Page 56 of Eat. Prey. Love. (Apex Academy Capers #5)
I perch on the cold stone of my solitary tower, specially formulated ink on a quill scratching across a parchment. The message is crucial, vital information about the Fae’s movements in the predator world, but cloaked in vagueness that seems almost casual. I can’t risk any directness; our enemies are many and ever-watchful.
This is something I will never be prepared to do—and I thought I never would have to.
The ink smudges slightly as I press too hard, a physical manifestation of the inner turmoil that never quite abates. I’ m aching inside, snide thoughts plaguing me with memories of betrayal and loss, guilt gnawing at my insides like a persistent worm. And yet, there’s something else—a scent that tugs at the edges of my consciousness, elusive and haunting.
It’s a whiff caught on the wind, a trace so familiar it sends shivers down my spine. Since arriving in Apex, that fragrance has teased me, a ghostly presence that should be impossible. It speaks of home, of the days before my exile, heavy with implications that could unravel the fragile peace of my present.
I know that scent, intimately tied to my past, my mistakes, the reason I was cast out. But it’s been gone for ages, eradicated from my life until now. My nostrils flare as I try to capture it once more, but it’s just a phantom, leaving me doubting my own senses.
Greetings, Laveaux Clutch.
Cela fait très longtemps, non?
As difficult as it is to receive this letter, you must know that it is even more so for me to write to you.
When I was sent away, I spent many centuries resenting your decision. I did not understand why you chose to honor some ridiculous prophecy over keeping the heir to the throne—your eldest child—in your life. However, I now see what motivated you to follow the words of the seers. They foresaw a future where such a union would be outlawed, and it would endanger the entire clutch, possibly to the point of being hunted. Acceptance may well have caused the corrupt shifters on Councils and the nebulous ‘Society’ to have our entire species wiped out once they found out the true provenance of our people.
You faced a real life trolley problem, and made your decision accordingly.
I understand that weight now, as I have finally found a family to replace the one I was born into. Unlike you, I would choose them over the fate of the species or even the world, so I am forced to initiate contact when I would have preferred to leave the past interr’d with the bones, as the Bard said.
La vie n’est rien si elle n’est pleine d’ironie et de douleur, n’est-ce pas?
Since time is of the essence, I will get to the point rather than continue to focus on the past. I have already spent far too many years allowing your choice to haunt me—both for self-loathing and grief purposes. The latter is why I finally gave in, by the way. My brooding grief kept me from enjoying my first connection as much as I should have for so many years—and a mate is something that should have been centuries of celebration, yet it wasn’t. At least, not to the fullest capacity possible, which I blame your actions for.
I hold responsibility as well, but I am working through that in a much healthier way than before.
You are likely wondering what this missive has to do with, other than getting my written closure on my exile. The chickens have come to roost on the topic of magic and the Fae, unfortunately. Your decision is for naught, I believe, because they have resurfaced and they are even angrier than they were at our sentencing. The research my family is in the midst of actually suggests that the people the Councils and their ilk believed they suppressed into near extinction have only been hiding—biding their time until they see openings for rebellion.
Past tries have been unsuccessful, and I am not certain why. However, there is a variable I cannot confirm at this time, and I wonder if it is perhaps the reason why they are now openly attacking the root of their exile. Those responsible for sealing the gates to the Veil and hunting down stragglers may be at their most vulnerable now, and if you are secluded enough that you have not heard about the kidnappings and attacks, you need to be aware now. Your ties to the past before the treaties makes you especially vulnerable because of origins.
You are not safe, even if you believe yourselves to be such based on my exile.
Please understand that I am not using this crisis in the supernatural world to rub in the fallacy of that choice.
C’est comme ca, non?
However, the Fates have brought me to our former home, Paris, and I am closer than I have been in many centuries. I seek permission to bring my new family to your home in the mountains where we can discuss this new threat to both of our clutches, and perhaps understand how to defeat the forces determined to destroy the world as we know it. The verbal archives kept by our people will be the most accurate information on the Fair Folk and the other magical beings in existence—except for, perhaps, those kept by other mythical species out of the current leadership’s reach .
I trust our account far more than that other species, of course. Our biases are known, whereas those of the other supes’ are not. My mates and the rest of my family will help me sort through the massive amount of information, which is why I am bringing them rather than face my shame on my own. They have varied talents and we support one another much in the way I believed our clutch did before my exile.
