He circled the pairs, calling corrections and occasionally demonstrating a defensive maneuver. But his focus kept slipping to Idabel when her emotions whispered against his consciousness. He could feel her worry mixed with a giddy joy. She was thinking of him.
He should wall her off during training, but too soon he’d have to build stronger defenses around their bond. So strong he might forget her for the full length of his deployment. He wanted to enjoy their connection while he could. He wanted to bask in it like a dragon in its hoard.
“Commander?” Rikard’s voice cut through his personal reverie. “Should we rehearse flight formations?”
Brandt nodded, shaking off his personal reverie. He had a responsibility to his wing of the watch. These gargoyles trusted him to keep them alive. But even as he directed them through banking turns and attack patterns, part of him was still counting the hours until he could see his mate again.
If he could see her again. Now that all of his wing had reported, their deployment could be any time. The thought made him drive them, channeling his full attention into the training. By the time he called for a break, they were all breathing hard, wings drooping with exhaustion.
“Good. You have earned your rest,” he told them, and meant it. Even Rikard had redeemed himself, his natural talent finally tempered with a little discipline. “Our departure is imminent. Don’t feast yourselves stupid tonight.”
They made their way to the banquet hall together. The space echoed with voices and wingbeats as three wings of the Sixth Watch gathered to feast around the long tables. Human servants scurried between them with platters of roasted ox and flagons of mead, and clouds of moths tittered overhead.
He found himself perched beside Evrard, a weathered cliffborn who was among the last to report, their narrow rail at the edge of the chaos. The older gargoyle tore into his meat with his full focus, but Brandt noticed how he darted glances at the others each time they laughed as a group, trying and failing to get in on the joke. Both of them were outsiders by circumstance.
“Do they always eat this well in the Tower?” Evrard asked in the old tongue.
“Yes.”
“Bastards.”
Despite his mood, Brandt’s mouth twitched. “Bastards,” he agreed, grateful for the uncomplicated honesty.
He studied Evrard’s profile, taking in his flattened nose and well-gnawed ear. This was the kind of gargoyle who should havebeen his father. A steady, hornless, broad-shouldered male who would have treasured a mate like Ghantal. Who would have been proud to introduce her to his family. Who would have loved his own son.
These were the good-hearted gargoyles who he’d lead into battle. The ones whose lives he carried on his shoulders. Some of these laughing, feasting gargoyles wouldn’t return. He’d have to carve their names into his hide. Inform their families they’d fought well. That’s if he were lucky enough to return himself.
“Something wrong?” Evrard asked, glancing sideways at him. “I understand if you can’t tell the whole watch, but I’d rather know than not.”
Brandt shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I always wonder which ones.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. Understanding flickered across Evrard’s scarred features. The older gargoyle tossed back his mead and held out the goblet for a refill. As a keeper poured the heady liquid sloshed over his knuckles, drawing Brandt attention to the blunted claws on two fingers.
Recognition surged through him. “You have a human mate!”
“How did you guess?”
He held up his own hand, showing his bitten claws. They shared a look of perfect understanding. The sweet torture of loving someone so fragile.
“It will get easier once we reach Meravenna and build our mind walls for battle,” Brandt said, though the words rang hollow. “We won’t be distracted by thoughts of our mates until we take them down again. Our focus will be single-minded.”
“I want to remember her. I want a reason to come home.”
The raw honesty in Evrard’s voice made Brandt’s stomach clench. Through the bond, he felt for Idabel. When she sent an answering surge of affection, he knew he’d gladly die with her name on his lips rather than forget her for even a moment.
“You’ll remember, even with your wall up. The mate bond will pull you back, even if you can’t recall her face or form.” He said it for himself as much as for Evrard. “She’ll be able to sense you through the bite. She’ll know if you’re alive or dead, well or injured. It will be a comfort to her, and your family will keep her safe until you get back.”
Evrard went completely still, like Brandt had stunned him with a blow. “I didn’t bite her. I wanted to, but there was no time. It would have been—”
“Impulsive.” Brandt’s fingers curled into a fist, feeling the phantom warmth of Idabel’s skin. “I understand. We are not that.” Usually. But when it came to his mate, his impulses always won, and he didn’t regret it.
“I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“You did her no favors withholding it.” The words came out harsher than intended, colored by his own relief at having claimed Idabel while he could.
“I didn’t know whether she shared my regard. But I did not ask, and now it’s too late.”
Brandt studied the older gargoyle’s dejected posture. “Does she dwell here in Solvantis?”
