Will sat at a battered table in the staff chow hall and stared down at the unholy mess on his food tray.

Three years on active duty in the Griffin Corps, and the Tennessan Bonded Training Academy hadn’t changed in the slightest. Same mix of ancient and new buildings enclosed by thick walls, same frantic rush of cadets hurrying to their next class, same spicy-sweet smell of dragon and griffin and horse hanging heavy in the air.

Same casseroles of leftover sadness.

His eyes briefly burned as his griffin looked through them to see what was distressing her rider.

“Wow.” Kahlan was silent for a heartbeat. “Glad I don’t have to eat that.”

Will gave her a playful mental shove, and she retreated with a snicker. A second tray landed on the table next to his, and Livi gracefully sat on the bench beside him. The other griffin rider was dressed in the same brown riding leathers he was, her dark hair neatly braided and her eyes the same shade of green as the deepest forest.

“You know, when I was a cadet, I always figured cadre ate better than us.” Livi dug her spoon into the mixture of eggs and potato and unidentifiable vegetables and let it drip back onto the tray. “Now I know why they were always so grumpy.”

“There wasn’t even any bacon,” Will muttered.

A suspicious silence drew his gaze sideways. Livi smirked as she bit into a perfectly cooked slice. He didn’t bother to ask how she’d managed to get it. He just noted the slight bump under her carefully folded napkin and quietly plotted to steal the other piece.

“I’ll make you a deal.” She enticingly waved the bacon in front of his face, pulling it back before he could bite it. “I’ll give you a piece . . . if you tell me how you pulled off that stunt during the Fort Signal run.”

“What stunt?” he asked, casually shifting closer to her.

“You know what stunt!” Livi hissed, though a little heat flared in her eyes when his leg brushed against hers. “We find Savinian soldiers camped well inside the border, no fires, no bantering, and instead of retreating and calling in air support—”

“Livi, we’re not actually at war with Savinia,” he interrupted mildly. “Dropping napalm on their heads seemed like just a bit of an overreaction.”

He took a casual sip of his bitter, burned coffee and grimaced. Damned chow hall couldn’t even get coffee right.

“We’re not at war with them yet,” she snapped. “And instead of calling in the dragon riders like we should have, you relay ‘cover me.’”

Will chuckled at her gravelly impression of his voice and set his mug down next to her napkin.

“The next thing I know, you’ve somehow slipped into the middle of their camp—a camp of Savinian raiders—and stampeded all their horses!”

“Oh, that stunt.”

He supposed they could’ve called in an air strike, but he’d rather not push his country toward open conflict with Savinia any faster than it was already. Besides . . . it was much more fun to mess with them than kill them. Kahlan trilled in smug agreement, lightly padding through his thoughts as she always did.

“Wild!” Livi snapped his griffin name, waving her bacon in his face again. “How?!”

“Easy.” Will smirked. “I’m sneaky.”

“So am I, and I still have no idea how you pulled that one off!” she growled, nudging his side with a sharp elbow. “Teach me your ways, o sneaky one.”

Will winked, blue eyes that shone with silver in the right light dancing in amusement. “That would be telling.”

He held up the piece of bacon he’d stolen from her and grinned. Livi’s mouth dropped open as she looked down at her empty napkin and back up to him.

“Bastard.”

Will calmly took a bite. “Sneaky bastard.”

The door crashed open, and both lieutenants snapped their heads around as a breathless first-year cadet dashed inside. A frantic glance around the mostly empty chow hall, then perfectly normal brown eyes settled on them. The young man’s eyes wouldn’t change until he bonded to a dragon or griffin in his third year, if he chose to take that final, irrevocable step.

“Sir, ma’am!” The unbonded cadet crashed to attention on the other side of their table, chin up and shoulders back. “The Head Maven has requested your presence in her office!”

A twist of fear cramped Will’s gut, killing what little appetite he had left. Fur and feathers brushed against his mind, a reminder that he was never alone. He exchanged a heavy glance with Livi before he looked up at the cadet, who was still struggling to catch his breath.

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“No, sir.” The cadet’s expression twitched, as if he’d suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Right. Because the Head Maven was in the habit of explaining herself to anyone, let alone a first-year cadet.

Will rolled his eyes at himself since the young man had too much discipline to do it and waved a hand in dismissal. The cadet took off as quickly as he’d arrived, sunlight briefly shining into the room before he slammed the door behind him, leaving them in a thick silence.

Livi stared straight ahead, expression perfectly composed. He held his hand out to her, waiting patiently until she gripped it with surprising strength. Surprising to anyone who didn’t know her.

The slender griffin rider always seemed calm and collected, but whenever she smiled, her forest green eyes would light up with mirth like sunlight shining through the trees, completely destroying her carefully cultivated exterior. Her impeccable professional bearing wasn’t all illusion though—Livi was iron, through and through, and there wasn’t anyone else he’d rather have at his back.

Those forest green eyes glazed over, a clear sign she was speaking with her griffin Ragnar, and he swept his gaze over her defined cheekbones, the freckles scattered across her nose, the hint of a smile softening her expression. Will hadn’t actually known her when they were cadets—Livi had been held back a year by an injury—but they’d been stationed together at Fort Mayberry, and after one memorable scouting run, they’d become close.

Their griffins had become inseparable.

“You think this is about Ragnar and Kahlan?” Livi finally asked, voice rock steady but her hand tightening on his to the point of pain.

