9
I’ve never flown with Erit before. He was the leader of one of the mining teams and for a while, he was the last gargoyle I thought would ever be my ally. Over time, I got to know him and heard his story. He’d told me about killing a shadow panther when he was a teenager—that if he didn’t come back with one, clan law meant he would be thrown out of his home to starve. Now, he’s flying me to the heart of the Grievous stronghold.
After some consideration, I left my armor behind. I don’t want to fly into Mount Grievous looking like I’m about to launch a war. Erit has chosen to wear light armor, but that’s because it has straps that he has wrapped around me to make sure I don’t fall. It’s a handy addition to gargoyle armor that is usually intended for carrying bundled weapons but happens to be conveniently Marbella-sized. The safety straps are also helpful when he has to navigate through mountain peaks, tilting on his side or even flying horizontal. We decided early on in our flight that it would be a good idea to stay low and fly through the mountains, rather than making ourselves a target in clear sky.
He apologizes along the way for the bristles on his chin, which catch my hair as I press my head against his chest. I laugh, thinking it’s strange that I’m so comfortable being this up close and personal with a gargoyle, let alone one I used to think wanted to kill me.
When I first arrived in Erador, it was nighttime and I didn’t get to see the landscape. Every time I flew across Erador since then I was bundled into a basket so I couldn’t see. Now it takes my breath away. A spider web of mountains spreads out beneath us, each leading back to Mount Erador where the palace is located. Mount Prime is rust-colored, Mount Virtuous is a deep mossy green, and far, far in the west looms a mountain that is black as ochre: the perfect place for shadow panthers to thrive.
“There it is,” Erit says, his voice a rasp as the air rushes past us. “Mount Grievous. The last mountain before we hit the wastelands.”
As we near it, multiple villages come into view, located at various points along the mountain range and deep in the valleys, many of them surrounded by thick forests. Erit angles for the far side of the mountain where the shadows are darkest and the sunlight barely reaches.
I ask, “Should we go to the Cavity?” Each mountain contains a place called a Cavity—it’s where the main nest is located.
He shakes his head. “Grievous live out in the open. They believe it makes them tougher.” He points to a cluster of buildings located at the highest point on the side of the mountain. “Whoever is in charge will be in that village there. It won’t take long for them to show themselves once we land.”
The village approaches fast as Erit speeds toward the nearest cobbled street. I sense movement below us, swift and furtive, but when we glide to a stop, there’s nobody in sight. The buildings are shuttered and closed. A chill breeze whistles through the gaps between them. Erit unstraps me and I step off his feet, stretching my arms and legs. I love flying but remaining in the same position for hours has left me stiff and sore.
Erit stretches out his muscles while I smooth my hair. He gives me another apologetic glance. He’s older than some of the other gargoyles, but no less agile as he unstraps a sword and hands it to me, swiftly reaching for his bow and nocking an arrow to it. Between us, we have attacks covered both at a distance and up close.
I draw on my power to cast a soft glow across the dark street, the Queen’s heart responding to my wish:destroy the dark. I’m still getting a handle on how to use and control this new power. I hope at some point, I might be able to use it to fly on my own, but I’m not sure how yet. Destroy gravity? Probably not a good idea.
Erit raises his weapon, assessing all attack points from the rooftops to the street. “Go ahead, Lady Storm.”
I plant my feet in the middle of the street and raise my voice. “I am Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy. You will show yourselves or I will burn your homes to dust.”
It’s a horrible threat; one I wouldn’t normally make but Erit has schooled me up on Grievous culture. They will only respond to brute strength.
A shadow grows from an alleyway on my right and a figure emerges from the darkness, but not so far that I can see who it is. A female voice hisses, “Supreme Incorruptible, you stole something from me that can’t be replaced.”
I consider shining the heartstone’s light into the shadowed recess that hides the newcomer. But I let her have her cloak of darkness for now. “Who are you?”
“I am Grievous Indira.”
Erit stiffens beside me. His eyes widen and tension enters his posture. “Careful, Lady Storm. She is Howl’s sister.”
Sister. Of course. Always a boy and a girl.It’s difficult to imagine Howl having any sort of family.
The female emerges into the light. All female gargoyles are beautiful, but she is savagely gorgeous. Her eyes are such a dark shade of brown that they appear black like her brother’s. Her hair matches the color of her eyes and it’s glossy, long, and braided down one side. She wears the skin of a shadow panther slung across one shoulder, attached to leather armor that covers her entire body. Female wings don’t have wing daggers like the males, but she’s made up for it with leather casings that cover the top of her wings attached to which are sharp spikes.
I appraise her as she takes up position ten paces away. She doesn’t carry any weapons as far as I can see, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t hidden around her body.
I say, “I won’t apologize for killing your brother.”
“But you will apologize for taking his death from me.”
My forehead crinkles. That is a strange thing to say. I’m not sure what she means.
Her hands curl into fists as she snarls, “It was my right to kill him. Not yours! You stole that from me.”
She wanted him dead? I definitely didn’t expect that. “Then I saved you the trouble.”
She stalks toward me. Erit keeps his bow trained on her and I ready my sword, although it’s the heartstones I’ll draw on if I’m really threatened.
She stops three paces away. Up close, I can see there are rips in her wings. It looks like someone took a knife to them, shredding the bottom third into wide ribbons. Llion once told me that to injure another gargoyle’s wings was a heinous crime, an act of violence that was meant to subjugate the victim.
“Did he hurt your wings?”
