Page 25 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

Idabel

T he flying school met on the second tier, close enough to the rookery to make it easy for fledglings of any tier to attend, highborn or otherwise.

Stubby-horned gargoyles younger than Lo?c glided in wobbly circles above the practice nets while two harried instructors did their best to herd them away from any hazards.

Idabel spotted Lo?c immediately. He was the only student still on the platform, wings drooping as he watched his classmates soar.

“Mama!” He ran to her as soon as he saw her, but instead of the dejection she expected, his gray eyes blazed with excitement. “Did you see him? Did you talk to Papa? What did he say?”

One of the instructor, a patient, wiry gargoyle named André, glided over with an apologetic expression on his griffin-beaked face.

She knew him from the rookery as a mild-mannered, helpful sort who always had a kind word for Lo?c.

Not all the instructors were so accepting.

“He didn’t have a chance to fly today. We usually take him out one-on-one so he has a bit of time in the air, but we were all distracted by the news of the Sixth Watch.

He’s not quite ready for solo flight yet. ”

Idabel nodded, feeling weary. “He’ll get there. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“He’s home, isn’t he?” Lo?c bounced on his toes, wings flapping behind him as he climbed down the ladder between her arms.

Idabel nodded, swallowing down the tide of emotion that threatened to drown her. “He is.”

“I told you! The moths were right! Can we go see him now?”

“Not yet,” she answered lightly. “He’s very busy with Tower business, you see. He has been away so long, he has so many things to tell them.”

To her great relief, her son seemed to accept the story. On the walk home, he peppered her with questions. “Is he tired from the journey? Is he very angry about the bond? Was he glad to hear about me? Can we visit him tomorrow?”

“Sweetheart—”

“I’ve been practicing what to say.” He held his wings out slightly, trying to make himself look bigger. “Hello, Papa. I’m Lo?c. I’m five years old, and I can read and write in two languages, and I help Mama in the shop and—”

“Lo?c.” She caught his hand, stilling his excited bouncing. “We can’t see him tomorrow. I think it will be some time.”

His face crumpled. “But why? He’s here. You said he was here.”

“He is. But he’s...he’s not ready yet.”

“Is he injured?” The excitement dimmed to worry. “Did the goblins hurt him?”

How could she explain it to a five-year-old? “The war hurt him in ways we can’t see. His body is whole, but his thoughts are tangled. The mind masons are helping him, but it takes time.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked in silence until they reached their front door. Lo?c went straight to his bed in the alcove, sitting with his wings wrapped around himself like a cocoon.

“I wanted to show him I can almost fly,” he said in a small voice. “Even if I’m not good at it yet.”

Idabel sat beside him, pulling him against her side. “You will show him. When he gets better.”

“What if he’s never better?”

One of the most surprising things about motherhood had been the way that her son could always ask the hardest, most important questions first. The question she hadn’t dared to ask herself. She answered as truthfully as she could. “Then we’ll find a way to love him as he is.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to meet me?” His breath hitched. “Or what if he sees me and knows I’m not a real gargoyle? That I can’t fly right and I sleep at night and—”

“Lo?c.” She turned his face toward hers. “Your father loves you even if he doesn’t know you yet.”

“You can’t know that. I haven’t even met him. He doesn’t know how…different I am.”

“Different isn’t bad.” She kissed his forehead. “Your father is different too. He wasn’t born in the Tower like the highborn gargoyles. He had to fight for everything he has achieved in his life. Just like you’re fighting to learn to fly.”

“Really?”

“Yes. When he meets you, he’s going to see what I see.

That you’re magnificent.” She traced the edge of his wing.

“You’re clever and kind and brave. You help without being asked.

You can understand the moths, which even full gargoyles can’t always do.

You’re perfect. You’re thinking all those bad things about yourself because you’re tired, and you’ve had a long, exciting day. Now, it’s time for bed.”

Grudgingly, he slid beneath the quilt, shooting a longing look at the lantern where one lazy, fat moth bumbled around the glass. “Can’t I stay up to listen to them a little?”

“Not tonight. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest while I listen. I’ll be very quiet.”

Idabel had to suppress a laugh. “I know you would, but you need to actually sleep. Moth gossip will have to wait.”

“I hate waiting.” He sighed, settling back on his pillow.

“Me too,” she admitted. “But sometimes waiting is how we show love.”

He considered this statement in his grave, innocent way. He blinked slowly at her, his lids already growing heavy. “You must love Papa very much, then.”

