Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

I say, or even what I’m
trying
to say. But this can’t be happening. Lor can’t die, can’t leave me to face death alone.
    Lor stares in horror at his bleeding forearm. His dark blood drips down his arm, covering the area the vambrace used to shield. Seconds tick by, and no one moves.
    And Lor doesn’t die.
    Lor’s previous question echoes in my mind:
But how can the magic in the vambraces have lasted for centuries?
I want to laugh, but I think I’d puke if I open my mouth. He was right. The vambrace is nothing but an idle threat. It can’t actually kill Lor.
    But the gryphon can.
    It hisses, probably sensing the glare on its rider’s face. It takes a step forward and arches its neck back, preparing to strike again. But then a tiny sparrow dives down and flaps its wings at the gryphon’s face. It stumbles back and bats at the sparrow with a talon, hissing at the little red bird.
    I look at Lor, wondering if he’s somehow controlling the sparrow. But he looks just as surprised as I do.
    “Good afternoon, prince!”
    I glance around, searching for the source of the voice. It’s amused and way too happy, and doesn’t fit the masculine tone I hear. I sweep my gaze over the beach, but all I see is the little sparrow, diving and swooping away from the gryphon.
    “I’ve come to rescue you,”
declares the voice, which I realize is in my head.
“I’m afraid I’m lacking a white horse and a sunset, but we’ll just have to make do.”
    The voice is giddy. Electric. Insane.
    Somehow, I can’t help but to like it.
    “Cyrus?” Lor blurts out, gaping at the sparrow.
    The bird—Cyrus, apparently—swoops close to Lor, its wing lifted in an awkward salute.
“At your service, prince.”
It dives just as the gryphon’s talon lashes at it.
“Or should I call you ‘princeling’? I rather like that name. It’s quite clever.”
    Lor scrambles to his feet, and I follow. The gryphon shrieks, maddened that it can’t catch Cyrus. Its rider curses, yelling at the beast in a foreign language.
    “What are you doing here?” Lor demands as he begins to stumble back. He grabs my hand, pulling me with him.
    The bird twitters a little laugh.
“Darling, I think the question should be, what are
you
doing here? If you’re looking for your throne, you’re on the wrong continent.”
    Lor bristles, his teeth clenching and shoulders straightening.
    “Come on,” I hiss, pulling him back. “We should run.”
    “Oh, yeah,”
Cyrus says in our heads.
“I thought I mentioned that already. I’ll keep this thing busy, Lor, and you run away with your little princess. She’s pretty, by the way. Nice catch.”
    I think of asking how the heck a sparrow is going to keep the gryphon busy. But before the words can leave my mouth, the bird explodes with a burst of feathers, and a black panther stands in front of me. The gryphon shrieks and startles, nearly throwing off its rider.
    The panther winks at us, eclipsing the red of his eyes for just a moment.
“Time to run, darlings.”

Twenty-Nine
    I snatch up my dagger from where it fell, and we run back to the castle, both of us stumbling. Shrieks and roars and curses echo from behind, but they gradually fade into the distance. I gasp for air, pulling Lor along with me.
    “What’s going on?” I demand between gasps. “Who
was
that?”
    Lor shakes his head, his teeth gritted as he drags his limp foot along. “I didn’t recognize that rider, which can’t be good. Asair used to be in charge of our calvary of gryphon riders.”
    “So?”
    “Some of them left with him when he was banished. They said their loyalties only lay in Asair.” Lor stumbles and almost falls. I catch him, pulling him back to his feet. “They must have come back when Asair took over the throne. Those riders will do anything Asair orders them to.”
    I curse, accidentally biting my tongue as I run. I run it along the top of my mouth and taste blood. “Okay,” I say. “Let me rephrase that.
What
was that?”
    “An Angel and his gryphon steed,” Lor says. That irrepressible grin springs onto his lips. “Now do you see why we don’t ride horses?”
    I shudder. “And the bird?”
    Lor catches me as my bad leg stumbles on a rock. “Oh, that’s Cyrus,” he says, like this explains everything.
    “What
is
he?”
    “An acquaintance. And insane.”
    We reach a field of wild grass and run in silence for a few moments, although our pace slows with each step. I spit out a mouthful of blood as we leave