You will likely push back on my request to bring non-gargoyles into the clutch territory and I understand why. Allowing that prior to my being cast out is what got us into this very position, but I humbly request that you set aside that prejudice in order to prevent this mainstream shifter problem from becoming an issue for all gargoyles and indeed, the entirety of reclusive mythicals such as ourselves.
The time for hiding has ended Your Highnesses.
There is no place anyone will be safe if this war of magicals versus shifters escalates and I am not certain that the shifter side isn’t purposefully allowing it to do so. I haven’t shared all of these fears with my family yet because I have to relate the cause of my exile to my mates. Until now, it has been too painful to do so, but before we journey to your lands—hopefully in the summer—I must come clean. Then I will share it with the rest of our clutch so we are all aware of the pitfalls of visiting your lands.
I do not wish to cause more fractures or rehash what cannot be changed while we are visiting. My sole focus is information that will protect my mates and family, then possibly the rest of the world.
If it’s not possible to do both, my choice will not resemble yours in the slightest—that much is crystal clear in my mind.
Please send a response post haste upon receipt so that I may begin the process of planning.
With great hope,
Renard Laveaux
Former Heir to the Throne of the Laveaux Clutch
Finishing ? 1 the letter with a final, decisive stroke, I fold it carefully, sealing it with wax that bears no mark. The message needs to reach the old country undetected, and for this task, I trust ancient methods over modern ones. I rise, stretching wings that have been idle too long, and move to the edge of the parapets.
Below, the campus sprawls indifferently, unaware of the secrets that flutter above their heads. I call upon the service only we gargoyles possess, a network of couriers older than some civilizations, bred for loyalty and discretion. I didn’t bring any of my family into this secret meeting because this service would not show if anyone other than a gargoyle was present. Our network is secure only when it is not compromised and I cannot break that vow—not when I am asking for a favor.
A shadow detaches itself from the darkness below, a figure trained from birth for this very purpose. With a respectful nod, it extends an arm, waiting for the missive that could change the tide in a secret war.
“Take it,” I command softly, “to the mountains belonging to the Laveaux clutch.”
It nods. “It will be so.”
My voice is a low rumble that stirs the night air. “It carries more than just ink. You hold the difference between disaster and aversion, courier. Do not fail.”
The courier disappears as silently as it arrived, swallowed by the night. Alone once more, I retreat into the shadows of my tower, the echo of that elusive scent still lingering in my mind, a question unanswered and full of foreboding.
As I watch it disappear, a pang of sadness strikes me, not as debilitating as it once was, but significant nonetheless. Dolly’s warmth flickers in my heart, a reminder that I am no longer a creature of solitude.
“And soon,” I murmur into the wind, “it will be time to unfold my past to Dolly and Aubrey.”
I imagine their faces, etched with concern and love, ready to shoulder some of the weight I’ve carried alone for too long. The thought steadies me, a resolve forming like stone within. Yes, it’s time to let them in, to share the weight of memories that have for too long shaped my solitary vigil upon this tower.
Brooding in solitude has done me no favors, and now it’s dangerous, yet I struggle to give voice to my trauma.
My mind drifts to the magical orchid I’ve kept in its case for centuries, revering it as one of the few memories I have of the time of carefree youth. It both comforted and mocked me in turn with its beauty and delicacy—much like the woman who created it as a present for my hatch day so long ago. She was much like the orchid, both ephemeral and fragile, but almost worshipful to gaze upon. Her wit, her charm, and her effortless light made my heart flutter with joy even when it wanted to give into the common teenage ailment of sullen moping .
She was part of my life from the moment I hatched and as the years went on, we got closer and closer—two children of powerful royals with very rigid expectations that we shed together. I barely noticed the differences between us as we aged because our bond was that of childhood friends. When it became more than that as teens, we were careful to keep our attachment secret—both because we enjoyed fooling our parents, but also because our families were so controlling. I don’t know that either of us even realized how forbidden it was, nor what kind of problems would arise when it became public.
We simply enjoyed the intrigue, as most young adults do.
I sigh, running my hand through my hair as I look up at the stars in supplication. The scent I have tracked several times should not exist, and if it does… I do not know what that means. Is there perhaps a relative I was not aware of? Could there be someone avenging her cause? Why would that unite such disparate magic users in a rebellion? Is it a private vengeance underneath the veneer of a public revolution?
The questions are far too many for me to effectively contemplate until I see the gargoyles who should hold answers. They alone know what they did and how, and that will tell me which line of inquiry to pursue in regards to her.
If it is anything but the truth I’ve mourned for longer than most human civilizations have existed, I do not know what I will do to those who deceived me.