“I’m not sure I want to anymore.” Idabel busied herself in the work room to avoid Betje’s curious gaze. When the apothecary’s silent inquisition didn’t end, she shrugged helplessly. “It doesn’t feel right. If you had to look a gargoyle in the face and know that he would be punished for something you did, you’d understand. I mean, put yourself in my shoes. Would you do it? If you had a ring of keys that let you into every room of the Tower, would you play a god and pick one to ruin their life?”
Betje grimaced. “I don’t know that it would be easy, but it’s not easy being fae-born in Solvantis, either. I could have my business taken away at any moment. My home and livelihood destroyed like your garden. If I unintentionally tap into magic, I could be jailed or hanged or worse. And don’t think your softgargoyle would have mercy onme. So yes, I would pick one to be the example.”
She was right. Betje was as vulnerable as Idabel. Her thriving business and unrivaled skills as an apothecary would mean nothing if she were suspected of using her magic to gain them. And unlike Idabel, she was born here in Solvantis, and she should have the right to live here openly. To use her natural gifts for the benefit of her community.
Ashamed of her own cowardice,Idabel’s shoulders squared. “I’ll try again.”
Betje put a kindly arm around her. “I’m not asking you to do anything that pricks your conscience. But I won’t tell you not to, either. It would mean a great deal to me and a lot of other people.”
“To me, too, if it means I’ll finally convince you to take me as an apprentice,” Idabel joked.
Betje laughed and squeezed her shoulders, rocking her in such a maternal way that a lump formed in Idabel’s throat. “In a heartbeat. I’d do it now if I could afford the guild fee.”
Idabel hugged her back. “I know you would.”
The rest of the night in the work room, she told herself that she could do this for Betje. She wouldn’t sneak into another gargoyle’s rooms. It had been too intimate by far, seeing Brandt’s private space. It should have been humiliating, being restrained by him and backed into the wall. Instead, it had been something else. Something unfamiliar and overwhelming that made her insides clench.
At first, she was frightened, but when he’d shoved her behind a dusty old tapestry and shielded her with his body, she got warm all over. Blood had rushed to her lips until they tingled, and she felt like biting someone herself.
And when he carried her in his arms, their bodies pressed together as they hurtled toward the ground…she’d tingledall over, inside and out.
She wasn’t some ignorant. She was old enough to know what happened between men and women and how all the parts fit together. She’s seen animals at their mating and heard the stories from the others in Maiden Hall, most of whom were not maidens at all. But she hadn’t understood the appeal until now.
Now, she understood it. Why people would do the stupidest things to have it. Part of her—not a small part—wanted to creep into his rooms again.
That’s part of what made this all so confusing. She didn’tlikeBrandt. She didn’t likeanyof the gargoyles, and he was the one who’d literally crushed her dreams underfoot. But her body seems to like him very much. And unfortunately, he seemed to be decent and kind under his stony façade, so her mind wasn’t very far behind.
“You’ve been stirring that dirty dishwater for fifteen minutes straight like you’re trying to See into a dragon’s hoard.” Betje nudged her with an elbow. “Something on your mind?”
Idabel jumped and blushed and hurriedly dumped the washtub down the drain, drying it vigorously with a linen towel. “Just thinking about which gargoyle to try next.”
“A young one,” Betje suggested, grinning. “A bitey, impulsive one. There are a lot of new recruits in the Tower who are preparing for war and ready to sink their teeth into some goblin flesh, right?”
“Too bad I’m not a goblin,” Idabel quipped. “Then this would be a lot easier.”
Betje tilted her head thoughtfully and made a contemplative noise. “Now that you mention it....”
Chapter 7
Brandt
Ghantal was still resting as he buckled on bracers and spaulders, suddenly looking forward to his imminent deployment. Time away would be a relief. Away from that pesky human who kept buzzing in his thoughts. Away from the hierarchy of the Tower.
Though he’d command and be commanded in the Sixth Watch, everyone was equal in a fight. When it was tooth-to-tooth and claw-to-claw, towerborn fell as easily as cliffborn, and no humans would be there to mop up the mess.
He’d hoped to leave before his mother woke, but Ghantal intercepted him at the door. “Why not the engraved steel ones?” she fussed, tapping his spaulders with one claw. It made a dull sound against the beat-up leather.
He shrugged her off. The leather was lighter and more comfortable, molded perfectly to his muscles after years of wear. “Today is a training day.”
“Wear them anyway. You need to command respect.” She turned to find them in the armory chest.
“From whom?” He scoffed at her back. “You think engraving is what impresses the watch? It might impress the highborns at a skyball, but that’s not who I’m training. These are mostly rookery rabble and cliffborn trash. They’re impressed when I knock them out of the air.”
She ignored his biting tone, returning with the pieces she’d gifted him for his last hatch day. They were skillfully forged with a tasteful inlay of gold along the edge of each plate. She passed them to him to hold while she unbuckled his old leather ones. He let her, his impatience to train outstripping his objections.
She gave a satisfied nod once she’d switched them out. “Better. My moths said the Zenith will observe today, and they’re always right about these things.”
He snorted. So that was why she wanted him in his best, to impress the high-tiers. “Don’t blame me if these come back with scratches.”