“Of course it’s about us. Our mating produced two eggs.” Kahlan preened. “The Mavens said I’m very special.”

“I think the words they used were highly unusual, furball.” A phantom tail smacked him, feathers tickling deep in his mind. Huffing a ghost of a laugh, Will drew Livi to her feet. “Only one way to find out.”

Together, they strode out into the early afternoon, the heavy air enveloping them like a wet blanket. Summers in western Tennessan were not for the faint of heart. He’d much rather be in the mountains this time of year, but when Kahlan had unexpectedly become gravid after mating with Ragnar, they’d been ordered to the academy so the Mavens could medically examine both griffins—thoroughly. The Mavens might not control when dragons or griffins went into heat, but they absolutely controlled when matings produced offspring, and Kahlan should not have quickened outside of their ferociously controlled parameters.

The Mavens had long since finished their examinations, and Kahlan had long since recovered from laying her eggs, but they hadn’t been cleared to return to active duty yet. Will had passed impatient days ago, and Livi was wearing out her bow on the archery range. But while the Mavens existed outside of the military command structure, there was no doubt how much power they wielded over the bonded and their riders, so at the academy they remained.

Jodies rang out as a formation of second-year cadets in lightweight mottled-green uniforms marched across the quad followed by a gaggle of first-years struggling to match their precision. Shadows rippled across the green grass, dragons soaring high overhead in the achingly blue sky, while a trio of young griffins tumbled through the air, trilling in excitement as a patient instructor griffin glided after them.

Despite his frustration, Will smiled at the sight, remembering when Kahlan had been that young and having the time of her life figuring out her wings. His smile widened as his griffin bounded across the quad side by side with a brawny male and fell into step beside him.

“I was never so ungainly as those cubs,” she remarked, silvery blue eyes following his gaze.

Will wordlessly sent her a memory of a tawny griffin cub with undersized wings flipping beak over tail as she tried and failed to fly across the quad the first time. It had taken him hours to scrub the grass stains from her dappled fur.

Kahlan sniffed, tufted ears flattening. “I have no memory of that.”

“Of course not.”

He locked gazes with Livi for a heartbeat, found the same smile hovering on her lips, the same fond exasperation in her eyes as she stroked a hand down Ragnar’s neck, where golden-brown feathers shifted to darker brown fur. But their brisk pace slowed as they stepped into the cool shade cast by the gray duracrete walls of the hatchery. He allowed his hand to brush against hers.

“It’ll be okay.”

Livi locked her gaze to his, not a trace of fear or uncertainty lurking in those dark green depths. “Yes. It will.”

They left their griffins outside and walked into the humid hatchery, striding down the metal corridors with their steady lights glowing in the ceiling, past the griffin and dragon hatcheries and creches, down a cross-corridor into the admin section, and all the way to the Head Maven’s office at the very end. Where they waited on the wrong side of that reinforced steel door for a long span of minutes, sweating in their riding leathers until, at last, a light, feminine voice called permission to enter.

The Head Maven sat behind her desk, hands folded and resting on the surface, soft blue robes draping her slender frame and a welcoming smile on her lightly lined face. She appeared somewhere in her mid-sixties, with white hair in a thick braid down to her waist and sharp blue eyes. A second Maven stood behind her chair, cloaked and hooded and silent.

The Head Maven waited until the door was firmly shut, waited until they stood before her desk, before she spoke again.

“I thought you’d both like to know we discovered how Kahlan produced offspring when she should not have laid any eggs at all. A genetic variation that we did not introduce ourselves.”

Kahlan surged forward, and Will blinked against the burn as she looked through his eyes, listened through his ears.

“We meddle, and Mother Nature laughs.” The Head Maven smiled faintly at them both. “There was talk of sterilizing your griffin . . .”

A roaring sound filled Will’s ears and he tensed, hands curling into tight fists. He would take Kahlan and run. Run to the northern reaches, to the free territories and dark forests and dire wolf packs before he ever let them lay a hand on his bondmate.

At a brush of a hand against his and a rumbling purr in his mind, he smoothed out his expression, tucked away his rage and panic, made it small so it wouldn’t influence his next actions. Which very much depended on what the Head Maven said next. Will met her sharp blue eyes and found her watching him patiently, waiting for him to master himself, the hooded Maven standing protectively beside her. She lifted a hand, and the hooded Maven drifted back to her original position. He hadn’t even seen her move.

“I overruled them,” she said quietly. “The variation is harmless, a rare predisposition for twins that bypassed our controls.”

“Told you I was special.” Kahlan’s tone was pure griffin arrogance, but her reassuring purr never faltered.

Will leaned on his bondmate and took a moment to breathe, to regain his professional bearing. Livi tilted her head and smirked, deliberately drawing attention to give him that moment.

“Griffins are sneaky.”

“Yes, they are, child.” The Head Maven smiled warmly. “One of many reasons why I adore those delightful creatures. We’ve adjusted for it so Kahlan will not quicken again unless she is meant to, but I’m looking forward to seeing how this new genetic quirk develops down the line.”

Will had no doubt the Head Maven would be watching Kahlan’s descendants. Closely.

“Are we cleared to return to active duty then, ma’am?”

“Yes, but not cleared to return to Fort Mayberry.”

“Ma’am?”

“Your commander was kind enough to lend you to me. I find myself in need of a message runner. A sneaky one.”

