and drew a crude picture of a wolf’s head holding the moon in its jaws. The woman took it from him and said, “Excellent. I shall go and tell Orome at once. Good luck.” She inclined her head briefly and left.
Arren watched her go and then sighed, almost with relief.
Bran had been watching all this in silence, keeping well back from the cage. “Why’d yeh do that?” he asked now.
Arren looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I’m going to die, Bran. I want to die fighting. If I can have revenge before then, I’ll take it.”
“Yeh’ll be killed,” said Bran. “The thing’ll tear yeh to pieces.”
Arren sneered at him. “What a tragedy.”
“Stop it,” said Bran. “This ain’t my fault, an’ yeh know it.”
Arren turned away. “Well, that’s nice. Now I’ll feel a lot better when my head comes off.”
“Don’t blame me for this,” Bran snapped. “I was just doin’ my duty. Yeh think that just because we’re friends I can let yeh get away with what yeh did?”
Arren looked back at him, suddenly ashamed. “Bran, I—”
Bran’s anger disappeared, and he came closer to the bars. “Arren, why’d yeh do it?”
Arren bowed his head. “I couldn’t help it. I tried to put up with it for so long, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. It was too much for me. I wanted back what Rannagon took from me.”
“I know what’s real, Bran,” Arren said coldly. “I know that every word I told you was the truth.”
Bran sighed. “Gods, Arren, how did it come to this?”
“Bran, Rannagon killed Eluna. He told me he’d done it.”
Bran turned away. “Stop it. Just stop it.”
“You’ve got to believe me!” said Arren, coming as far forward as he could and grabbing hold of the bars. “Please, just listen to me. I’m not insane.”
Bran looked back at him, his face full of misery. For a moment he looked as if he was going to speak, but then he turned and walked away, head bowed.
“Bran! Bran, come back! Please!”
But Bran did not look back. He went back to his post at the entrance cut into the mountainside and did not return, and Arren was left alone with his terror and his despair.
At noon food was brought to him. It was plain but solid and plentiful, and he ate ravenously. Afterward he felt a lot better. His wounded cheek had scabbed over, though it hurt every time he blinked or moved his mouth, and his neck had returned to its usual dull pain. Neither of them would stop him from fighting the next day. He would face the black griffin again, and this time he would kill it, and he didn’t care if he himself died in the process. After all, what attraction did life have left for him?
He put aside his plate and settled down to rest, keeping his eyes on the rock wall in front of him to avoid looking at the drop below, and wondered vaguely if there really was an afterlife. Would he meet Eluna there? And Gern?
Movement from the doorway made him look up. Bran and his fellow guard had turned to greet someone who had just arrived on the other side, and now Bran came toward Arren’s cage, bringing them with him.
Arren stood up, and the two people came to meet him.
“Mum! Dad!”
Annir stared at him for a moment and then rushed forward, reaching through the bars to hug him tightly. “Arren! Oh gods, Arren, no . . . no.”
Arren held on to her as best he could, the bars pressing into his chest and making the scars throb. “Mum, I’m sorry. I really—ah!”
Annir pulled away, staring at the collar. “Arren, what in the gods’ names—”
Cardock started forward. “Who did this?” he roared. “Who put that on you?”
“I don’t know—Dad, I’m sorry. I’m—” Suddenly, Arren started to sob. “Dad, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m such an—you were right. You were right. You were always right. I couldn’t pretend forever. I couldn’t be one of them. I couldn’t be a griffiner. They’ve—they’ve killed Eluna. They burned down my house; they put this collar on me and I can’t get it off and it hurts all the time. It—I—I just couldn’t—”
Cardock reached through the bars and took him by the shoulder. “You shouldn’t have stayed,” he said. “You should have come home.”
“I thought I was home,” said Arren. “I thought—I thought it didn’t matter. I thought I was a Southerner, but I’m