“I do.”

“So do I,” he mumbled. Then a tiny snore escaped him, and he was asleep, the poor, exhausted little thing. Idabel tucked the quilt snugly around his tiny body and took the lantern out to the kitchen with her.

She was heating water to wash the dishes when a quiet rapping came at the door. It had to be a gargoyle visitor at this hour. Frowning, she dried her hands on her apron and cracked open the door. She recognized the gray eye staring back at her, because it was the same as Brandt and Lo?c’s.

“Ghantal? Is something wrong?”

“Let me in.”

She opened the door fully to find her mother-in-law looking haggard, her usually immaculate grooming absent. She was as shaken as they all were. Without hesitation, Idabel pulled her into an embrace. Ghantal stiffened at the familiarity, then collapsed against her, shoulders shaking.

“He’s alive,” Ghantal whispered. “Can you believe it? After all this time.”

“I know. Come, sit.” Idabel guided her to a stool and took a chair beside her. “Have you seen him? The Nadir wouldn’t give me permission.”

“Yes.” Ghantal’s claws worried the edge of the table. “He didn’t recognize me. Can’t remember anything about our life together.”

“What?!”

“His mind is...in prison. That’s the best description they could give me. The masons say he built too many mind walls to block out the pain and horror, and now he can’t take them down. Doesn’t remember much of anything except the war, and not even much of that.”

Idabel’s knees went weak. She sank onto a stool, pressing her hand to where the mate mark had been. She knew it was bad from the little Bardoux had revealed, but she didn’t think it was this bad. “Nothing?”

Ghantal shook her head. “When he tries to remember, it causes him pain. Actual, physical pain. The masons say we can’t push him, can’t cause high emotion, or we risk fracturing his mind completely.”

“Well. We have learned patience, haven’t we?” She’d waited six years for this day, and she could wait a few more moons if that’s what it took. “Perhaps we could visit him without telling him who we are? Lo?c wants to meet him so badly.”

“Absolutely not.” Ghantal’s response was sharp. “He’s dangerous. He injured a mason tonight. Went into battle bliss when they tried to treat him and broke her wrist. They’ve isolated him on the eastern roost.”

“For how long?”

“Until he’s stable. If he ever is.” Ghantal’s voice cracked like glass. “What will you tell Lo?c if he doesn’t recover?”

Her heart hurt for her child. “I’ll tell him the truth, even if he’s disappointed.”

Ghantal’s claws scraped a deep groove in the oak table, and she jerked her hand back, closing it in a fist. “I think we must all prepare for disappointment.”

“Don’t say that,” Idabel begged. “Don’t give up on him yet.”

“The gargoyle on that roost isn’t my son.

He didn’t recognize me, but I didn’t recognize him, either.

That bright, brave male who claimed you is likely gone forever.

Maybe it’s better if we accept that now.

” Ghantal rose from her stool, all vulnerability packed away.

“We must carry on regardless. I thought you should know.”

After she left, Idabel couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t expected Ghantal’s typical steel to be so changed by her visit with Brandt. It meant he was worse than anyone had described.

Her fault. If only Idabel hadn’t been so blinded by her desire for revenge, so set on being bitten, Brandt could have returned whole and hale years ago. The Nadir clearly shared that opinion, and surely Ghantal did too, even if she hid it well enough for Lo?c’s sake.

She paced the kitchen, mind racing. She had to do something for Brandt, however small. She couldn’t see him or talk to him or touch him, but surely, she could provide for his comfort. She could begin to repay her monumental debt one copper at a time.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, she walked an unusually subdued and thoughtful Lo?c to school and then went straight to the apothecary shop.

When Betje arrived, Idabel had her hair tied back and her sleeves rolled up, already sweating as she wielded the heavy pestle.

The blend of dried plants in the mortar filled the workroom with a sharp, green scent as she bashed them into a fine dust.

“You look determined,” Betje observed as she tied an apron over her gauzy purple-and-silver dress. “That’s either very good or very bad.”

“I’m making something for Brandt. To help heal his mind.”

Betje’s eyebrows rose. “Their masons are very skilled. I’ve heard they train for decades.”

“The masons don’t heal the way we do.” She was already pulling jars from shelves. “Back when we met, he healed overnight when I used my salve on his wounds. Maybe I can do the same for his mind.”

“Mind-healing isn’t so straightforward, but I suppose it can’t hurt to try. What are you using?”