Livi stilled beside him, spine straight and expression a flawless mask. “Just him, ma’am?”

“No,” she replied with a wave of her hand and a smile. “Where I need to send you, two riders are better than one.”

Relief whispered through him and through Kahlan, both of them so entangled he couldn’t tell where his emotion ended and hers began. Exactly as it should be. There was no hint of any matching relief on Livi’s face, but he knew it was there.

“And where are you sending us, ma’am?” Will asked quietly.

The Head Maven sobered, and even the hooded Maven seemed to tense beneath her cloak.

“To the Southern Marshes.”

#

The Southern Marshes lay beyond the civilized borders of Tennessan. The region had different names on the older maps, but things changed, were still changing. After the Shattering, Tennessan and Savinia had formed actual countries, but great swaths of the continent were not so stable. Cunning traders to the south, enigmatic nomadic tribes to the north, a terrifying wasteland full of monsters and desert heat to the west . . . though Will often wondered how the broken beasts of the Western Wastes stacked up against what lived deep within the Smoke Mountains.

A quick stop in the cadre’s small Ops Center to plan and log their intended route, a quicker stop to gather their gear, and they were ready to go.

The Head Maven had been quite specific with her instructions. They were to travel to Iberia Trading Post, make contact with another Maven in the marketplace, and deliver a message. A simple enough task, and a dragon would’ve been much faster—but they were flashier, too, and the Head Maven didn’t want flashy. She needed sneaky. That didn’t mean they had to travel the entire way on worn boots and velvet griffin paws. A pair of grays was tasked with carrying them to Taska Outpost on the southwestern Tennessan border. It cut their journey time in half, but Will hated flying.

He never allowed his discomfort to affect his riding, but it was there. Always had been. He’d gone to the academy knowing he didn’t belong in the air, but on the back of a griffin. He wasn’t afraid of heights, wasn’t afraid to fall, he just . . . didn’t love the wind. Not like some riders did.

As much as he hated flying, it was nothing compared to Kahlan and Ragnar’s utter hatred of being carried. But the urgency of their orders hadn’t allowed for them to fly slow enough for griffins to keep up, so carry harnesses and grumpy griffins it was.

They were all better off than Livi, who’d just leaned over the side of her dragon to vomit for the third time since they’d left the academy. The gray dragon carrying her simply tilted on one wing with excellent timing, a graceful maneuver that probably made Livi’s airsickness that much worse. Will bit back a grin, but only because she was likely to shoot him someplace unfortunate if she caught him laughing at her.

The swift grays had long since left the rolling green hills surrounding the academy behind and flew in a tight formation down the Mistmurk River, twisting and turning to follow the gentle curves ever south. As the sun sank toward the horizon, fat-bellied clouds raced up from the southwest, and cool rain lashed across them as they flew through the storm. Will hunched lower behind the stocky dragon rider and quietly endured.

Kahlan did not quietly endure, and kept up a constant litany of complaints throughout the long flight. There was no hiding his amusement from her, and he knew he’d pay for his laughter at some point very soon.

Midnight had come and gone by the time they landed at Taska. The dragon riders only paused long enough for their passengers to dismount before they were gone again in a flurry of booming wingbeats. The outpost was little more than a sturdy stockade enclosing a handful of wooden buildings, but it was well-maintained and manned by a squadron of Tennessan soldiers who gave both riders and griffins a dry place to sleep.

They hit the trail before the sun rose. Not an hour out from Taska, the man-made trail petered out into a narrow deer path. Birds sang as oranges and pinks washed across the dawn sky and a pair of griffins loped through thick trees and rolling hills. Horses would’ve struggled with the terrain, but griffins were made for this. Will breathed in the forest and smiled, hands resting lightly on his bondmate’s neck and spine flexing with every leaping stride.

He was made for this.

And then Kahlan bucked hard, twisting with feline grace and sending her rider flying off her back—straight into a mud puddle. Will wiped mud off his face, glaring as his griffin trilled with bright laughter.

“Serves you right!”

She stopped laughing when he slung a handful of mud at her face.

“You were saying, furball?”

Will didn’t need to look through his griffin’s eyes to know that he was coated in stinking mud, but he couldn’t stop grinning, couldn’t hide his love for his griffin, and so didn’t bother to try. He just sat in the mud and laughed as she clacked her beak in disgust, shaking her head to fling mud everywhere as Livi and Ragnar laughed at them both.

Kahlan stalked over to him, silvery blue eyes narrowed, tail lashing, ears flattened . . . and then she nuzzled his dirty face, her own trilling laughter spilling out once more.

#

Three days passed. Three days of talking and riding and camping under the stars. Three days of freedom from the academy and enforced idleness as they traveled ever south, keeping west of the Mistmurk River. It would’ve been easier to ride down in the lowlands surrounding the great river, but predators hunted those shores, some of them large enough to challenge griffins.

Griffin riders took risks, but only ones worth taking.

On the fourth day, the terrain slowly transitioned from hardwood forests to cypress and tupelo, solid ground to swampland. The air grew heavy and oppressive, far more humid than the academy at its worst, and clouds of small insects plagued them incessantly, no matter how much peppermint and rosemary oil they rubbed into skin and fur.

“I wonder how our eggs are doing,” Livi mused as their griffins picked their way around the deeper pools of water, keeping to the firmer paths as much as possible.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Will grunted dismissively as he slapped at the side of his neck, crushing a biting insect before it could draw blood.

