Page 27 of Winds of Ruin
I’d seen him around the grounds of Luz once or twice, and I wondered if his parents lived in the Central Corridor. Egress travel made it commonplace to work across Corridors, but I found it surprising that I recognized his face.
“Dritan,” he answered, beginning to scrub away at his spill.
“Well, Dritan… with men like Garish, it’s best to find humor in their ill temper.”
The boy’s bright blue eyes widened, and he paused. “What do you mean?”
“It means keep scrubbing that brick before the paint dries—but imagine all you’d say to him if there were no consequenceswhile you do so. I’ll go first. ‘Garish, you grumpy old goat, how aboutyoupaint the damned trim!’” I beat my fist in the air playfully in the direction my construction manager had stormed off.
Dritan laughed but shook his head as he worked away the drying paint. “I’m thankful Garish gave me this job, Lady Lamoreaux. I can’t disrespect him, even in my head. He’s let me work a schedule around school so that I might afford an apprenticeship with a blacksmith next year.”
I smiled and nodded. “Right then. I suppose that makes you more honorable than me. Have you saved enough?”
His face fell. “Not yet. But I’m still hopeful.”
I glanced around the garden beds and the already overgrown ivy. I didn’t have time to tend to it all. “How are you at landscaping?”
He shrugged. “I’m decent with a pair of garden shears.”
“Would you be available to help me here a few afternoons a week?”
A grin spread across his features—so oddly familiar. I’d definitely seen him at Luz. “Yes, Lady Lamoreaux. I’d like that very much, thank you.”
“Aunt El!” Lark ran up the tree-lined hill. “Come see, come see!”
My niece stopped short with wide eyes when she spotted the boy scrubbing bricks.
He stared at her, and her mouth hung agape in awkward awe.
“Good day, Princess Larkspur.” Dritan bowed, revealing the white streak on the top of his head. He inadvertently coated the leg of his breeches with paint from the wire brush. I hoped he was less clumsy with shears…
“Good day!” she squeaked back. I didn’t have time to rib Lark over her girlish blushing. She grabbed my wrist and began dragging me down the hill toward the stables.
We trudged through the soggy field between the plum trees. I’d spent so long in the Sahlms’ deserts that the shades of red, brown, and beige had grown dull.
My favorite part about Lamoreaux this time of year was all the color—rich purple leaves, green grass dusted with a faint shine of morning dew. Bushes of wild berries and an array of flowers cropped up wherever they pleased. While I’d have Dritan protect the structure of the estate from ivy and tend to the gardens, the untamed nature of the orchard would remain untouched. It brought me too much joy to alter.
At the bottom of the hill sat a five-stall stable, fitted with living quarters over it. I’d stayed in that loft for years while the construction went on. I’d finally gone through all the centuries-old, dusty crates of memories and preserved what I could. My father’s old watch ticked at my side. I’d had it repaired and offered it to Fen, but he told me to keep it or give it to someone special to me.
At the stable doors, Cassidee and Wyeth stood with their backs facing me, staring at something just inside.
The two horses and Sparkles were whinnying with excitement. I’d taken in Emmerick’s old faithful black draft at his request to live out his retirement in the orchard alongside my mount, a small bay mare. The horses kicked the stall doors, clearly dismayed by whatever occupiedtheirbarn.
Cass threw a live fish into the mouth of a creature the size of a large wolf. The animal’s beak remained wide-open, waiting for another, and it let out a high-pitched chirp, leaping up on its back feline haunches like a kitten batting yarn.
A Griffith chick.
With the head and talons of a hawk and the body of a giant cat, the flying predators were distant relations to Lynx. Only Griffiths were, more fortunately, graced with flight.
The chick flapped its veiny, featherless wings. The beastly little thing chirped again and ruffled the feathers around its neck.
“What do we have here?” I asked, giving both Cass and Wyeth a skeptical glance.
“This is Mayra,” Cass said, with a wide grin.
“And what is Mayra doing in my barn?” I crossed my arms.
Wyeth lifted a brow. “She needed a home.”
