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they do to you when they want information.”
    Laela went cold. “Torture?”
    “Yes.”
    She shuddered. “The King lets them do that to his people? What kind’ve monster is he?”
    “A monster,” Wolf snapped. “Hah! The Southerners did that to me. In a cell under this very city. Broke my fingers . . . one . . . by one.”
    “Griffiners?” said Laela. “Griffiners do that?”
    “Always have,” said Wolf. “But I was dangerous . . . a dangerous criminal. I had information they desperately wanted. I didn’t give it to them. And I made them pay. I made them pay a hundred times. Didn’t fix my fingers, though, did it?”
    Laela stared at him. Against her will, she thrilled at his words. “What had yeh done?”
    “You don’t want to know,” said Wolf. “Now, as far as . . .”
    “Where
are
we?” Laela asked suddenly. “What buildin’ is this? Why all those stairs?”
    Wolf looked incredulous. “You don’t know?”
    “Wait. We ain’t—”
    “We’re in the
Eyrie
, Laela,” said Wolf. “This is my home. This is where I live and work . . . This is my prison. Of course, my guards don’t know I sneak out most nights.”
    A horrible fear and bewilderment ate away at her. “No. This ain’t . . . this ain’t . . . Who
are
yeh?”
    Wolf tugged at his beard. “I know,” he said wretchedly. “I shouldn’t have brought you back here, but what was I to do? You needed help, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave you . . .”
    Laela turned sharply as he suddenly stopped talking and looked to his left.
    The curtains over the archway had moved. Laela could hear something stirring on the other side.
    “Gods damn it!” Wolf cursed. “Laela, stay behind me.”
    He pushed her behind him and stepped toward the archway, but too late. They parted, and something pushed its way through.
    Laela staggered backward, wide-eyed, and fell.
    It was a griffin . . . the biggest griffin she had ever seen—the biggest living creature she had ever seen, or imagined. Its birdlike forequarters were covered in silver feathers, but the magnificent head had a diamond-shaped cap of black and two long plumes over the ears. The hooked beak was black, too, and the eyes, glaring straight at her, were silver.
    Wolf reached out to touch the creature, making strange, harsh sounds in his throat. The griffin dipped its head toward him, and he scratched it under the beak, still making the sounds and clicking his teeth every so often.
    The griffin rasped something back, and then raised its head to look at Laela again. It took a threatening step toward her, its beak open to hiss.
    Laela almost whimpered. “Keep it away from me. In Gryphus’ name, don’t let it—”
    Wolf put himself in the way and made more of those strange sounds.
    Griffish,
Laela thought through her terror.
He’s speaking griffish. He’s a griffiner. He’s—
    The griffin snorted angrily but made no move to come closer. It rasped again and butted Wolf with its beak before abruptly turning away. It went back through the archway, and Laela saw its muscular hindquarters—covered in glossy pitch-black fur.
    Wolf breathed a sigh of relief. “You were lucky there. He’s in a bad mood tonight.”
    Laela managed to get up. “What—that was—
you
—”
    He turned to her. “That was Skandar. My best friend. My
only
friend, I think.”
    “But you . . . you . . . in the Eyrie . . . with him . . .”
    “Yes.” Wolf sighed. “You’re right. I am King Arenadd Taranisäii, and this is my Eyrie.”

5
    The Dark Lord
    W olf—Arenadd Taranisäii, the Dark Lord, King of the North—watched Laela in silence, almost as if he were waiting for something.
    Laela gaped at him.
No. It ain’t possible. It can’t be . . .
    But it was. She knew it was him. The black robe, the home in the Eyrie . . . the giant griffin living next door to him . . .
    “But yer so
young
!” she exclaimed, finding her voice all of a sudden.
    Arenadd