“Come on, Wild, we’re going to be co-parents soon,” she said with a teasing grin. “We need to take this responsibility seriously. Whoever bonds our babies will be our sons- or daughters-in-law!”

Will bit back a grin. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I was bored. We had nothing to do the past few weeks.”

“Nothing?” He shot her a look, and pink lightly dusted her sun-bronzed cheeks.

“Anyways, we should ask if we can see the eggs when we get back.” Livi’s legs clamped tightly to Ragnar’s sides as he leaped over a rotting log. “They’re due to hatch in what . . . a couple of months?”

“I dare you to ask the Mavens to see them. I dare you.”

The Mavens had taken possession of the eggs, as they always did, and would care for them until the cubs were ready to hatch and meet their bondmates. They weren’t in the habit of allowing anyone in the hatchery’s restricted sections to see what exactly they did to produce the various dragon specialties, and with the rumors they were working on a different breed of griffin to combat some kind of new Savinian monster, they were even less likely to allow a couple of curious lieutenants back there.

Kahlan leaped over the same log and surged forward to trot next to Ragnar, water splashing with every velvet-pawed step.

“I should be able to see them if I want,” she said unexpectedly. Her tufted ears flicked, wings momentarily tightening on his legs as she carried her rider through a wide swath of water-choked reeds. “They are . . . not mine, not anymore, but they were.”

Ragnar purred deep in his chest, forest green eyes gleaming as he brushed a wing along Kahlan’s side. Before Will could figure out what to say to his griffin, the reeds right in front of them rustled. Kahlan reared back in alarm, Will’s legs automatically tightening around her sides to keep his seat and one hand reaching for the bow slung across his back.

Thwack!

Livi lowered her bow, a smug little smile on her lips but her eyes deadly serious. Growling, Kahlan hooked her claws into something and tugged hard until a limp, angular head emerged from beneath the reeds. Deep crimson leaked from a clean hole between the eyes. Livi’s arrow had gone straight through its skull.

Will might be sneakier, but Livi was by far the better shot.

“Big snake,” she murmured, those deadly eyes scanning the reeds around them and another arrow already nocked.

Big snake was an understatement. That head was roughly the size of a griffin’s, and what he could see of the muscular body was thicker than his thigh. He unslung his own short recurve bow and set arrow to string. Griffin ears listened and scout eyes searched, but there were no more rustles, no more slow slides of green amid the yellow reeds and brown muck. Just the incessant buzzing of insects and the haunting song of some kind of bird. At least, he hoped that echoing, wailing call was a bird.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said in the low, clear voice griffin riders were trained to use in hostile territory—and his griffin instincts were insisting this had just become hostile territory.

Not because of the snake.

That wailing call echoed across the swamp again, closer than before, ending in a terrifying meld of barks and clicks that in no way came from an avian throat. The swamp fell silent, not even the insects seemed to buzz. The hairs on the back of Will’s neck refused to lie flat, and both Kahlan and Ragnar’s hackles stood tall. Claws flexed, and bows creaked, riders and griffins perfectly in sync. Griffin-sharp senses scanning the shadows beneath the tangled cypress and tupelo, muscles poised to fight or flee.

But the wailing call was further away the next time it sounded, the barking clicks echoing deeper in the swamp. Still, none of them relaxed as that wailing call moved further and further away, until it had faded with distance. A silent gesture, a whisper down the bond, and they crept out of the reeds, away from whatever monster hunted the marshes that day.

Minutes crawled past, but then birds, actual birds, sang their strange songs once more, and small furry things darted and crept through boughs and brush. Will let the tension flow out of his body and flicked his gaze toward Livi as they rode beneath a massive cypress, moss dripping from its wide branches.

“Thanks for having my back.”

Her eyes met his, and she allowed him to see the relief in those forest green depths. “Always.”

#

The miles passed beneath steady griffin paws as they trotted through the increasingly strange lands. Dragonflies as big as Will’s hand flitted overhead on gossamer wings, faceted eyes reminding him of a blue dragon’s farseeing gaze, though they lacked the same crystalline clarity of those rare dragons. Ripples cut through the deeper ponds and pools, iridescent-scaled fish occasionally surfacing from beneath jewel-toned water lilies to snatch insects from the surface. And those wailing calls and barks repeated no less than three times, the cries just different enough to make it clear it wasn’t the same monster tracking them. Each time, they waited out the heavy silence that followed before continuing on their way, riders and griffins both grateful to never get close enough to catch a glimpse at whatever hunted the marshes.

Later that afternoon, Kahlan and Ragnar both drew to an uncertain stop, heads tilting as they studied the path forward. At first, Will couldn’t see what had drawn their attention, but then the sunlight shifted, and he stiffened in the saddle. Translucent, near-invisible spiderwebs stretched between the trees ahead in a solid sheet that reached far above the griffin’s heads. Kahlan took a single, cautious step to the right, and the full extent of the webs were revealed.

The deeper into the marsh Will peered, the thicker the webs became. Faint vibrations shivered along those strands, though whether they were caused by trapped prey or the web-makers was impossible to tell. Sunlight speared through the cypress and moss, doing nothing to penetrate the gloom cloaking those web-strewn trees. Gray gossamer sparkled in the sun, but it wasn’t beautiful, it was . . . a warning. One they were happy to heed.

