Chapter 35

“You really were hungry, weren’t you?” Noah murmured, cradling the hatchling as the carriage rumbled along several hours later.

They had stopped at a mixed dairy farm that kept dray beasts, cows, and six‑legged goatlike creatures Davan called lurochs. The farmers were more than willing to sell them several bottles of fresh milk, having finished the morning milking just minutes before. While they packed the bottles away, Noah also bought several rags and boiled them in a pot of water the farmers kept over an open fire.

Now, he dipped one of the boiled rags into the milk, soaked it thoroughly, wrapped it around his finger, and offered it to the squirming griffon. She latched on immediately, relaxing as she fed.

“There’s lots,” he soothed. “You don’t need to fuss.”

“May I sketch you?” Ciri asked at last, breaking the silence that had lingered since they’d returned to the carriage.

“Sure.”

She reached into her satchel, pulled out her notebook and pencil, and began to draw with practiced strokes. Beside her, Ken leaned against the carriage wall, snoring softly.

“Fascinating,” Ciri murmured as she worked. “How did you know the hatchling would take milk like this?”

“Truthfully? I didn’t,” Noah admitted. “But it’s how we fed some of the baby animals at the shelter.”

“And boiling the cloth was to remove contaminants, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“How often do you believe she needs to be fed?”

“No idea. But she seems hungry every two hours or so.”

Ciri frowned. “You continue to use a female pronoun.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you certain she is female?”

“I mean, I’ve never sexed a griffon before, but when I turned her over I didn’t see anything hanging out, so…”

“I see.” She nodded, still sketching. “You should name her.”

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“You should name her,” she repeated, brow furrowing. “Is it not a human custom to name their animal companions?”

“It is, but… she’s not really a companion. She’s just here until she’s strong enough to leave.” His voice lacked conviction.

“Is there a minimum length of companionship required for humans to give a name?”

“…no,” he admitted.

“Then it follows that you should name her.”

He looked down at the hatchling. She opened her eyes briefly — bright green — then closed them again. Maybe Orvyn – Fae for ‘mud’. Or Naevæl – Fae for ‘foolish little one’. He thought to himself before immediately rejecting them. No. She needs an English name. Something light and small and…

“Piper.”

“What does that word mean?” Ciri asked.

“That’s her name,” Noah said. “Her name is Piper.”

“Does it hold special significance?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Just a feeling. It…feels right.”

“Piper,” Ciri repeated, addressing the hatchling. “My name is Cyrinthra Poluquien Kenael’thira Qoræthis. If you could speak, I would ask that you call me Ciri.” Still watching the griffon, she added to Noah, “You must be tired. We should arrive at Crownspire within the hour. Once we secure lodgings, I can perform this task overnight so you may sleep.”

Despite himself, the corner of Noah’s mouth lifted — his first smile since Lucien’s gravesite. The absurd earnestness of her introduction warmed something in him. He exhaled slowly, then looked up at her.

“I need to say something to you.”

“I am listening,” she said, still not meeting his eyes.

“I owe you an apology,” he began. “Earlier today I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I’m sorry.” He paused. “Æven thyræl quoris velæn.”

She met his gaze for the first time in hours. “Æven thyræl quoris ænthor.” Then, more quietly: “Your rejection hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m hurting. If anything, I need your support more now, not less.”

Ciri closed her notebook, tucked it into her bag, and moved to sit beside him. “You are forgiven. I am listening.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted. “I always knew this was a possibility. But knowing it in my head and seeing it for myself are two very different things.”

She placed her hand on his and squeezed. “That is understandable.”

“It’s not like I haven’t dealt with grief before,” Noah said quietly. “My parents passed right before university, and it was far more sudden than this. At least this time I had…some time to prepare.”

“You have spoken of them before. How did they die?” She caught the look on his face and shook her head. “I am sorry. You do not have to answer—”

“No, it’s fine.” Noah insisted. “Just…a little difficult to explain.”

“How so?”

He furrowed his brow. “Humans have mechanical inventions called ‘cars.’ They’re like carriages, except they don’t use animals to pull them — they have engines, which…” He waved a hand. “Not important. Just think of a horseless carriage.”

Ciri instinctively reached for her notebook, then stopped herself and looked at him again. “I understand. Please continue.”

“There was an accident. My parents were driving to see friends late at night, out in the country. It was dark and raining.” He paused, feeding Piper again. “The police said they went around a corner too fast and lost control. Unfortunately, the corner was on the edge of a hill. They slipped off the road.”

He swallowed. “The car rolled a hundred meters downhill before catching fire. But based on the damage, the police said they were probably gone before that.”

Ciri squeezed his hand again. “I am so sorry.”

“Lucien and I planned the funeral together,” Noah said, blinking back tears. “Then life went on. I left for school, he left for the marines. But we agreed to meet at this crappy pizza place in our hometown on the same day every year, no matter what. And he kept that promise — right up until two years ago. That’s how I knew something was wrong.”

“That is when you decided to retrace his steps,” Ciri concluded.

“Exactly.”

“I believe I understand why you are feeling especially emotional now,” she said gently. “There is the death of your brother, which is understandably painful. But I believe something else worsens it: as long as you believed he might still be alive, there was another living link to your parents besides yourself. Now that he is gone…there is only you.”

Noah considered that. “You might be right.”

“In the time after your parents passed, what helped you process your guilt?”

