Whyhadhe hidden her? He supposed because he didn’t know what to do with her and needed more time to process what she’d said. Her apology had seemed genuine, and her logic, though self-interested, was irrefutable. She hadn’t stolen anything, at least not yet. Surely the intent to steal was not worthy of the same punishment as theft itself?
“That was my mother,” he said, avoiding the question because he didn’t have the answer.
“Good thing she didn’t wonder why you were counting spoons like a miserly old butler.”
“Good thing she didn’t smell you. She might have eaten you for her waking meal.”
“Smell me!? What do I smell like?” She sniffed the sleeve of her grubby chemise and wrinkled her nose at what she found there.
The corner of Brandt’s mouth twitched. “What is your name, human?”
“Well it’s not ‘breakfast,’” she joked. Ah, so she was feeling brave again. “It’s Idabel.”
He turned her name-word over on his tongue. It sounded like a flower. No wonder she loved growing things. “Idabel, what am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go with a stern warning?” she asked hopefully. Then, seeming to remember the mess around them, she dropped to her knees and began hurriedly gathering up the spoons. Every movement sent wafts of her lemony scent toward him so dizzying that he had to take a step back. “I’m so sorry about all this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He did. He’d been powerless, once. “You were thinking you wanted to punish me. You wanted me to feel pain equal to yours by having something stripped away. You attempted to balance the scales yourself because you had no other recourse.”
“You are too generous in your assessment of me.” Idabel rose, polishing the spoons on her apron before placing them back into the drawer. She picked up her bucket and scooped the rags into it, then turned to face him, head bowed and fingers curled into her palms. “I understand you’ll have to tell the keepers I was here after dusk, but please don’t turn me in to the Nadir. I’ll lose my keys and the roof over my head, but at least I won’t lose my hands.”
Lose her home? His lip curled in disgust. She was already a refugee if she lived in Maiden Hall. He was loathe to take something so precious from her again. As he stared down at the top of her head, he focused on the narrow stripe of skin where her hair parted. Such delicate details these humans had. He did not usually spend so much time looking at them.
“I won’t turn you in if you promise I’ll never see your face again,” he said gruffly.
Her head tipped back to reveal eyes that were watery with tears. Winds aid him, not again.
“Betje was right about you,” she whispered, sounding awed.
“Who’s Betje?” he snapped, suddenly irritated at being observed with such wide, perceptive eyes. “Never mind, I don’t care. It’s getting late, and we have to get you out of here somehow.”
She jangled the keyring on her belt. “I know my way through the Tower. If I stay away from the main passages, I’ll be fine.”
He frowned at her naivete. “The Sixth Watch is mustering. The place is crawling with twice the gargoyles as usual. Even the side passages won’t be safe.” He paused, contemplating the balcony. “How do you feel about heights?”
Her brows lifted. “Heights?”
Chapter 6
Idabel
She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were somewhere in the pit of her stomach. Even with Brandt’s tail holding her fast against his powerful form, it felt like she was falling out of the sky.
He dove steeply, his wings barely slowing their descent toward Maiden Hall. She shut her eyes against the inevitable crash, but he landed on the plinth just as noiselessly and gracefully as he had the first time they met.
He peeled her off his front and, holding on to the back of her bodice, dangled and then deposited her onto the balcony. Herknees wobbled like she’d been at sea, and her whole body pulsed in protest of his absence.
He handed off her bucket of rags and was gone before she could even give her thanks. He didn’t want to be discovered, she supposed. And of course, he had things to do if he was a commander. Still, she would have liked to thank him.
“Told you,” Betje crowed when she related the story. “Soft as a kitten, that one is.”
Idabel shook her head, laughing as she rinsed out bottles in a basin and set them to dry. “Hard as stone, too. I think he just wanted to get rid of me with the least fuss possible. He was terribly fierce until he realized I had provoked him on purpose.”
“Too bad he didn’t bite you before he caught on.”
Idabel nodded slowly, remembering the way his whole posture had shifted. How his menacing glare has softened into compassion. “I’m not sure it would have worked, anyway. He said they don’t bite except to kill.”
Betje sobered, leaning on the workbench. She drummed her fingers on the worn wood. “You’ll have to try a different one.”
