Griffin was there, right on time, with Amara, Kyler and Cleo the next morning. Roff and Giff had gotten me up, showered and dressed me and then herded me off to breakfast. Gabron canceled my meetings for the day and then sent out a decree (after I signed it), declaring the two days at the end of every week as off-days for all involved in politics on Le-Ath Veronis.
Gardevik and two other High Demons came with us, once we arrived at the palace in Veshtul. Yurevik Weth and Dremevik Greth had blades strapped to their backs and were prepared to protect us, although the weapons wouldn't be needed if they went Thifilathi.
"What do you want?" Those words greeted us as we walked up to the woman. Griffin had folded us to her—she was sitting on a bench outside what had once been a comesuli bakery. My nose told me that the rising bread had soured and insects had invaded the flour and other grains. The woman, however, was beautiful and would be for years to come. One day, age would find her, though, and she would die. If she didn't manage to kill herself with inaction before then. Of course, with the murderous tendencies of the former Ra'Ak, she could always fall by another's hand.
"We wish to speak with your child," Griffin said.
"Callan!" The woman shouted. A young boy came running. He looked too frightened to do otherwise. He already appeared malnourished.
"He is seven years of age?" Griffin asked. I could have answered that for him but held my tongue.
"I don't recall his exact age," the woman snapped. "It doesn't matter, does it?"
"Not anymore," I snapped back. The boy and I disappeared.
"Where are we?" Callan asked, as we landed on another world.
"On a world called Mendenath," I replied, taking his hand. "Some of your family is here and I'm going to leave you with them," I looked down into his cherubic face. He had his mother's dark hair and green eyes.
"Will they have food?" Callan asked. He was hungry, I knew.
"I hope so," I told him. We walked through an open field for a little way until we found a makeshift village. Someone was cooking; I could smell a simple stew boiling as we walked up.
"Callan?" A woman pushed back the flap of a tent fashioned of animal skins.
"Aunt Zela?" Callan let go of my hand and ran to her. She pulled him into an embrace.
"He's hungry," I called out.
"I know," the boy's aunt replied. "We'll feed him."
There wasn't any need for me to stay; I knew she'd take care of the boy. I folded back to Kifirin. "Sorry," I apologized. "I took him to his Aunt Zela."
"She always was soft," the woman snorted.
"Nothing wrong with that," I said. "We're done here." Griffin folded us to the next spot.
I knew right away that the fourteen-year-old was as hard as his mother. We didn't stay long. The sixteen-year-old was the same. It happened quickly with these, looked like. We left them. Griffin folded us one last time. We were outside a shop that had once sold pottery. A few items remained—things the comesula proprietor hadn't bothered to take with him. Nobody was sitting out front at this one. Briefly, I wondered what Griffin wanted with this one. The moment she walked out the door and I got a whiff, I knew.
Kyler was about to go crazy and Cleo looked ill. Amara attempted to comfort both of Griffin's granddaughters. Griffin was angry, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Garde and the two High Demon guards had no idea what was going on. They knew as soon as the woman opened her mouth.
"Well, Brenten, you brought this on us, didn't you?"
Chapter 3
I stared at my grandmother for a second or two before I let her have it. "He didn't have anything to do with this," I spat. "You did well enough, bringing this on yourselves."
"And who are you?" She dismissed me with a contemptuous blink of her beautiful, gold eyes. Kyler and Cleo had those eyes. It might explain the gold flecks in Griffin's eyes, too.
"The one who put you here," I answered her question, reining in my temper. One more step and she'd be within range of my claws. That wouldn't do—I had a feeling my father wanted something from her. I hoped it wasn't love or affection—she was incapable of either. She called me an extremely unkind name in the Elemaiyan language. I didn't care. "You will answer all of Daddy's questions honestly, from this point forward," I laid compulsion and put power in it. I'd probably shocked the hell out of Griffin by calling him Daddy, but we needed to close ranks against this one. She blinked at me a time or two as my compulsion settled over her brain.
"You're his daughter." She said it flatly.
"Obviously. Daddy, she's all yours." I stepped back and motioned Griffin forward. Garde was at my back, suddenly, his hands on my shoulders while Griffin asked his mother questions.
"Who is my father?" That was his first question and I wanted to weep. I'd only waited forty-eight years to find out who my father was. Griffin was over a hundred thousand and he still didn't know.
"You are fortunate that she placed the compulsion." My grandmother hissed, cutting her eyes toward me. "Your father—well, he placed a spell of his own, when I refused to stay with him and refused to bring you back to him. He told me I couldn't tell anyone unless I brought you back. I told him to go f**k himself." She laughed at the memory. "Brenten, your father was Karathian. Wylend Arden was his name. A powerful Warlock he was—more powerful than even I guessed. Not many could place a spell on any of us and have it hold like that," she snorted at the thought.
"You are only half Elemaiya," Griffin went on, as if the information regarding his father was of no consequence. I knew better—he was rattled but refused to allow his mother to see how she'd upset him. "What happened to your parents?"
"My Elemaiyan mother died. As did my sorry Traveler father. They kept me away from my people until I was nearly twenty."
"You killed them—your parents." I gave her a hard look.
"They kept me away from my people," my grandmother snapped. "They deserved what they got."
"Do I have any sisters or brothers?" Griffin asked his next question.
"All are dead except for one half-brother and he may be gone soon," she laughed humorlessly. "I left him at an orphanage on Beliphar more than fifty years ago. Good luck on finding him."
"You are pathetic," Kyler growled. "I should release your particles."
"No, sister." Cleo stepped forward and she was shining. What I saw next even I wasn't expecting. Cleo had wings. Beautiful wings that spread about her, their shining whiteness glowing in the morning sun upon Kifirin. Cleo reached out and touched her great-grandmother on the forehead, causing the woman to shriek in agony and then drop, weeping, to the ground.