“Oh yes. She’s very fond of you, Arren. In fact”—Rannagon smiled—“keep this to yourself, but I spoke to her about you a few days ago. She told me she’d prefer you to move out of that little house of yours out in the city.”
“She did?” said Arren, shocked. “Why? What did I do?”
“Oh, nothing. But as an Eyrie official, you should be living in the Eyrie. The Master of Trade is supposed to have a place on the council, after all.”
“I know,” said Arren, rather sourly.
“Yes, and Riona thinks it’s time we acknowledged it. You’ve proven you’re more than capable, and we could do with your help up here.”
Arren gaped at him. “Do you really mean that?”
Rannagon nodded. “That’s what Riona said, and I agree.”
“No, that’s not—”
Rannagon grinned at him. “We still have to put it to the council, of course—and I’m sure they’ll be more inclined to support you if you come home a hero from Rivermeet. Now, you go and get ready. And don’t tell anyone else about what I said, understood?”
Arren managed a nod. “Yes, my lord.”
Rannagon returned to his desk and sat down. “Goodbye, then. And good luck.”
When Arren and Eluna had gone, Rannagon slumped in his chair and put a hand over his face. “Well, that’s that,” he mumbled.
Shoa nibbled his hair. “The dark one must be stopped,” she said. “We both know this. Trust in me, Rannagon. It will be better for us when it is done.”
“I suppose.” Rannagon kept his voice neutral; Shoa was annoyed enough with him already.
“And now,” the yellow griffin went on, “there is the matter of the bastard.”
Rannagon sat up sharply. “Leave him alone, Shoa. He’s done nothing wrong.”
“The Master of Law cannot be father to a bastard,” Shoa said harshly.
“But I am,” said Rannagon. “He’s my son, Shoa. I won’t hurt him. Not for anything.”
Shoa turned away, her tail swishing in irritation. “We shall see.”
5
At the Sign of the Red Rat
When Arren got back to his home, he found a large crate waiting for him just outside the front door. He lugged it inside before he opened it, and found it full of different goods: cloth, cheeses, sausage, vegetables and—he smiled to himself—a string bag full of oranges. There were also five bottles of mead and two of wine, and a large roll of high-quality thick leather. It was technically forbidden for marketplace officials such as him to do this, but no-one really cared if he and the guards took their pick of whatever items they seized before they handed them over to the authorities. Even Rannagon knew about it but was prepared to turn a blind eye. Stealing from a thief was hardly a heinous crime.
Arren spent some time packing away the contents of the box, while Eluna went to her stable to rest. He found several bottles of salve in among the other things, almost certainly placed there deliberately by Bran. He was pleased about that; his arm was aching savagely now.
He fetched a roll of bandages from a cupboard, sat down at the table and took the lid off the salve. Taking the bandage off his arm was extremely painful, but he gritted his teeth and tossed the bloody cloth into the fireplace. The wound started to bleed again, but he hastily slapped some salve onto it and wrapped it up tightly. The salve did its job quickly, and the pain started to fade even while he was doing up the bandage. He sighed gratefully and sat back in the chair to rest.
After a few moments, he sensed a presence. He looked around and saw Eluna sitting in the door to her stable, watching him.
Arren sat up straight. “Hello,” he said carefully.
Eluna said nothing. She looked away and scratched the floor with her talons. Then she came toward him, moving slowly, and crouched by the chair, head bowed.
Arren touched her head. “What’s wrong, Eluna?”
She looked up at last. “I . . . am sorry for what I did.”
A true apology from a griffin was a very rare thing. Arren got off his chair and knelt by her, resting his head against her shoulder. He could feel her heart beating through her skin, strong and steady, like a drum. “It’s all right, Eluna. I understand.”
Eluna sighed. “I did not mean to do it. I feel like a fool. To attack you in front of other people—you are my human, and I should not have humiliated you like that. I made myself look like