The Hidden (Shadowed Wings #1)(7)

His eyes snap up to meet mine, and the fury reflecting back at me smothers the self-satisfaction that was just floating through my chest. The doors behind me open, and I turn to see the blond guard who led me here, guiding a young man into the room. He looks like a teenager, one that’s just on the cusp of puberty, and he moves to stand next to me and bows deeply at the waist in the direction of the people seated at the table.

“Yes, Syta?” he asks as he straightens up, and the honey-eyed sky shadow gives him a nod.

“Ami, please assess the proceedings from this point forward,” he directs, and the Ami kid moves over to the side of the room and leans back against the wall.

I stare at him and wonder exactly what he’s here to do when, out of nowhere, his brown irises and black pupils disappear, and his eyes turn entirely white.

“Holy shit,” I gasp, unable to help it, and I study him even harder.

“Name and Clan?” Gray Eyes barks at me, and my curiosity flees like a bunny from a fox as I look toward the table of doom.

“Falon,” I snap back, leaving my middle and last name off this time.

Movement to my right has me looking back at the white-eyed kid, and I just catch what looks like the tail end of a nod. A man with no beard and long straight brown hair knocks on the heavy table once. I’m not sure what that means, but I’m not given much time to process it before Gray Eyes is snapping at me again.

“Clan?”

I stare at his stormy gaze for a second, not sure what the hell to say. “I don’t know exactly what that means, like my last name?” I inquire, uncertain. “It’s Umbra. Which I already told you. If you’re asking where I’m from, the answer is Colorado.”

A knock raps on the table, and Gray Eyes’ eyebrows drop slightly. "Colow-rah-down?” he asks, butchering the name of the state.

“Yeah, you know, America. The United States of America, to be exact,” I elaborate, but he only looks more perplexed.

Another knock on the table echoes around the room, and the large bodies at the table shift with discomfort.

I can tell by all of their faces that they have no idea what I’m talking about. “What country am I in?” I ask, not able to help myself. I mean, I’m aware that Americans are known to have a bit of an ego about where we come from, but how have none of them heard of it? What kind of cut-off, hillbilly, mountain town am I in?

“You are in the Eyrie of the Hidden,” the sky shadow grumbles at me, and he stares at me with a knowing look, like he expects me to recognize this place.

I quickly flick through all the world geography that I know, but nope, the Eyrie of the Hidden is not ringing any bells. “Where the hell is that?” I ask. Last I remember, I was just over the border in Alberta. Maybe this is a random Canadian town I’ve never heard of?

A knock slams against the table, and each of them suddenly looks as confused as I feel.

“Could that explain why she didn’t carry the vow but none of us know her either?” Gray Eyes turns to his left and asks Kit Duhamel.

“Where did you find her again?” the red-bearded man on the end asks.

“The Amaranthine Mountains,” Kit Duhamel mutters, and his hard stare fixes on me again, but I see a hint of curiosity in it now.

“Syta, you should never have gone out that far on your own,” a dark-haired woman, who is sitting next to the blond evil laugher, speaks. I’m shocked for a minute because I thought she was a man too, but her voice is distinctly feminine even if her bulk and muscles aren’t.

“That’s not important,” honey eyes snaps, and she immediately closes her mouth and gives an apologetic nod.

“There used to be a gate in those parts the Ouphe of old used to use,” the long brown haired table knocker offers, and I realize that he’s a woman too. They’re both so thick and angular, I just assumed they were men, but now I’m thinking anyone with a beard or scruff is male, and anyone without facial hair might not be.

“Do you know what you are?” the blond man with the pain-promising laugh asks me.

“No,” I tell him again, my own anger seeping out into the word.

I wait for the knock that proves to them I’m not lying. When it comes, they all start talking over each other in shock. I release a huff and look over at Ami. I’ve pieced together what he’s here for, but I’m infinitely curious about how it works. Based on the state of his eyes, I’d guess it’s something he can physically see. He stares at me unblinking, but the hint of a friendly smile peeks out of one corner of his mouth. I give him one back and then turn to focus on the cacophony in front of me.

“She’s obviously highblood; just look at her,” the blond man says.

“Maybe, but she carries no vow. Zeph confirmed it,” the woman with the straight brown hair argues.

“What color was her gryphon? Maybe her natural markings mask it somehow?” the dark-haired woman counters.

“Force her to change. We can inspect her more thoroughly,” someone else demands, but I’m lost to my own swirling thoughts and no longer able to track what they’re saying.

Gryphon?

The name bounces around in my mind, and it conjures up images of a shit ton of English heraldry. I try to think past what I may have seen on coats of arms and connect the mythological name with what I saw in the reflection of the lake as I flew over it. Gryphons are half bird, half lion? Or maybe it can be any big cat, because the sky shadow’s ass was definitely black. And mine was definitely white. I did have a tail. I remember trying to beat the shit out of Kit Duhamel, the honey-eyed sky shadow, when he attacked me. My face was very eagle like, with the exception of the long black, back-facing ears.