4
Baelen whisks me across the air between the deep springs and Crimson Court but this time, he’s right beside me. When we reach the other side, I pause at the Court’s entrance. It’s quiet. A guard is posted at each open side. I don’t know any of them, but they stand to attention when I approach. Inside, the bodies are lined up in neat rows, their wings folded across their chests. I don’t know what sort of funeral rituals gargoyles have. I don’t even know if they bury their dead. There are so many to bury.
I sigh, my breath frosting in the air. The nearest guard suddenly shivers. Baelen rubs his hand across my shoulders, catching my hand in his and pressing my palm between his own. It’s not until he uses his power to warm the air around me that I realize I was the one making it cold. Grief seems to do that to me. And all of a sudden, it’s crashing down on me again.
“They died because of Howl,” the guard says, taking me by surprise. “Not because of you, Lady Storm. It’s important that you know that.”
I’m surprised by the complete lack of malice in his expression. “You were one of Howl’s guards.”
He quickly averts his eyes, tucking his wings tight against his sides, but holding them slightly forward in a gesture of remorse. “I am from the Grievous Clan, Lady Storm. I was bound to follow my leader.”
“In other words: you were bound to follow Howl.”
The guard nods. “He was our clan leader as well as our king. Now he is neither.” He meets my eyes. “I do not follow him any more.”
All of the clan leaders are waiting for me at the Royal Residence. But the Grievous Clan is without a leader. “What is your name?”
“I am Grievous Gallon, Lady Storm. I am Grievous Erit’s cousin.”
“How will you decide who is your new leader, Grievous Gallon?”
“That is up to you, Lady Storm. You killed Howl, so you get to choose whether you will become our leader.”
Well, this night is full of surprises. I study the guard more closely. He looks young, wears ill-fitting armor, and hasn’t had a proper haircut in a while. Not that he’s alone in that.
I ask, “What if I choose not to take Howl’s place?”
“Then you must choose a replacement.”
Good. Because I already know exactly who I want to lead their clan. “Thank you, Grievous Gallon. Please return to your post.”
But as I turn away, he calls out, “I’m not guarding them, Lady Storm. I’m here to help gargoyles find their loved ones.” He lowers his eyes. “We’ve sent word to the families of the ones who have fallen. When they get here, they won’t have to search the faces of the dead to find the one they’ve lost. I will help them.”
“That’s…”More compassionate than I expected.
“Orders from Denrock Welsian,” Gallon explains. “He told us it’s what you would want.”
“It is.”
All three guards bow as I turn away. I walk in silence beside Baelen. Off to our far right, bright lights flicker in the direction of Harem Hall. I fight the urge to go there and make sure my friends are safe, but I have to trust that Roar will take care of them. I need to settle things with the clan leaders now.
The last time I visited the Royal Residence, Howl was practically dragging me along. Now, Baelen and I follow the wide pathway that ascends through the trees toward the palace. In the moonlight, it’s even more unnervingly camouflaged against the cliff face that it’s built into. The Residence contains a myriad of hallways and rooms with upper and lower levels. I have no idea where I’m supposed to go. Like before, multiple rows of guards stand watch outside it but I’m relieved to find the old Priestess fluttering around giving them orders.
“Supreme Incorruptible,” she says, more like an announcement than a greeting. In response the guards stand to attention. I try not to eye them warily.
“This way please,” the old Priestess continues. “To the meeting hall.” She lowers her voice as we pass through the wide front doors. “Which, unfortunately, you are already familiar with.”
My heart sinks. There are some rooms that I’d rather not visit ever again. This is the one where I was forced to eat with the Elven Commanders: Elwyn Elder and Pedr Bounty. When we reach the large wooden door decorated with the silhouette of a golden panther, I press my palms against it, wishing I could destroy this room and everything that happened in it.
Inside, I count twenty-six clan leaders. They sit in what at first looks like a scattered pattern but as I study them I realize that they are gathered more on one side of the room than the other.
On the other side, a fire burns in the fireplace. It wasn’t lit last time I was here and it gives off long shadows across the floor. A large, hunched form rises from beside the flames: a male gargoyle I’ve never seen before. He wears furs across his shoulders that entirely cover his wings, and a chain made out of bird talons and panther claws across his broad chest. He blows out a taper as he rises, indicating that he was the one who lit the fire.
The Priestess announces. “I give you the Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy.” I watch her carefully as she speaks. She’s making a point of looking right past this new male and not directly at him.
He speaks from beside the fireplace, his voice a deep growl. “Well, that’s what we’re here to determine, isn’t it? Whether or not she really is Supreme Incorruptible.”
He draws up to his full height, his fur coat sliding away from his wings, held securely across his shoulders by the chain. He shakes out his wings, a casual gesture, but the action reveals a startling difference: where other gargoyles have single wing daggers at their two uppermost wing tips, this gargoyle’s wings are topped with multiple waves of sharp silver tips, razor-sharp edges catching the light.
