He burrowed deeper into his blankets, wings rustling beneath the covers. “Five more minutes.”
“You said that half an hour ago.” She tugged the quilt down, exposing one pointed ear. “I know you were up late listening to the moths again.” Though Loïc didn’t turn to stone during the day like full gargoyles, he had their ability to understand moth speech, and he often lit the lantern after she fell asleep so he could hear their gossip.
“Wasn’t.” But his gray eyes, also inherited from his father, wouldn’t meet hers as he sat up, rubbing his face with small, clawed hands.
“Then explain the candle that burned itself to nothing. And all this dust.” She held up the vial, watching the moth mess catch the weak morning light streaming through the narrow windows. The rookery apartment wasn’t much, just two small, low-ceilinged rooms in the Tower’s first tier, but it was snug. It was home.
Loïc’s sleepy expression shifted to guilty excitement as he followed her into the kitchen. “The moths had news. Very important news.”
“Moths always think their gossip is important.” She set out bread and preserved plums, their usual breakfast. “Remember when they insisted the dragon parliament was mobilizing for war, and it turned out to be a summer festival?”
“This is different.” He climbed onto his chair, wings dragging behind him like a cape. At five, they were a little heavy for his small frame, though Ghantal insisted he’d grow into them. “They said the Sixth Watch is back.”
The knife slipped from Idabel’s fingers, clattering on the tabletop. “What?”
“They flew over the north gate after midnight.” His young face was earnest, searching hers. “Could Papa be with them?”
Her chest constricted. The mate bond had been silent for five years now. She’d broken it herself once she’d realized how Lord Wilkin and Aelbert were using her blood.
It wasn’t spying on the Tower through Idabel’s eyes, as Betje had feared. It was far worse.
Early casualty reports from the Sixth Watch had been bleak. The goblins seemed to have an advantage, anticipating every move the gargoyles made. War bats even found their secret roosts and attacked them while they slept.
She’d heard the reports through Ghantal and her moths, but Idabel was pregnant then, busy with her apprenticeship. Through the bond, she knew that Brandt was alive and uninjured. For the sake of the baby, she tried not to worry too much. She told herself that she believed in her mate. She trusted him to come home to her. It was only a few more moons until he’d be back.
When six moons came and went with no word from him directly, she started to worry, mostly because she was afraid he would miss their baby’s birth—a baby he did not even know existed. But wasn’t until Lord Wilkin came to find her at Betje’s shop, requesting another blood sample, that she’d begun to suspect what was going on.
“Why do you need it now?” she’d asked, puzzled. She’d almost forgotten about the bloodletting at that point. So much had happened in the meantime.
Aelberthadactually delivered a report to the king, and some of the restrictions on human magic usage had been loosened as a result. Women could wear conception charms now. She herself wore one, though she had little reason to. More importantly, certain plants were allowed on rooftops and in window boxes, and Betje was able to sell her Seeing services.
Not to mention, Lord Wilkin had been able to greatly enrich himself by supplying the king’s guard with tael-forged armor and weapons. She’d thought the matter over and done with.
He looked annoyed by her question. “The king requires it.”
Betje, who’d been listening at her desk, set down her quill. “Tell the king that it’s not advised to bloodlet a woman who’s with child. I’m sure any physician would agree.”
“It’s not achild,” he’d snapped, growing red above his yellow silk cravat. “It’s a halflingthing. No one would mourn its demise. I need more blood,now.”
“Excuse me?” Betje’s chair scraped back, and the sound made goosebumps rise on Idabel’s arms. She wrapped them protectively over her growing belly and moved aside so Betje could step in front of her, a quivering finger pointed at Lord Wilkin’s chest. “She most certainly carries a child, one much beloved. If more blood samples are required, they will have to wait until after the birth. Good day,sir.”
She’d closed the shop and held Idabel for an hour afterward until both their hearts stopped racing. It wasn’t clear why Lord Wilkin was so determined to retrieve more of her blood, but itwasclear that he had some kind of ill intent…the kind that couldn’t wait.
She’d reported him to the Nadir as soon as the sun set. Bardoux’s investigation had been swift. Wilkin and Aelbert were arrested and questioned, and their whole scheme came out.
Wilkin was in league with the goblins. He and Aelbert had traded Idabel’s blood for lucrative merchant contracts. A goblin Seer had managed to harness the mate bond in her blood to find Brandt’s location, no matter where he went. Where Brandt led, the Sixth Watch followed…and so did the goblin hordes.
Brandt was a beacon of destruction, and it was all Idabel’s fault.
She couldn’t take action while she was pregnant, but as soon as Loïc was born, she’d severed the bond, just in case the goblins still had sufficient blood left to See through. With the help of Ghantal and Betje and a scarificator not unlike the one that Aelbert had used, she’d managed to drain enough of her blood to break the connection. Since then, she didn’t know if Brandt lived or not.
The bond’s absence still ached like a missing limb.
“The moths exaggerate,” she managed, voice steady despite her racing heart. “The Sixth Watch was given up as lost years ago. It was probably just a messenger.”
“But what if it’s him?” Loïc pushed his plums around his plate, lower lip jutting out. “We should go ask at the Tower. Right now.”
“The gargoyles are asleep,” she reminded him.