That diversion cost them time, but better than facing whatever was large enough to make webs like that. Especially when there was nothing to be gained from facing it.

Hours later, Ragnar caught the scent of wood smoke on the evening breeze. The brawny male angled their course to the right until they intercepted a raised, hard-packed dirt causeway cutting through the marsh in a relatively straight line. Out of an abundance of caution, they remained in the trees, paralleling the road without setting foot on it.

“I miss dry paws,” Kahlan sighed, staring at that pale strip of road with envious eyes.

“Thank you for carrying me.” Will leaned forward and scratched behind her tufted ears. “You’re amazing.”

“Obviously. I’m a griffin.”

As purple twilight settled over the marshes, torchlight and watchfires flickered between the trees, highlighting their first glimpse of Iberia Trading Post and its imposing stockade walls. Laughter and shouts rang out across the still waters, echoed off the trees, the voices perhaps a little rough around the edges but sounding relaxed and friendly enough.

Both griffins slunk deeper into the shadows and stood close enough for Will and Livi’s legs to brush with every breath.

“What’s the play?” Livi relayed through their griffins, eyes steady on his face.

Will listened to those laughing voices, his gut growing tighter. He wished the Mavens had designated a quieter meeting place.

The Southern Marshes were a loose collection of city-states, with no overarching government unless one counted the various merchant clans who held sway over the region with their intricate web of business pacts and trade routes. But while Iberia Trading Post was on the smaller side and not truly independent—their allegiance owed to the sprawling Batan City-State closer to the Gulf—the place wasn’t small by any means.

They’d discussed the best approach on the journey south, but hadn’t arrived at a decision. Most of the merchant clans seemed to find the border clashes between Savinia and Tennessan profitable, but the smartest ones kept a wary eye on their northern neighbors and a close hand on their trade goods. None were truly hostile, but that didn’t mean it was smart for griffin riders to advertise who and what they were.

“What do you think?” Will murmured, stalling for time.

“It’s your call,” Livi relayed grumpily. “You’re the senior officer.”

There was no rank between lieutenants, but he’d commissioned a year before her so she was technically correct. She was also hiding behind the technicality because the twist to her mouth said she already knew the right call and didn’t like it any better than he did. His hands tightened on Kahlan, fingers digging beneath tawny feathers, an instinctive reaction to what he knew they had to do.

No rider wanted to be separated from their bonded, but sometimes the situation called for it.

“The Head Maven wanted sneaky, so we’ll be sneaky,” he said at last, reluctantly sliding from Kahlan’s back, boots splashing into the watery muck.

“Ha! Now who’s got the wet paws.”

“Both of us, furball.” Will gently rested his forehead against Kahlan’s and breathed her in, spicy cinnamon momentarily overwhelming the pungent scents of the marsh. “Be careful out here.”

“We’ll be fine, love.” She curled her neck around him, then stepped back with Ragnar.

A lingering glance, and then the griffins ghosted into the trees, leaving their riders to slog through the muck to the dry road. They shook their boots dry as best they could and strode for the torchlit stockade walls of Iberia, bows slung on their backs and daggers sheathed at their hips. Not openly threatening, but not harmless either. A careful line to walk.

After days on the trail where it was just their voices, the sheer volume of noise coming from the trading post was nearly overwhelming. But Livi just squared her shoulders and marched toward the open gates, flickering torches casting shadows across her strong face.

As Will followed her, a heavily cloaked figure pushed past him, heading out onto the road. Will wasn’t particularly tall, but he was all muscle and griffin-born balance, and that beast of a man knocked him sideways like he was a child. As he regained his footing, he snapped a hard glance over his shoulder. Cold shot through him as his sharp eyes caught the distinctive leather and metal studded armor hidden beneath the enveloping cloak.

“Eyes open and ears up,” he snapped, relaying what he’d seen through their griffins.

To her credit, Livi didn’t so much as flinch. She just fell back to stride at his side like a slim blade as they moved through the narrow passage between the outer and inner gates beneath the watchful gaze of Iberian guardsmen.

“What the hell is a Savinian marauder doing all the way out here?”

“I don’t know, but I’m rethinking my decision to leave our griffins out of sight.”

“No . . . I think it was still the right call.” Livi glanced up at him, green eyes glittering in the gloom. “Neither of us has one of the more unusual eye colors, and our riding leathers aren’t anywhere near as distinctive as marauder armor. We blend.”

Will warily took in their surroundings as they stepped out of the shadow of the towering stockade and into the open market, but she was right. Nobody gave them a second glance.

There were people everywhere, of all types and ages, a wild mix of cultures and accents as they shopped and traded in a space larger than the quad at the academy. Narrow, muddy streets wound deeper into the trading post, lined with more stalls and wares, and Iberian guards patrolled in pairs, wearing heavy leather cuirasses over dark brown uniforms and carrying polearms with hooked blades at the top. Just because the Southern Marshes had no standing armies didn’t mean their trading posts and cities were defenseless.

The noise was even more deafening within the stockade walls, and various smells—some wonderful, most decidedly not—hung in the humid evening air. It was everything the griffin riders could do to keep moving forward into that chaos, as if they encountered markets like this every day.

Will did his best to mimic Livi’s impassive expression as he was jostled by the crowd, trying to look everywhere at once. The Head Maven had told them once they reached Iberia, they were to remain in the open market and wait. The other Maven would find them. But they managed a full circuit without anyone approaching them outside of some of the more aggressive vendors.

