Evrard had instant respect for him. As Brandt traveled the rows of stoic gargoyles under his command, greeting each in turn, it was clear from his exchanges that he had respect for them, too.
“You’re from the south cliffs or the north?” he asked when he reached Evrard.
Evrard tensed, knowing his answer would only lower his watchmates’ opinions of him. “South.”
“My mother’s family is from the south.” Brandt’s granite gaze dared anyone to make a snide remark. “She lives in the tower now. Your family will do the same when you return victorious.”
Evrard had no family left, but Brandt’s assumption was a compliment. Evrard felt a surge of gratitude for Maggie’s patient grooming. He might be a relic, but at least he looked loved. He looked like he had someone to return to.
He fingered the small charm in his pocket. Perhaps he had two someones. The thought strengthened him and straightened his back.
Brandt led them in some simple grappling exercises before taking them out to practice formations. He demonstrated a maneuver and then roosted on the tower to watch them drill together in swarms of six. He called out occasional instructions or corrections, but for the most part, he just observed them working together.
Evrard was in his element when it came to the physical tasks. He even was able to help some of the younger ones with less flying experience master the complicated banks required to keep their spacing in the formation.
They were a friendly enough group, even the one with the fancy pauldrons, and by the end of the flying session, they were joking and smacking each other’s legs with their tails. It felt a little like they were hatchmates, even if he was the much, much older brother.
He noticed Brandt didn’t join in the more lighthearted banter, instead watching from the periphery with an inscrutable expression. It wasn’t exactly sadness in his posture. More like…resignation.
Evrard didn’t have time to think about it much until their watch joined with the others in an enormous banquet hall to feast on roast oxen provided by the humans who maintained the tower. They scurried about, eyes averted, carrying platters of beef and bone and flagons of mead.
He found himself perched on a narrow stone rail next to Brandt. The younger gargoyles jockeyed for position under chandeliers that dripped wax on their horns and ears. The light from them attracted swarms of moths, so many that their voices drowned each other out in a single, vivacious hum.
Evrard didn’t mind being pushed to the edges of the group. Hewasolder and rougher. At least they hadn’t rejected him outright. And he was happy to focus on his meat, which was succulent to say the least. In combination with the sweet mead served along with it, it might have been the best meal he’d ever had, other than Maggie’s oysters. A big step up from the cold fish pies and cloudy ale that the village served him.
“Do they always eat this well in the tower?” he asked Brandt in the dialect of the southern cliffs.
“Yes.”
“Bastards.” Out of the corner of his eye, he was gratified to see Brandt’s mouth twist up.
“Bastards,” Brandt agreed. Companionably quiet, he still wore that odd look on his face as he tore into the food. Evrard recognized it now that he could study the male’s face up close.
It was dread.
“Something wrong?” He kept his tone light even as fear gripped him by the tail. What in Tael-Nost was he flying into? “I understand if you can’t tell the whole watch, but I’d rather know than not.”
Brandt shook his head, making a dismissive noise. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I always wonder which ones.”
He didn’t need to say what he meant. Evrard understood perfectly. They wouldn’t all return. Some of these laughing, celebrating gargoyles would meet their end, their lives reduced to grooves on their watchmates’ backs.
He hoped it wouldn’t be him, but that meant hoping it would be one of the others. No wonder Brandt was discomfited. Evrard was, too. Here he was hoping Maggie would bear his hatchling, and he might never see them again. He’d left them both without protection. Though he knew the watch protectedallhumans, that did not satisfy his guardian heart.
He tossed back his goblet of mead and held it out to be refilled by one of the tower keepers’ flagons, fingers gripping the short stem too tightly. As the mead filled the cup, it spilled over the rim, running over his knuckles.
“You have a human mate,” Brandt said accusingly, eyeing the mess.
He inhaled his mead, surprised. “How did you guess?”
Brandt nodded to Evrard’s hand and held up his own. His claws were bitten to the quick.
A look of understanding flashed between them. A mutual worry over the softness of humans.
“It will get easier once we reach Meravenna and build our mind walls for battle,” Brandt said. It wasn’t clear whether hewas reassuring Evrard or himself. “We won’t be distracted by thoughts of our mates until we take them down again. Our focus will be single-minded.”
A stone hardened in Evrard’s throat. Somehow, forgetting Maggie seemed worse than worrying, like she’d be more vulnerable if he weren’t thinking of her. In reality, his protective thoughts would do nothing for her while he was gone. They would only be a distraction to him. Potentially his downfall in the midst of battle. If his goal was to survive, he would have to forget her for a while.
Fallen gods, he did not want to. Life without Maggie was meaningless. He’d been willing to die until she kissed him.
