“So do I,” he mumbled. Then a tiny snore escaped him, and he was asleep, the poor, exhausted little thing. Idabel tucked the quilt snugly around his tiny body and took the lantern out to the kitchen with her.
She was heating water to wash the dishes when a quiet rapping came at the door. It had to be a gargoyle visitor at this hour. Frowning, she dried her hands on her apron and cracked open the door. She recognized the gray eye staring back at her, because it was the same as Brandt and Loïc’s.
“Ghantal? Is something wrong?”
“Let me in.”
She opened the door fully to find her mother-in-law looking haggard, her usually immaculate grooming absent. She was as shaken as they all were. Without hesitation, Idabel pulled her into an embrace. Ghantal stiffened at the familiarity, then collapsed against her, shoulders shaking.
“He’s alive,” Ghantal whispered. “Can you believe it? After all this time.”
“I know. Come, sit.” Idabel guided her to a stool and took a chair beside her. “Have you seen him? The Nadir wouldn’t give me permission.”
“Yes.” Ghantal’s claws worried the edge of the table. “He didn’t recognize me. Can’t remember anything about our life together.”
“What?!”
“His mind is...in prison. That’s the best description they could give me. The masons say he built too many mind walls to block out the pain and horror, and now he can’t take them down. Doesn’t remember much of anything except the war, and not even much of that.”
Idabel’s knees went weak. She sank onto a stool, pressing her hand to where the mate mark had been. She knew it was bad from the little Bardoux had revealed, but she didn’t think it was this bad. “Nothing?”
Ghantal shook her head. “When he tries to remember, it causes him pain. Actual, physical pain. The masons say we can’t push him, can’t cause high emotion, or we risk fracturing his mind completely.”
“Well. We have learned patience, haven’t we?” She’d waited six years for this day, and she could wait a few more moons if that’s what it took. “Perhaps we could visit him without telling him who we are? Loïc wants to meet him so badly.”
“Absolutely not.” Ghantal’s response was sharp. “He’s dangerous. He injured a mason tonight. Went into battle bliss when they tried to treat him and broke her wrist. They’ve isolated him on the eastern roost.”
“For how long?”
“Until he’s stable. If he ever is.” Ghantal’s voice cracked like glass. “What will you tell Loïc if he doesn’t recover?”
Her heart hurt for her child. “I’ll tell him the truth, even if he’s disappointed.”
Ghantal’s claws scraped a deep groove in the oak table, and she jerked her hand back, closing it in a fist. “I think we must all prepare for disappointment.”
“Don’t say that,” Idabel begged. “Don’t give up on him yet.”
“The gargoyle on that roost isn’t my son. He didn’t recognize me, but I didn’t recognize him, either. That bright, brave male who claimed you is likely gone forever. Maybe it’s better if we accept that now.” Ghantal rose from her stool, all vulnerability packed away. “We must carry on regardless. I thought you should know.”
After she left, Idabel couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t expected Ghantal’s typical steel to be so changed by her visit with Brandt. It meant he was worse than anyone had described.
Her fault. If only Idabel hadn’t been so blinded by her desire for revenge, so set on being bitten, Brandt could have returned whole and hale years ago. The Nadir clearly shared that opinion, and surely Ghantal did too, even if she hid it well enough for Loïc’s sake.
She paced the kitchen, mind racing. She had to do something for Brandt, however small. She couldn’t see him or talk to him or touch him, but surely, she could provide for his comfort. She could begin to repay her monumental debt one copper at a time.
The next morning, after a sleepless night, she walked an unusually subdued and thoughtful Loïc to school and then wentstraight to the apothecary shop. When Betje arrived, Idabel had her hair tied back and her sleeves rolled up, already sweating as she wielded the heavy pestle. The blend of dried plants in the mortar filled the workroom with a sharp, green scent as she bashed them into a fine dust.
“You look determined,” Betje observed as she tied an apron over her gauzy purple-and-silver dress. “That’s either very good or very bad.”
“I’m making something for Brandt. To help heal his mind.”
Betje’s eyebrows rose. “Their masons are very skilled. I’ve heard they train for decades.”
“The masons don’t heal the way we do.” She was already pulling jars from shelves. “Back when we met, he healed overnight when I used my salve on his wounds. Maybe I can do the same for his mind.”
“Mind-healing isn’t so straightforward, but I suppose it can’t hurt to try. What are you using?”
She scanned the jars she’d selected. “Feverfew and white willow for pain. Valerian for calm. Winter cherry and lion’s mane for clarity. Lavender for peace. Arnica for healing. I’ll steep them all in honey.” They’d added a beehive to their rooftop herb garden, and the honey from it would be the perfect binder for her tonic.
