“You don’t find the gargoyles…overbearing?” Hannalinde raised her brows, expression pure innocence.
Idabel swallowed her dry mouthful. “I work while they’re asleep. I’m not allowed–—”
“She has keys to nearly every room in the Tower,” Betje interrupted. “And she often toils well past sundown.”
Idabel winced. So Betje had noticed her lateness after all.
Lord Wilkin’s gaze bored into her. “You could arrange to meet one, then. To be alone with one?”
She was instantly on guard, bristling at the implications, but Betje patted her arm again. “Notthat. Just listen. She is trustworthy, Wil,” she added. “She has no love for the creatures.”
Idabel lost her patience. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”
The pale daughter reddened again, and Lord Wilkin set down his teacup. “Apologies. I should not have been so circumspect. Betonyne and I are part of a group who believe that the gargoyles have too much hold over life in Solvantis. We feel humans should have more freedoms. The freedom to own magical items, for example.”
“To grow plants inside the city walls,” Betje added, with a meaningful look.
“Flowers,” Lady Hannalinde breathed so quietly that Idabel could barely hear her.
Lord Wilkin gave his daughter an indulgent look. “I try to influence the king in that regard, but the work is slow. The gargoyles have a tight grip on his opinion. He believes their protection is the worth the price. Of course, we humans could better protect the heartstone and ourselves if we had tael-infused armor and weapons, but he won’t hear it! That is where you come in.”
“Me?” Idabel asked, still bewildered how she fit into any of this.
“We need evidence,” he explained, sounding like a kindly father.
“Of what?”
“Of their potential to do us harm.”
Idabel jolted with a different kind of shock. “I thought they were incapable! Isn’t that part of their vow?”
The heartstone vow was the crux of the ancient agreement between their two species. The gargoyles swore to watch over human cities at night, and in return, humans guarded the heartstone during the day. Whoever possessed it could command all of gargoyle-kind. No one wanted it to fall into other, more dangerous hands. And other hands were definitely interested.
Like the hands that destroyed her farm and family.
Flames licked the inside of her eyelids. Idabel shuddered, pushing the image away. Betje must have sensed her distress, because she took her free hand, squeezing it.
Lord Wilkin nodded sagely. “They cannot kill us without penalty. But I think we can agree that death is not the only kind of harm. Don’t mistake me—we need the gargoyles. But they need us, too. They could loosen their grip a little. They treat uslike infants when we could be equals, and people are beginning to believe it. Even the king.”
He was right. It was refreshing to hear someone voice what she’d been thinking since she arrived in Solvantis. “The keepers treat them like gods.”
“The gods are dead,” he returned crisply. “That’s exactly what we must remind people of. There are no more gods.”
She’d never agreed with anyone more fiercely. Neither gods nor gargoyles had protected her when the goblins came. “What do I have to do?”
Chapter 5
Brandt
Their hunt had been an undeniable success. Ghantal forgot about politics for a few hours in the thrill of the chase and brought down a deer. They’d carried it back to the Tower and feasted until their bellies protested. His full stomach made him too lazy to drag himself to the outer perch before the sun rose, so rather than facing the bustling, circular streets of Solvantis while he waited for the liberation of dusk, he’d roosted in the dining room and was now stuck staring at the wall all day.
His boredom was only broken when some keepers came to clean. The cloaked little humans buzzed around like wingless flies, collecting dust and bones. Though he’d lived longer in the Tower now than his upbringing in the cliffs, he would never get used to their service.
It was an honor, but it shamed him somehow to watch them collect his garbage and clean up his messes. He wished he could turn away. Close his eyes. But he couldn’t. He had to watch them crawl about, scrubbing away every stain on their knees.
It was a vile display. If his stomach hadn’t been stone, he would have lost its contents.
When they left, he vowed never to roost indoors again. Plenty of the towerborn left their outdoor perches empty or paid others to roost there in inclement weather, but he would not be that kind.
