’m trying to work out how to help Jamie while laying here crippled!”
She leveled her face with his.
“I’m telling you you’re stupid because you’re lying here crippled worrying about Jamie. I’ve already got an apothecary brewing you something that might help your body, but your mind is out of reach,” she said. Her expression softened, and she put a claw to his face. “Everything is going to be okay, alright, Jace? Try to relax.”
Jason’s temper flared for an instant, then cooled. His sister really did mean well. There wasn’t much he or she could do to change anything at the moment, so he might as well come to terms with the new reality he’d crafted for the family. A world where King James sat on the throne, and trouble loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon.
“I… I will,” he sighed, defeated. A mischievous grin sprung to his beak. “Now change the sheets, chambermaid!”
It earned him a slap on the head and a bout of renewed laughter, the sort of laughter brother and sister hadn’t shared in years.