Page 19 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

Idabel

H er worn boots clicked too loudly on the marble floors as she followed the butler to Lord Wilkin’s receiving parlor, Betje close beside her.

“Ladies, please.” Lord Wilkin rose from his chair and made a gracious gesture that encouraged them to take the seat across from him.

A flicker if disapproval crossed the butler’s face before he buried his objection to his employer’s nicety.

Clearly, they were no ladies in his eyes. “How good of you to come.”

As if she’d had an option. Idabel swallowed and took a seat on the brocade settee, her heart pounding. Lying was not a chore she relished. She’d rather scrub a hundred garderobes, but here she was, doing what she must.

In a spill of afternoon light from the window, Hannalinde looked up from her embroidery frame, face breaking into a smile. Her deft fingers stilled on the silk threads in shades of gold and green. “How nice to see you both. Would you care for tea?”

“We wouldn’t turn it down,” Betje answered for them both when Idabel remained silent, too caught up in crafting her story to reply.

She reached out to Brandt for courage, but the mate bond held a strange silence during the daylight hours.

When Brandt entered daysleep, their connection hadn’t severed, but it had quieted, like a held breath.

“May I present Doctor Aelbert,” Lord Wilkin said smoothly while his daughter tended to the tea.

“His Majesty’s personal physician.” It was only then that Idabel noticed the stranger by the marble mantel to her left.

Reed-thin and dressed all in black, he’d resembled a fireplace poker more than a person.

The doctor’s eyes darted between her and Lord Wilkin with barely concealed excitement.

His coat bore the king’s insignia, a silver tower surrounded by stars, but it hung loosely on his narrow shoulders, like he’d somehow shrunk inside it.

He gave a low, oddly formal bow. “I’m here to document your. ..situation.”

“My situation.” Idabel’s hand drifted to her shoulder. The brush of her fingers made the spot pulse slightly.

“Yes, yes. For my report.” Ignoring the saucer and cop that Hannalinde proffered toward him, Doctor Aelbert approached Idabel with quick, bird-like movements, tilting his head to one side and then the other as he took her in.

“I must record the location, the skin damage, the physiological changes. It’s fascinating, absolutely fascinating. ”

Lord Wilkin’s smile tightened. “The doctor means to verify your assault, of course.”

She wanted to protest that it wasn’t assault. That she’d wanted Brandt’s bite. Had encouraged it. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them instead. The lump in her throat grew. It felt so wrong to lie about this , something so precious to her.

Aelbert blinked rapidly. “Oh. Yes. The terrible assault. Though the experience itself is quite inter—”

“Traumatic,” Lord Wilkin interrupted. “As I’m sure the girl would agree.”

Idabel could only nod mutely. Hannalinde made a soft, sympathetic noise and held out a teacup, the delicate china rattling softly. Idabel took it, glad to have a focus other than the intent gaze of the doctor. It felt like he might bore right through her.

She sipped the hot, floral liquid and was surprised to recognize a few notes in it. Lavender, chamomile, and was that… “Passionflower?”

Hannalinde brightened. “My own blend. A thought it might aid in the morning’s pursuit.”

“A calming tea.” Betje took an appreciatively noisy sip. “Lovely. You know, you could add a bit of valerian root for even more effectiveness. Or perhaps lemon verbena leaves.”

Hannalinde beamed at the apothecary’s praise. “I’d thought to make a purely floral blend,” she explained shyly.

“Ah! In that case, I got a fresh batch of jasmine blossoms in recently that would be a perfect addition, then. I can send you over a sample of that and a variety of roses to try.”

“You’re too kind!”

The two of them fell into an excited chat about flower teas, leaving Idabel to the scrutiny of the two men. Doctor Aelbert’s fingers twitched toward his satchel repeatedly, like he could barely contain his eagerness.

“Now then,” he burst out. “If you would lower your chemise? I must see it for myself.”

Heat crept up Idabel’s neck. “Is a physical examination necessary? I thought I could offer a statement.”

“Essential,” Aelbert declared. “The bite creates specific scarring patterns unique to each gargoyle. The depth, the spacing, even the angle of entry can tell us about the individual. We must have the measurements for posterity. This is a unique event.”

Lord Wilkin coughed. “What the good doctor means is we need proof of the gargoyle’s crime for the report.”

“Crime. Yes.” Aelbert seemed to remember himself. “The terrible crime.”

Reluctantly, Idabel pulled her chemise and the shoulder of her bodice aside.

She could just see the edge of it out of the corner of her eye.

