The Trophy

Crouched in the shadow of a Scots pine, Thalia gazed at the nest, high on the cliff top. From the ground, it looked no more than a bundle of twigs—but Father’s 1925 Annual of Exotic Ornithology said adult gryphons weighed almost 200 pounds. The nest must be huge.

Thalia checked the bindings on her leggings and chalked her hands as her brothers usually did. She was wearing Magnus’ old climbing gear. If only she could wear a shirt and breeches every day. The outfit was a darn sight more practical than skirts, even the flapper skirts that were the rage over in America at the moment.

Claws scraped on stone as the gryphon took wing. Flashes of red on the underside of its wings confirmed it was male, but there was no sign of his mate, hadn’t been in weeks. Her heart squeezed. The mother must have died. Gryphons mated for life—she’d never have abandoned her family.

The gryphon circled his nest, crying plaintively. He was reluctant to leave the eggs, but needed to feed. How could she steal even one of his babies? This father cared about his brood—all of them, not just the boys. Gritting her teeth, she pushed down her weak, womanish qualms, as her father would call them. This was her chance.

Father had brought them to Mulgrave Manor, their family’s remote ancestral seat in Wales, while her school and the boys’ university were closed for the summer holidays. He had claimed the trip was to learn about their family roots. His real reason was to secure a gryphon egg. Ever since their mother had died of consumption at the start of the Great War, ornithology had become his obsession.

Isolated, Mulgrave Head was one of the last gryphon nesting sites left in the United Kingdom, a fact known to few outside the family. Mama had been fiercely protective of the creatures, but with her death, they had become no better than any other ornithological species in Father’s eyes.

In recent weeks, both her brothers had tried to retrieve the eggs from this nest and failed. The brittle shale had crumbled beneath Thom’s weight, leaving him—at twenty, her oldest sibling—with a broken leg and a serious case of bruised pride. Seventeen-year-old Mag had climbed next, only his nerve had failed. He’d blamed vertigo. Odd. He’d never suffered from it before. Thalia didn’t worry about being similarly affected. She’d been climbing out their manor house’s windows and shimmying along its rooftop most of her life without a second thought.

Pulse thudding in her ears, Thalia dug her fingers into a crack and climbed. Within minutes, her hands were striped with blood from the brittle shale edges. Sweat plastered her hair to her head. Her breath became a steady hiss through her teeth. Soon, rock dust coated her, painting her flesh the same grey as the cliff.

At last, her climb up the rock brought her level with the top of the Scots pine. This was where Thom had fallen. The rock above her was a fresh black, where it had sheared away beneath him, rather than the weathered grey of the surrounding cliff-face. She dug her fingers into another crevice, wincing as the fresh-cut rock sliced her flesh.

Handhold, foothold, reach. Handhold, foothold, reach.

Her blood sang. She was above Thom’s highest climb. Her, Thalia, a stupid, worthless girl.

The nest was only a few body lengths away now. Its distinctive smell—carrion and musk—tickled her nose. She inched up the final few feet and clambered onto the ledge. Gryphon guano coated her hands, stinging as it worked its way into her scrapes.

Up close, the eggs were bigger than she’d expected. The larger two were a brilliant blue-green. Pushed to the nest’s edge was a third—a dark walnut brown, dull by comparison. Were the bigger, brighter eggs male, and the other female, like a peacock versus peahen?

Resting her bleeding palms on the shell of the nearest teal egg, Thalia felt it pulse beneath her touch, thrumming with life.

Father’s egg collection was the envy of the Royal Society, thanks to his sons, who had clambered up crags and down cliffs all over England to bring him his prizes. A gryphon egg would put him once more ahead of his closest competitor, Lord Basenhall with his recently acquired cockatrice egg. And prove to Father she was every bit as worthwhile as her brothers.

Thalia opened her backpack. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the beautiful blue-green egg.

She tried to push it into her bag—but it was too big.

Cursing under her breath, she yanked the pack’s mouth wider, without success. Father was right. She was a stupid, worthless girl. Tears of frustration stinging her eyes, she scanned the skies. When would the gryphon return?

No sign of him, yet, but she couldn’t afford to linger.

She pressed her palms against the smaller, walnut-brown egg. Lacking the vibrant colors of the others, it was a lesser prize. The shell felt as cold and lifeless as the shale cliff. Dead? That was for the best if its fate was to molder away in a cabinet. With some effort, she manhandled it into her pack.