“Now what?” Livi murmured quietly, her gaze snagging on a wooden booth featuring gauzy scarves in a rainbow of colors.

Will marked the location for later and was about to suggest another circuit when a faint breeze swept through the crowded market. With a grin, he tugged her toward one of the food stalls perfuming the air with rich spices and seared meat and vegetables.

“Now, we eat.”

“So glad you get good food,” Kahlan grumbled, sharing a mental image of the oversized muskrat she’d eaten for dinner.

“Sorry, furball. But after weeks eating academy slop, nothing is going to ruin—”

Will stumbled to a graceless halt in the middle of the crowd, uncaring of the number of people who bumped past him as he stared into an offshoot of the main market. Somehow, they’d missed it on the first time through. The secondary market was packed with animal enclosures, mostly common livestock like goats and chickens and pigs, but with creatures from the Smoke Mountains mixed in.

Muzzled howlers were crammed into a birdcage, a tangled mass of brown fur, bushy tails, and oversized canines. A two-tailed fire fox was pacing in endless circles, the eerie blue glow of her fur chasing away the shadows of her cage. There was even a kirin, the deadly deerlike beast stomping his cloven hooves in a too-small pen, razor-sharp horn glinting in the torchlight.

All exotic, all deadly in their own ways—but it was the beast in the center cage that had stopped Will in his tracks. His eyes burned as Kahlan surged forward, and her growl rumbled through his mind. Then she faltered.

“That’s not a dragon.”

Livi’s hand clamped tight around his arm, fingers digging in hard enough he felt the pinch through his leathers, and dragged him to the side of the food stall and out of the way. They both stared at the beast, eyes shining just a little too bright as their griffins stared with them.

Kahlan was right. It wasn’t a dragon hatchling, but it looked . . . related at first glance and from a distance. Then they noted the oily black hide and burning yellow eyes, a too-narrow reptilian head and muzzle full of too many fangs, the angular wings and cruel talons. Horribly similar to a dragon but wrong, a broken creature that was obviously coldly vicious and cunning but without a fraction of a dragon’s warmth or intelligence.

“What the hells is that?” Livi breathed in horror.

“They called it a wyvern,” a young voice piped up.

Both riders snapped their heads around and found the food stall’s teenage helper, her arms full of wood for the cooking fire and a smear of ash across her heart-shaped face. She blinked at their too bright eyes, then flicked her gaze up to the torches and seemed to decide it was a trick of the light.

“Savinians just brought it for trade. Some new kind of broken beast they say will change aerial combat.” A trace of unease swept across her young face before she shrugged, hitching the wood higher in her arms. “Doesn’t seem all that scary to me. It’s smaller than my little brother’s pony.”

Dry clicks cut across the noise of the livestock market as the wyvern shrieked and snapped its jaws, throwing itself at the metal bars of its cage in a frenzy. Over and over again, until metal groaned and the crowd pulled away in fear. The teenager swallowed hard and scurried to the back of the stall to tend to the fire.

“So that’s what Savinia has done, what has the Mavens and our commanders so worried.” Livi tilted her head. “How is that going to challenge our dragons?”

“I think it’s still growing,” Will murmured, sharp eyes studying the broken beast and finding the telltale markers of stretching hide. His mind raced and leaped through worst case scenario after scenario. “Who knows how big it’ll get? And look at those talons . . . think of the damage just one could do . . . imagine a whole swarm of those things in the air.”

Livi paled, one hand going to her bow in a white-knuckled grip, while Kahlan paced within his mind, hackles raised and apprehension spiraling through their entangled souls. They all flinched when the cage rattled from the outsized strength of its captive, but then the seller tossed it something red and bloody. The wyvern tore into the meat and licked its jaws. Then it slowly blinked a few times, head weaving on its thin neck, before it lay down.

With the wyvern safely drugged, potential buyers regained their courage and moved back in, voices raised in questions and demands, blocking their view. Most of the crowd seemed focused on the growing excitement over the wyvern, but more than a few people gave the griffin riders a second or third glance. Will ducked his head low and turned Livi so she was facing him with her back to the crowd, stepping close to her as if they were having an intimate conversation.

“Give us a little space, guys. We’re trying not to draw attention.”

Fur and feathers brushed against his mind, and Kahlan and Ragnar withdrew far enough that their rider’s eyes no longer shone suspiciously bright. They had a bare moment to breathe before an older woman dressed in light, flowing clothes stopped beside the food stall and lowered the hood of her cloak. There was something odd about her youthful face, something Will couldn’t put his finger on, but then she spoke and he forgot all about any oddities.

“Well met, griffin riders,” she said in a low, smooth tone. Her gaze seemed to peer deeper and her expression softened. “Well met, Kahlan and Ragnar.”

“Ma’am,” Will replied cautiously, but Kahlan’s low purr rumbled through his mind, his griffin pleased at the Maven’s recognition and acknowledgment. An amused huff from Livi told him Ragnar was just as pleased.

“I believe you have a message from my academy sisters?” the Maven prompted gently, a tiny glint of indulgent amusement gleaming in her dark eyes.

Will examined her for a moment before he pulled the message tube off his belt and passed it to the Maven. She smiled serenely and tucked it beneath her cloak.