Brandt’s bite mark had darkened overnight, the perimeter of the wound beginning to silver while a bruise bloomed beyond.

Doctor Aelbert leaned so close she could smell his breath: pickled fish and strong coffee.

“Extraordinary.” His fingers hovered, twitching, over the marks. “The metallic scarring indicates healing has already begun. Tell me, do you feel anything unusual in your body? A pulling sensation, perhaps, like an iron chain?”

“Doctor,” Lord Wilkin warned.

“The side effects will be significant,” Aelbert barreled on. “Do you feel at ease? Have you noticed any changes in your mood or thoughts?”

“Perhaps we should focus on the report,” Lord Wilkin cut in sharply. For once, Idabel was grateful for his harsh attitude. The doctor’s line of questioning hinted that he was not ignorant of what a bite meant, and her unease was growing.

“Right. Yes. The report.” The doctor fumbled a notebook from his satchel while Hannalinde gracefully produced a quill and ink from a writing desk nearby.

Aelbert’s notes sprawled across the page in barely legible excitement as he muttered under his breath.

“Puncture depth indicates an adult gargoyle, significant jaw strength. Healing pattern shows complete acceptance. Her body did not reject the bite.”

Idabel’s skin crawled. “Reject it?”

“Oh yes, I’ve seen it in the literature for gargoyle bites, specifically gargoyles biting dragons. Bites can cause terrible scarring. The flesh actually attempts to push out the foreign magic. But yours” —he gestured eagerly—”perfect integration. Your blood has accepted his or her bite completely.”

“Which gargoyle did this?” Lord Wilkin asked, his casual tone at odds with his intense stare.

Her heart stilled. This was the moment. “I don’t know his name.”

“A male, then.” Aelbert made another note. “What did he look like?”

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t see.”

“Come now.” Lord Wilkin’s smile had a sharp edge. “You expect us to believe a gargoyle attacked you and you didn’t catch a glimpse?”

“It happened quickly.” She kept her answer short because she had little confidence she could keep her voice steady any longer.

“Surely you could describe something about him? His horns, perhaps? His attire?”

“Father,” Hannalinde interrupted softly. “We shouldn’t press. This must be difficult enough.” She leaned to refill Idabel’s teacup.

Lord Wilkin’s expression shifted from mild peevishness to paternal indulgence. “Of course. Forgive me, my dear. Though the king will want details eventually. We must root out the perpetrator so he can be made an example of.”

The image of Brandt flying away from her, dirt raining from the roots of her garden flashed through her mind. The injustice of that moment. Without it, she never would have met him, so she could not regret it…except that without it, his career would not be in jeopardy.

Idabel gathered what was left of her courage. “After the Sixth Watch deploys I will think more on it,” she said firmly. “I won’t disrupt the war effort with accusations that can wait.”

“How unexpectedly patriotic.” Lord Wilkin exchanged a meaningful look with Doctor Aelbert. “Very well. The name can wait. All that’s left is the blood.”

Idabel’s stomach dropped. “Blood?”

“Essential component!” Aelbert nearly bounced with enthusiasm. “Blood carries the gargoyle’s signature. I have studied the—that is, we need it for evidence. To show the king.”

“What sort of evidence requires blood?” Betje’s tone had gone dangerously polite.

“The kind that proves…” Lord Wilkin paused, searching for the words. “The depth of the violation. Hannalinde, my dove, you may step out for the bloodletting.”

“I don’t mind.” The lord’s daughter sat forward for a better view.

Betje gave her an approving pat on the shoulder. “We women are used to the sight of blood, my lord.”

“My daughter is accustomed to no such thing,” Lord Wilkin said frostily. “She will retire to her rooms.”

Hannalinde gathered her skirts with an apologetic curtsy. “I regret leaving guests in the parlor, but my father is right. I am late to my diction lessons and must beg your pardon.”

“Of course, you are forgiven.” Her father waited until the door latched behind her before nodding to Aelbert. “Proceed.”

Doctor Aelbert produced a brass scarificator from his satchel with reverent care and placed it in a clean teacup, then spread out a linen tea cloth on the small table next to Idabel.

He gestured to her and then the cloth. “Your arm, please. This is perfectly safe, I assure you. I’ve done this many times. You have nothing to fear.”

Dubiously, Idabel laid her arm on the towel, which someone—Hannalinde, probably—had embroidered with tiny green leaves and pink roses, and Idabel focused on them. They were beautifully stitched in miniature and almost looked alive, their delicate vines flourishing along the edge of the fabric.