“It’s nothing.” Griffin shifted his hands behind his back.
Maggie leaned over to get a better look, but he pivoted. He felt it swelling. He wasn’t sure it would fit in his gauntlet.
Raleigh came up behind him. “Malcolm and Cornwall did that on purpose. You played right into their game.”
“No. All in good fun. I’ll be fine,” Griffin said, bristling. But the old man was right. For the first time in his life he thought his next draignoch fight could be his last. Nerves choked Griffin.
“You should make them pay now, while you have the chance,” Raleigh argued.
Griffin couldn’t take the chance on damaging his hand more. He shook his head and looked away.
A soldier jogged down the hill, calling, “Prince Jori! Your father needs you in council.”
“Duty calls. Let’s all head back together,” Jori said, and started walking.
“I’m going to stay. Work on my throws for tomorrow.” Malcolm pulled a knife from the scabbard on his belt.
Jori arched an offended brow at him, then let it fall. “After losing to Griffin with spears, extra time on the practice green would be a suitable afternoon pursuit.”
Barely drawing back, Malcolm threw the dagger at the target, striking dead center in the bull’s-eye. “I just like to throw knives.”
“I’ll stay too,” Maggie added.
“No. You’ll return to the castle, Maggie.” Raleigh stepped toward her.
“I can escort her back,” Griffin volunteered, surprising himself.
Jori shook his head. “I promised her father to see her safely back, and that I must do.” He extended an elbow to Maggie.
She didn’t take it. “Don’t you trust him?” she asked Jori, nodding to Griffin.
“Of course.” Jori didn’t look happy, with good reason. A prince had offered his arm, and she’d dismissed it like it was nothing. Jori and rejection had never before met. He was lost at what to do. Griffin pressed his lips together, painfully so, to keep from laughing. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go back on my word to Xavier,” he added.
Jori’s eyes crinkled the way they always did when he was lying. He wanted Maggie to leave with him no matter the circumstances of how it happened. The chase for him was a game he wanted to win.
As Griffin turned to go, he saw Maggie’s expression dip into a deep frown. Her eyes fell on Raleigh, then the prince. She didn’t like being watched every second, and she wanted to see the draignoch. He wanted to see it too.
Griffin hesitated at the stupidity of what he was about to do. But the truth was, even if he told her where the draignochs were kept, she would never be able to get there. Not without his help.
“Wait, Maggie,” Griffin blurted. “Can you please take a look at my hand?”
Jori looked put out. “We have a physician for that, Griffin.”
“A quick glance . . . ,” Maggie said to him, but didn’t wait for permission.
Griffin put his back to the others, and slowly, carefully, pulled back a corner of the bandage. Maggie padded around him.
“Can’t see much of anything unless you take that off.” Maggie fingered the wrap.
“Just pretend to look.” Griffin faked a wince at Jori. “You really want to go to the keep?”
Maggie scrutinized his fingers, nodding.
“Midnight. I’ll get you from your room.”
“But Raleigh—”
“I know.” He watched, but Griffin had a way around that. He tucked the bandage. He held his hand up. “Better already.”
Sybil hooked Maggie’s arm with one hand, and Jori’s with her other. “I do love walking in parties of three.”
Griffin stared at where Maggie had stood long after she had gone. Getting her out of the castle was going to be difficult. Getting her into the Oughtnoch impossible. But he too wanted to see this new draignoch, because if she—as Maggie called the beast—could take down twenty men, then Griffin might as well slather himself in butter and lie down in the middle of the arena. He hoped he’d make a tasty meal.
Nine
Maggie
Late afternoon dullness swept the castle. A time between festivities. Xavier drank too much in the morning, so it wasn’t surprising he didn’t go to lunch, and I didn’t go to dinner. It was strange, not seeing him for a full day. That hadn’t ever happened that I could remember.
I had been too nervous to leave my room. If I’d seen Sir Griffin, I would not have been able to keep myself from asking him how he planned to get me out. And then we would likely have gotten caught by the prince.
When I told Sir Raleigh I wanted to eat in my chamber, that I worried the prince would be hounded by Lady Esmera if I sat with them at dinner, that I wanted to save the kind prince from torment, he smiled with something like relief. Like I was making his life easier and he appreciated it.
Petal brought me a tray of mouton and bread. She set it before the fire and left me to eat alone. Afterward, it was hard to keep my eyes open. The fire smoldered, casting a hazy warmth. The chair was so soft, I sank into the cushions.
A stiff, annoying finger poked my shoulder. Then a strong hand shook it. Dreaming the rabbit had gotten out of its cage, I reached to swat it, too late waking to the reality that rabbits didn’t have hands. My slap was met with an unbunnylike hiss. When I opened my eyes, Griffin was bent over, his hand under his other arm, writhing in silent pain.
I jumped out of the chair. “Oh, I’m—”
He slapped a hand over my mouth and nodded to a sleeping form on a mat on the floor beside the changing screen.
Petal. Curled into a ball with her back to us. I vaguely remembered her coming in to take the tray of food, but it seemed she never left. Raleigh had her sleeping in my room. What exactly did the man think I was going to steal? A linen towel? A silver mirror? That torturous comb?
Griffin’s hand lingered over my mouth longer than necessary. I nearly bit him in protest. He lifted it off a finger at a time, as if he didn’t trust me to stay quiet. But I knew what was at stake.
He lowered his arm, his good hand then taking hold of mine, leading me toward the small space between the wall and the bed. Then he let go and fell on all fours, then to flat on the ground. Barefoot, he inched forward, slipping underneath the bed.
I did the same, seeing him disappear through a hole in the wall.
A secret exit. This was too good to be true. On the other side was a small tunnel. A lantern flickered at Griffin’s feet. The space was only tall enough to sit. He reached around me and, very slowly to remain quiet, moved a piece of stone over the hole.
“Do these passages run all over the castle?” I asked in a whisper.
Griffin sat back on his heels, squinting at thin charcoal lines crisscrossing his hand.
“Is that a map?”
He raised a reproachful finger to his lips, then slipped on a pair of black boots he must’ve left to enter my room so silently. He waved, beckoning me to follow.
Stopping twice to refer to the map, a few minutes later, Griffin pushed open a grate barely big enough for his square shoulders to fit through. The exit left us in a dead-end hallway.
Griffin picked something up from the corner, hurling it to me. A long black cloak.