“Remain in the trading post. I will bring you a response soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Livi demanded, but the Maven was already striding away, swallowed up by the crowd in an instant. “Damn it.”

Her exasperated sigh was lost beneath the roar of disappointed buyers as the bidding for the wyvern ended. Will watched through narrowed eyes as a well-dressed merchant handed over a heavy pouch to the seller, a shifty-eyed fellow who seemed relieved to be free of the beast.

The merchant’s four guards carried their vicious prize right past them, heading deeper into Iberia instead of out into the marshes. Dread tightened Will’s gut. That cage was nearly as much rust as metal, and those men looked more scruffy mercenary than competent soldier, their armor and weapons as poorly maintained as their hygiene. If the wyvern got loose in the middle of the trading post, he had no doubt it would tear through them, then go after who knew how many people before the Iberian guards brought it down. He’d seen enough killers to recognize an insatiable one. Tricky though, to take it out without hurting the guards and starting a fight he didn’t want and couldn’t win.

A bright laugh drew his gaze as a pair of children scampered past, feet dirty and eyes bright. He made his decision. Livi took one look at his expression and stepped in front of him.

“It’s too risky.”

“Killing the wyvern is a risk worth taking.” Will arched a brow. “You can wait here. I’ll go kill it.”

“Don’t get dramatic on me.” She rolled her eyes. “I meant it’s too risky to do it now. We need to wait until true night and do it properly so it doesn’t interfere in our primary mission. We can’t get caught and chased out of town before the Maven returns with her response.”

“Obviously.” He grinned and gallantly offered his arm. “Walk with me?”

They casually strolled out of the busy market then melted into the shadows, sneaking after the mercenaries and their caged wyvern as only griffin riders could. Following them down winding, muddy streets until the back gate of the trading post came into sight and Will was positive they were leaving after all. Tension seeped out of him. If it got loose in the marshes, away from all these people, it would be the merchant’s problem. But just before the group reached the gate, they turned left onto the perimeter street and took the cage into a small stable tucked up against the inner stockade wall. The merchant headed into the hostel next door, but the guards didn’t leave. They settled into the stable, swilling cheap beer and playing cards.

The griffin riders watched from the shadows of an alley, but eventually their empty bellies grumbled one too many times. Will eased to his feet, ignoring Livi’s sharp glance.

“You’re on watch. I’ll be back.”

In short order, he’d returned with two skewers of seared meat and vegetables from the teenager’s food stall. While Livi was distracted with the first decent meal they’d had in weeks, he slipped the scarf he’d traded “rare” griffin feathers for into her pack. The silky material was an exact match to her forest green eyes, which were currently narrowed in suspicion as she peered at him over her skewer.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing.”

The night deepened, hazy stars barely visible through the thick humid air and the glow of firelight that was never allowed to go out. The trading post gradually grew quieter but never silent, and the marsh sang beyond the stockade walls. At last, the guards in the stable grew tired of their drinking and card games and bedded down in the aisle—with the wyvern and its rusted cage lost to the shadows at the very back, well behind the drunken guards on their sleep rolls.

Still hidden in an alley on the other side of the torchlit courtyard, Will glanced at Livi as she stood and unslung her bow in a single fluid movement. With a slightly feral expression, she sighted down her arrow, shifting position several times before she released the tension on the string with a frustrated growl.

“I don’t have the shot.”

He grinned, feeling just a touch reckless. “Then I guess you’ll have to cover me.”

“Damn it, Wild,” she snapped, but he was already moving toward the stable.

“Kahlan.”

His griffin crooned in bloodthirsty approval at his silent request, sending a tiny surge of energy down the bond then twisting it. The night snapped into crystal clarity. Every shadow banished, every sound and scent magnified. Feline grace flooded his limbs, and his steps went from quiet to completely soundless as he ghosted into the stable.

A single step, and he was past the first guard stretched out in the straw-strewn aisle, an empty tankard still clenched in one hand. The smell of yeasty beer flooded his nose.

Another few steps, and he threaded between the next two sleeping guards. Nothing but empty stalls lined the stable, though the sweet scent of horse and manure quickly overpowered the alcohol.

His next step over a sleeping guard turned into a leap as the man grunted and rolled over mid-snore. He landed silently, one hand braced in the straw, poised to move if any of the four men woke up. But it wasn’t the men who took notice of him.

At a quiet growl, Will’s head snapped up, and he locked eyes with the wyvern. That burning yellow gaze held him hostage for a heartbeat, but he breathed through the instinctive fear and stood, drawing his dagger. He didn’t want the noise of a bowstring to rouse the guards. Poorly trained or not, drunk or not, there were some sounds that always roused a fighter.

He’d have to kill the wyvern silently . . . which meant getting in close.

Blade held steady in one hand, he slipped forward. The broken beast watched him approach, head weaving but vicious eyes never leaving his. Its slowly pushed to its feet and shoved its head through two of the bars, jaws lazily snapping.

Click . . . click . . . click.

A shudder ran down his spine. Whatever it had been drugged with was wearing off. Will didn’t give it a single moment longer. He struck with griffin-gifted speed, one hand clamping its muzzle shut while the other darted between the bars and drove the blade deep into its narrow chest, sharp metal finding beating heart.