A loud cry pierced the air above. The gryphon was returning! Pulse thundering, she secured her pack and swung over the ledge. Her feet fumbled against the rock, then found purchase.

Slowly. Slowly.

If she rushed, both she and the egg would be a scrambled mess at the foot of the cliff. Her mind filled with the sound of beating wings. Every instinct screamed at her to hurry. Instead, she forced herself to inch carefully down the rock face. Lungs aching, she stopped for a breather, and to check out what the father was doing. The gryphon winged his way towards the nest. Guilt clawed at her insides. Any moment now, he’d realize she’d stolen his precious egg.

Thalia continued her descent, faster. She clambered down, until she was level with the top of the pine. The gryphon screamed in outrage, high above. She glanced up. He was diving—straight for her.

Gulping down her terror, she leapt from the cliff-face and into the pine. Branches whipped past her face as she tumbled through its canopy. Scrabbling with desperate fingers, she caught hold of a branch. It bent beneath her weight, slamming her against the trunk. The force jarred her teeth and loosened her grip. She slid down the trunk before coming to rest on another thick branch.

Breath coming in heaving sobs, she dug her bloodied fingers into the bark. The gryphon circled the pine, his cries rending the air.

“You didn’t even want this egg,” Thalia screamed back, but she knew it wasn’t true. The father cared for his young. The small egg must have rolled to the edge by accident.

The gryphon flapped just beyond the branches, his talons flexing as if he longed to rend her flesh.

Pulse thumping, Thalia swung her backpack around to her front and opened it to reveal the shell.

“Do you want it back? All right, then.”

She rolled the egg as far along the branch as she dared, all the while aware of the gryphon’s keen gaze—and sharp claws. Wedging the egg in a fork in the branch, she shuffled back.

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I only wanted Father to love me.”

The gryphon’s keen eye flicked from the brown shell and back to her. Then he flapped away.

She watched him depart with intermingled confusion and relief.

* * *

“Where have you been? And what the devil are you wearing?” her father’s words cracked over Thalia’s head like a whip as she limped into the stables.

“Father. I … I’ve been climbing.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. This wasn’t how she’d imagined presenting the egg. Or herself. Father was supposed to be away until the end of the week.

“Climbing?” He grabbed her wrist. “Look at your fingers, girl. A young lady should have fine pale hands, uncalloused and without a whiff of sun. Yours—”

Anger boiled inside her. He was being unfair—as usual. “I fetched the gryphon egg for you,” she spat.

Her father froze. Then an avaricious glint lit his eyes. “A gryphon egg?” He wet his lips. “Show me.”

Thalia hauled off her pack, wincing as it knocked her bruised ribs. She loosened the ties, exposing the brown shell.

Father’s brows beetled. “What foolery is this, girl? Gryphon’s eggs are teal, as any son of mine would know.” He tapped the shell, and the corners of his mouth pulled even further down. “A wooden carving, isn’t it? Some trinket you bought from a passing gypsy? Were you hoping to make me a fool in front of my peers?”

Sweat beaded her forehead. “The egg was in the gryphon nest. It must be a runt. Or unfertilised. I couldn’t get the bigger ones into my pack. And then the gryphon father came back. And I had to jump into the tree …” She trailed off at the raw disapproval on his face.

“That’s enough of your nonsense, Thalia. You’re a little old to be playing make-believe, dressed in your brother’s clothes. Get back into the house and clean yourself up.”

* * *

Thalia woke early the next morning, her limbs aching after the climb. Sitting among the ashes in her hearth, the walnut-brown egg glared reproachfully at her. She’d thrown the stupid thing onto the fire last night, but it hadn’t burnt. Father was wrong. It wasn’t wood.

She picked it up, feeling secretly relieved there wasn’t even a scorch mark. Like her, it was a survivor. She wiped it down with her towel. The shell glowed a rich brown, like darkest mahogany, and felt warm. It must be holding the ember’s heat.

Up close, the shell—a lustrous color, like earth rich with leaf mold—was prettier than she’d realized. Why had she thought it dull? Even if it was nothing but a gryphon’s gizzard stone, it was a memento of her climb. She was proud of herself, even if Father wasn’t. It was a shame it wasn’t smaller or she could have threaded it onto a necklace. She tucked it under her quilt for safekeeping. With the mood Father had been in last night, he could storm in here any moment, claim it was carrying fleas or some nonsense from the gypsies, and make her throw it away.

