Drogan’s eyes narrowed. “My temperament is fine. I’m only wound tight because my friends have lost their honor and their good sense.”
“Or perhaps,” Lucan said, still grinning, “you’ve been wound tight because you haven’t gotten laid in longer than any of us. Élowen has the wingspan and the stamina to solve that particular problem for you, though.”
Drogan stared at Lucan with a flat, unblinking stare. Rikard held his breath, and he could tell Bastien was calculating whether to intervene before they resorted to blows.
But when Drogan’s lips drew back from his teeth, it was into a smile. “She’ll be the one who benefits most,” he said. “I assure you.”
Lucan howled a laugh, and the tension at the table cracked like stone at dusk, livening into the old friendship they’d always shared. They switched from wine to mead, and the four of them drank like they were young and whole and the war was something that happened to other gargoyles. Their hard feelings were chased away.
When Drogan left, he clasped arms with each of them, even Rikard.
“Hunt well,” Rikard told him.
“I will.” Drogan ducked out of the tavern, the sound of his wings snapping open reaching them through the open door.
Bastien followed shortly after, but Lucan lingered, nursing the last of his mead and watching Rikard with shrewd assessment, a smile playing on his lips. “Hm.”
“What?” Rikard demanded, well in his cups.
“For what it’s worth, Drogan is right. Your mate has changed you. You’re still miserable, but it’s a better class of miserable.”
“Get out. And stay the fuck out of Carlijn’s window.”
Lucan grinned his old grin, the one that had launched a thousand bad decisions, and departed with a flourish. Rikard sat alone at the table, lost in thought.
They were all changing. The war broke them in different places, and the breaks were healing in different ways. Thebond that had held them together since they were hatchlings was developing cracks as a result. He truly wished his friends happiness, but it could no longer come at the expense of his own.
Chapter 22
Hannalinde
“The moths are saying you’ve set her aside,” Cléa announced over dinner one night. “The upper tiers are all talking about it.”
Hannalinde’s knife paused mid-buttering, but Rikard continued to strip his rabbit haunch as though he hadn’t heard.
“Set her aside for whom?” Roul asked, topping off his tankard with a frothy pour of ale.
“A mistress. Ahumanmistress. The Zenith’s wife sent me a note. She said her moths are saying the Nadir keeps his wifelocked in the eyrie because he’s taken up with another human.” Cléa leaned forward, adding to Carlijn, “I can only assume they mean you!”
Carlijn, who had been demolishing a plate of roasted turnips, choked on a laugh. She pressed her napkin to her mouth, ringlets shaking as she gestured at Rikard with her fork. “They’ll be disappointed to learn that you’d rather do paperwork than drink with friends. I couldn’t seduce you if I tried.”
Cléa frowned at her, and Carlijn ducked her head. “Not that I would.”
Rikard looked so annoyed by the topic of conversation that Hannalinde had to bite her lip to quell her own giggle. He stabbed his meat, muttering, “No one takes the moths seriously.”
“Maybe not,” Cléa said, waving a claw. “But they do love to repeat their stories, and right now the story is that my son’s wife hasn’t been seen in a month. I’ve received condolences for my poor daughter-in-law’s humiliation.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Hannalinde said mildly, not wanting to cause trouble. “Let them think what they want.”
Cléa ignored her, speaking directly to her son. “Take Hannalinde out for an evening. Let the Tower see her, see that she’s well and that you haven’t stuffed her in a cupboard. Let them see how her belly has grown. That’s all it will take to kill a rumor.”
Rikard pushed his plate away. “Are you feeling well enough to go out?” he asked Hannalinde.
“Of course she does,” Cléa clucked. “Aalis says she’s thriving.”
Rikard looked at Hannalinde. The question in his scarred face was for her.
She bit her lip. Physically, she could do it. Her body was ungainly but still able. It was her mind having trouble, knowing that her hunter was still out there. His presence in her head wasquiet lately, though. Whether because of her mental exercises with Rikard or her true mate’s disinterest, she did not know.