A frozen moment where the wyvern fought to live and he fought to keep its jaws shut, to keep it quiet, and then he eased its body to the floor of the crate—and slipped back out of the stable with the guards none the wiser. It was a matter of seconds to get back to the shadowed alley and a wide-eyed Livi. He winked at her as he casually cleaned and sheathed his dagger.

“Thanks for covering me.”

“That’s how you pulled off that stunt with the horses,” she breathed in his ear, forgetting to relay in her shock. “How did you move like that?”

“He became a little more griffin, child.” The Maven was suddenly just there, peering at them from beneath her hood with knowing eyes that saw far too much. “An ability not all griffins can bestow upon their rider. Your Kahlan is very special indeed.”

“Told you so,” his griffin said smugly.

“Yes, you’re very special,” Will said dryly, but he sent her a burst of pride and love as she carefully released her hold on their bond. Just like every time, it took him a moment to adjust to the sudden heaviness of his body, but he breathed through it.

The Maven observed with her head slightly tilted, as if she were taking mental notes, before she glanced at the stable with its sleeping guards and slain wyvern. For a heartbeat, such rage flashed across her face that Will’s hand dropped back to his dagger. He’d never trusted the Mavens, but this was the first time he’d been afraid of one. In the next instant, her serene expression returned, and she walked away, gesturing for them to follow.

Livi didn’t move, steady gaze on him, waiting for him to make the call. He debated for a brief moment. Was the Maven’s anger because the wyvern existed, or because he’d killed it? In the end, he decided it didn’t matter, and he eased out of the alley, Livi at his heels.

Moving as silently as any griffin rider could wish, the Maven led them away from the stable, back through the sleepy trading post to the gate they’d originally entered, and out into the marsh . . . unerringly leading them straight to where their griffins hid.

She waited patiently as the griffins greeted their riders, quiet trills and rumbling purrs blending with the night song of the marsh.

“I have a response for you to take back,” the Maven said once their griffins had calmed.

Will dropped his gaze, expected a message tube. But her hands were empty and she simply smiled, though there was an edge of sadness marring her serene expression.

“No.”

And then she slipped away and was gone.

#

A long week later, they were back in the Head Maven’s office. There was no surprise on her lightly lined face at their report on the wyvern, only grim acceptance, but her expression grew very still at the response to her message. Will remembered the flash of anger on the other Maven’s face and tightened his jaw.

“Is it my fault, ma’am? Would the answer have been different if I hadn’t killed the wyvern?”

“In all likelihood, it wouldn’t have made any difference.” The Head Maven let out a quiet sigh, suddenly looking far older. “My sisters in the Northern Reaches responded to my message in the same way, if in more colorful language.”

For long moments, she was quiet, gaze distant in thought. The hooded Maven stood behind her, an unmoving shadow that never took her attention from the young lieutenants. At last, the Head Maven focused on them once more, and something in her expression sent fear shooting through Will’s chest.

“I have one more mission for you before I release you back to your normal duties. It will not be quick or easy, but it is vital. Take two days, then report to the landing field at first light on the third. A senior cadet will be tasked with carrying you to the border.”

Will frowned. “Ma’am—”

The Head Maven lifted her chin. “That will be all.”

#

After two days to rest, recover, and suffer through academy food, they reported to the academy landing field at first light on the third day as ordered. They skipped breakfast this time.

A red dragon waited for them, wings flexing in slow stretches, tail twitching impatiently, fiery gold eyes watching as they approached. Still young, still growing, but more than big enough to carry two extra riders and a pair of disgruntled griffins. His rider leaned against his side, fourth-year rank on his wide shoulders and a smirk on his rugged face.

“Hey, Livi.”

She sniffed, ignoring him in favor of his dragon. “Hello, Tiberius. I hope my cousin has been treating you well.”

The massive dragon regarded her just as haughtily before dipping his head in a slight nod. His rider grumbled like a red.

“Really, Livi?”

She arched a brow and waited, one hand resting on Ragnar’s dark brown shoulder.

He sighed. “I mean, really, Lieutenant Pulaski?”

A tiny smirk broke Livi’s professional bearing. “Much better, Cadet Iverson.”

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Iverson muttered well under his breath before he nodded respectfully at Will. “Sir, I was told you’d give us our bearing. Where are we headed?”

Will rested a hand on Kahlan’s neck, digging his fingers beneath her tawny feathers as he recalled the Head Maven’s orders. It looked like he’d finally get that chance to see how the creatures of the Smoke Mountains measured up. A surge of recklessness whipped through him, that wild feeling that drove him to take risks, that had prompted Kahlan when she gave him his griffin name.

He grinned, bright and savage. “The Western Wastes.”

* * *

Copyright © 2026 by Melissa Olthoff

Melissa Olthoff is a science fiction and fantasy author who delights in sneaking in romance wherever she can. She is a lifelong geek and a veteran of the United States Air Force, both of which are incredibly useful when writing. Her degrees in meteorology and  accounting are slightly less applicable to writing but absolutely useful when it comes to supporting her family. In 2023, she took second place in the annual Baen Fantasy Adventure Award Contest with her story “Fall from Grace” and won the Imadjinn Award Best Short Story in 2023 and 2024. She is published by Baen, Chris Kennedy Publishing, Hit World Press, and Three Ravens Publishing, and is best known for her first novel of the Griffin Corps, Rise from Ruin, and novels in the Four Horsemen Universe, the Blood & Armor Series, the Salvage Title Universe, and Hit World Valkyries, as well as numerous short stories.