“Staying busy, I guess. After someone dies in my world — or at least the part I’m from — there’s a lot to do. Paperwork. Bank stuff. Closing accounts. Telling family and friends. And then school started, which was even busier. Half my class failed the first year. I would’ve been one of them if I didn’t focus.” His shoulders slumped. “The nights were hard, though.”

“Did you speak to others about your grief?”

“Other than Lucien? No. And he was on another continent most of the time.”

“Perhaps you did not process your parents’ deaths as fully as you believed,” she suggested.

“Maybe.”

“The evidence seems to suggest so.” She nodded. “May I offer a suggestion?”

“Yeah. Go for it.”

She nodded toward Piper. “If keeping busy helps you avoid spiraling into grief, then perhaps you should continue caring for her until you are prepared to process it. Keeping a griffon hatchling alive will likely be demanding yet fulfilling — similar to your studies.”

He raised an eyebrow. “This sounds like the same thing your dad said.”

“His assertion was based in religion. Mine is based in evidence. That we reached the same conclusion is immaterial.” She shook her head. “Regardless — when you are ready to process your grief, I want you to speak to someone about it. Who you choose does not matter. Me, my father, any of my mothers — anyone. But you must promise me this.”

“You’ve never made a request like this before.” Noah observed.

“If you do not process your grief, it will harm you in unexpected ways. The burden will compound instead of lessening.”

“You seem to know a lot about grief.”

“I…prepared for this eventuality,” she admitted, looking away. “When you explained your quest, I knew there was a possibility it might end this way. So I read every book I could find on mental and emotional health during grief. Some were fictional stories, some were guides. They all agreed on one point: if grief is left to fester alone, it grows.”

“You did this…for me?” he asked, voice breaking.

“I love you,” she said simply. “And I know emotional conversations are not my strength. So I studied, so I could support you if the circumstances arose.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, a small smile forming. “Thank you.”

“Then you will promise to speak to someone, when you are ready?”

“I promise.” He leaned in and kissed her.

They stayed like that for a long moment before Piper squawked again. Chuckling, Noah removed the rag, dipped it in milk, and offered it back. She quieted immediately, purring softly — a strangely soothing soundtrack as his mind drifted to childhood memories. Ciri rested her head on his shoulder, her arm looped through his.

“Lucien was three years older than me,” Noah began. “And he was a terror in school. Couldn’t sit still, too smart for his own good. Always in trouble. I think he spent as much time in the principal’s office as he did in class.” Noah chuckled. “One teacher nearly quit when she saw there’d be another Calder boy three years later. But after a few weeks she told everyone we didn’t just look different — we acted different. She said she wouldn’t have believed we were siblings if our parents hadn’t insisted.”

“The first, but not the last,” Ciri said softly.

“Definitely not. That followed us our whole lives. Even Bryn and Hannah said some version of it.”

“How did that make you feel as a child?”

“I didn’t like it. Everyone assumed I’d be like my brother, so I felt like I had to be on my best behavior to prove them wrong.” He paused. “Though it had advantages. When a couple of older kids started picking on me, Lucien stepped in. He was always big for his age, and he had two years on them.”

“What did he do?”

“Gave one kid a black eye and a bloody nose, and broke the other kid’s finger. He got detention for two weeks, but he told me it was worth it.”

“He cared for you.”

“Yeah. He did.” Noah fell quiet.

“Thank you for telling me that story,” she said softly.

Davan knocked three times on the side of the carriage before shouting, “We’re almost there! I can see the city walls!”

Ken stirred, blinking awake and sitting up. Despite everything he was feeling, Noah’s curiosity got the better of him. He leaned out the carriage window and felt his breath catch.

An enormous ring of grey‑brick walls encircled a sprawling city. Dozens of high towers rose around a sturdy central keep. To the left, a snow‑capped mountain range loomed; to the right, a glittering blue sea stretched toward the horizon. The setting sun cast orange light across the scene, giving the city an almost otherworldly glow.

“Wow,” was all Noah managed.

“The city is built upon an ancient Fae settlement,” Ciri said, leaning out the opposite window. “It appears much of the original infrastructure has been preserved. Surprising, for a human city.”

“I don’t hear any clanking,” Noah added, straining his ears. “Is it loud like Tarn’s Reach? Because if so, this one’s going to have trouble sleeping.” He gestured to Piper.

“The original Fae infrastructure has been well maintained — at great expense,” Ken explained. “The city runs more on magic than machinery.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” Noah said.

“I am glad to hear that.” Ken smiled. “With your quest…complete, what is your plan while we are in the city?”

Noah frowned. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead, to be honest.”

“There is a magical academy in Crownspire,” Ciri offered. “Perhaps they would be willing to teach you new runes.”

“They may also have information about portals, if you still wish to explore cross‑realm travel,” Ken added.

“And there is still the matter of petitioning the crown for assistance,” Ciri finished.

Noah nodded. “All of those sound like good ideas. That, and taking care of Piper.”

“Piper?” Ken asked.

“Noah named the griffon hatchling,” Ciri said. “Her name is Piper.”

A wry grin spread across Ken’s face. “Ah.”

“Then it looks like we’re sticking together a bit longer,” Noah said. “I’m assuming that’s okay with both of you.”

“Of course,” Ken replied.

Ciri squeezed Noah’s arm, saying nothing but smiling all the same.

Then I guess it’s off to the next adventure. Noah thought as they drew closer to the enormous grey stone battlements.