Before she could answer, the first pale light of dawn crept through the doorway behind him. She watched, transfixed, as Brandt’s form began to change. It was swift and silent. His breathing slowed, then stopped altogether. His hide took on the matte finish of stone, and within moments he stood frozen like a statue in the archway.
Idabel crept closer, studying his transformed face. In daysleep, the harsh lines of worry and command had smoothed under the layer of hardened skin. She reached out tentatively and touched his cheek. Cool and smooth, like marble.
The stitches she’d sewn with such care were still there, binding the wounds closed, but what had been silk thread was now hard as rock and bound together cracks in a stone statue.
Her shoulders sagged, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline of the night was wearing off, leaving her shaky and hollow. She rubbed her forehead, then realized she still had Brandt’s blood on her hands. She rushed to the basin in the main chamber and scrubbed it off.
The daylight strengthened, and she knew she needed to leave before the keepers began their rounds. Hurrying to the training tier, she found her bucket tucked in a corner where it had rolled last night. Then she made her way to the storage rooms on ground level, where she changed her apron and tied a rag over her hair, pretending as though she’d just arrived at work.
“You there!” A sharp voice cut through the quiet. Idabel looked up to see one of the head keepers approaching, her hood drawn up. “Did you stay late last night?”
Idabel’s pulse quickened, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. “No. I finished my rounds and went straight back to Maiden Hall.” The lie came easily. “Why do you ask?”
“There was some kind of disturbance. A gargoyle claimed there was a goblin spy in the Tower.” The keeper’s eyes were sharp beneath her hood. “Nonsense, of course, but it has everyone on edge. You didn’t see anything unusual? Anyone who didn’t belong?”
“Nothing at all.” Idabel returned to her polishing, letting confusion color her voice. “A goblin spy? How would one even get past the city walls?”
The keeper made a dismissive sound. “Exactly what I told the Nadir. Young warriors seeing enemies in every shadow, that’s all. Still, keep your eyes open. Report anything strange.”
“Of course.” Idabel bobbed a dutiful curtsy as the keeper moved on, her heart hammering against her ribs. When the woman’s footsteps faded, she sank against the wall, hands trembling. How easily the deception had come. How naturally she’d become someone who lied to keep her secrets safe.
As she began her rounds, she tried to lose herself in the familiar tasks of scraping, sweeping, scrubbing, and polishing. But her mind kept drifting back to the way Brandt had begged her to stop risking herself. Her gargoyle had turned to stone with that pleading expression frozen on his face.
She had a choice to make. She could continue down this path, seeking out ways to provoke the gargoyles until one of them finally gave her what she wanted. Or she could find another way, a way that didn’t involve putting gargoyles like the poor confused young warrior in impossible positions.
The trouble was, she wasn’t sure she knew any other way forward. Not if she wanted an apprenticeship.
Chapter 9
Brandt
The first thing that hit him when dusk broke was her scent.
Not the acrid, nauseating stench of war bat that had clung to her the night before. That abomination had been scrubbed away hours ago by the keepers. This was the other smell, the one that had been haunting him since their first encounter. Citrus and herbs that combined in a way that made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar hunger.
Brandt flexed his shoulders experimentally as the last of the day-dust cracked and crumbled away from his skin. The woundsRikard had given him during their sparring session should have been agony. He’d expected they would require days of the masons’ careful tending to heal properly, and perhaps another mind wall against the throbbing pain that had erupted once the battle bliss was gone.
Instead, there was only a faint tenderness where the gashes had been, and when he looked down, he could barely make out the thin lines of new scars. The human’s stitching and herbal paste had somehow accomplished what trained masons struggled achieve. He ran his fingers along the barely visible seams on his ribs, remembering the way she’d bitten her lip in concentration as she worked, her touch gentle despite the urgency of dawn’s approach.
It was troubling. He didn’t want to be impressed by anything about the maddening little creature who seemed determined to get herself killed in increasingly creative ways.
“Brandt?” Ghantal called from the outer chamber. “The Zenith wishes to see you. Something about last night’s incident.”
His gut tightened. Of course. Rikard’s shouts about goblin spies would have reached every tier of the Tower by now. He dressed quickly, buckling on his everyday leathers and running his hands through his hair to smooth it into some semblance of order. He brushed off Ghantal’s complaints about his armor as he departed.
The Zenith’s offices took up the entirety of the highest tier. One could look down on the whole of the Tower’s hollow center and all of Solvantis from here. Brandt had only been called up this high on a few other occasions as part of a group of commanders, never on his own. His stomach rebelled at the thought of what might await him.
He was admitted immediately to the Zenith’s inner chamber, set off from the other rooms by the screens that kept out any meddling moths who might overhear his business. Rikardwas already present, perched awkwardly on a ledge with his wings folded tight against his back. His expression was carefully neutral, but the stench of anxiety rolled off him in waves. His uncle, the elderly Nadir, perched beside him.
“Commander,” the Zenith greeted him with a nod from his ornate, elevated perch. “I trust you’ve recovered from your training session?”
“Completely.” Brandt touched his fist to his horns in salute. “Ready for duty.”
“Good. Then perhaps you can explain what happened in the training gallery last night. Young Rikard here seems to believe he encountered a goblin spy.”
Brandt glanced at Rikard, who stared fixedly at the floor. “I investigated the matter personally. It was a misunderstanding.”
The Zenith’s eyebrows rose. “A misunderstanding?”