After a quick wash, she dressed and sat on her bed, chin on her knees. Never one for sitting still, the long day of confinement stretched in front of her. How would she fill her time?

The faint rap of knuckles against her door broke through her thoughts. Mag pushed his way into her room, teacup in hand.

“I heard about your exploits yesterday over dinner,” he said, sliding the cup onto her bedside table. “Father was as mad as hops.”

She grimaced. “He said I have to stay in my room until I’ve ‘learnt my lesson.’ Who knows how long that is?”

“What’s all this doolally about you trying to pass off a carving as a gryphon egg?”

“It’s not doolally,” Thalia protested. Should she show him the egg and tell him how it wouldn’t burn? But no. She couldn’t bear it if he mocked her too. “I climbed to the nest and fetched an egg. Or what I thought was an egg. Only—”

“You stole that poor gryphon’s egg? Damnation, Thalia. What were you thinking?”

Why was Mag being a toad? She could understand Father going off, but she hadn’t expected the same from her brother. She slurped her tea. Despite what Mother always used to say, it did not make everything better. “You’re jealous because you were too lily-livered to climb up there.”

Mag rolled his eyes. “I only pretended to have vertigo, silly. Clearly my acting’s better than I thought, if I fooled you too.”

“What?” Hurt pinged through her. He’d been play-acting? Why didn’t he tell her?

“Eddie Baird—my college tutor—found out how Thom and I had been raiding nests for Father. He said egg hunters are wiping out cryptids by stealing their offspring.” His face darkened. “Some cads have even been trading with German collectors, who are using our exotic species for their diabolical experiments. I … I couldn’t help Father after I heard.”

Her hands tightened around her teacup. “He’d never do such a thing.” Or would he? She was sure Father had once had two harpy eggs, but last time she’d looked only one was in the cabinet. And a great auk egg had suddenly appeared—a rarer and more valuable specimen.

“Where’s the gryphon egg now?” Mag asked.

She nodded toward the end of her bed. “There. Under my quilt.”

He picked it up almost reverently, as if it was a communion wafer on Sunday—then frowned. “Are you sure this is a gryphon egg? Aren’t they supposed to be bluey-green?”

Thalia huffed at him. “Don’t you start.”

The thud of footsteps echoed down the corridor, accompanied by voices.

Thalia snatched the egg back, tucked it under her pillow, then leaned back against them both. The rounded shape pressed into her back, and she shuffled to get more comfortable.

The door swung open and Father strode in accompanied by a tall woman with wasp-sharp features and a sweep of silver hair.

“Thalia, where’s the egg that you showed me yesterday?” Father demanded.

She sipped her tea, rallying her thoughts. Her bedroom was starting to feel like Paddington Station during rush hour. “You mean the carving?” she said innocently.

“Don’t take that tone, young lady,” Father snapped, his florid cheeks turning an even brighter red. “I have with me Frau Dokteur Zimmer, a renowned cryptozoologist, and she wishes to examine it. She’s travelled all night to get here.”

Mulgrave Manor was several days’ travel from anywhere. How had the doctor gotten here so fast?

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Zimmer has made a wasted trip.” Thalia’s gaze slid to the hearth. “I … ah … burnt it. Just wood, as you said.”

The cryptozoologist glared at Thalia, as if trying to bore into her thoughts.

Father’s eyes bulged with rage. “You stupid, worthless girl.”

She pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. “Yes, I am, aren’t I?”

* * *

Once they were gone, Thalia sagged back against her pillow. The egg heated her skin like a bed pan. Was it absorbing her body heat? Or warming on its own?

“Who was the Iron Maiden?” Mag nodded towards the door, once the footsteps had receded.

“And how did she get her so quickly?” Thalia asked.

“I heard a commotion near the stables half an hour ago. Father must have cabled the good doctor last night, then she set out immediately.” He rubbed his chin. “However she got here, she’s very interested in your egg. Can I have a proper look?”

Thalia reluctantly handed over the egg.

“Hey, the shell is warm.”

She shifted. “It seems to absorb heat. Maybe all gryphon eggs do?”

“It’s quite magnificent,” he said, turning it in his hands. “I had thought the shell only one color, but it’s marbled, with tiny flecks of gold.”

Gold? She hadn’t noticed. “We have to find out what it is. And why Dr. Zimmer was so interested that she travelled all night.” Thalia screwed up her face. “One thing’s for sure—it truly is a gryphon egg. Father admitted as much earlier.”

The knowledge didn’t make her feel better.

* * *