Page 3 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

Idabel

T he gargoyle hadn’t taken the herbs in her apron. At least that was something. She had something left.

Eyes hot and stinging, she hurried down the narrow, winding streets as fast as her sore feet would carry her.

She dodged weedpickers and stray dogs and the urchins selling burnt buns they’d filched from the baker’s discards until she reached the apothecary shop.

Its warm, glowing window had gilt-and-green lettering, and hanging herbs framed a glimpse of the cluttered shelves inside.

Candles flickered with the rush of air that accompanied her entrance.

Betje looked up from her scroll, her quill poised above it.

She was a striking woman with dark-brown skin and coily auburn hair, and her face had an ageless aspect that looked young and old at once.

Ever practical, she wore a pristine linen apron to protect her tailored bodice, and her sleeves were rolled above her elbows.

Her eyes softened in sympathy behind gold-rimmed spectacles when she noticed Idabel’s devastated expression, and she put down her quill to stand. “What is it? Did something happen?”

Idabel barreled into her arms. Though she had no children of her own, Betje had a soft, maternal figure, and she wrapped Idabel in a comforting embrace. Still clutching her apron of herbs, Idabel buried her face in a shoulder that smelled of rosemary and ink and sobbed.

Betje murmured sympathetically, patting her back. “There, there. Anything broken can be mended. Anything lost can be found.”

The words were meant to soothe, but the blatant falsehood dried Idabel’s tears faster than any comfort could. The events of the past year had taught Idabel that everything, no matter how strong, could be broken irreparably. Everything, down to the smallest seed, could be lost forever.

She pulled back, her breath still shuddering. “I b-brought you some herbs.” She opened her apron to show her bounty.

Betje smiled cautiously, a line deepening between her brows. “I see. Are you well?”

“I grew them,” she said more pointedly.

Instantly, Betje gripped her upper arm, her eyes flicking to the lanterns illuminating the room. “Do I misunderstand you?” she asked in an urgent whisper.

Idabel shook her head, and Betje shot her a brief, panicked look. “Hush then!” she hissed, tugging her toward the low-ceilinged back room where Idabel spent a lot of her time washing bottles and affixing them with fresh labels.

Once inside, Betje snuffed the candle in the lantern. She pushed open the window to wave out the lone moth that had been fluttering around it, and then checked to make sure the door was shut behind them. Her breath gusted out after a few beats of silence. “You can speak freely now.”

There were rumors that moths spoke to those who could hear them, spreading gossip lantern-to-lantern and house-to-house, all the way to the top of the gargoyles’ tower.

Whether or not it was true, Idabel had no idea.

She’d always assumed it was an old wives’ tale, but Betje seemed to take it seriously.

Her eyes slowly adjusted as the dregs of moonlight and streetlamps leaked into the dark room. “It doesn’t matter what the moths say now. I’ve already been caught. A gargoyle destroyed everything I had planted. This is…what’s left.”

Betje’s tongue clucked in disappointment. “Can you afford the fine? I can loan you some coin if you find yourself short.”

“There was no fine.” She put the herbs on the oaken workbench, lining their cut stems up neatly. In the dim, the green leaves looked like a purple-black stain. At that work, all the collecting and hauling and watering and waiting… Her disappointment was solidifying into something like anger.

“How odd,” Betje remarked.

“What is?”

“That you have no fine. Your gargoyle does not intend to report you.”

Idabel snorted. “He’s not my gargoyle.”

The apothecary hummed thoughtfully, the edge of her cheek painted silver and gold in the low light. “Isn’t he? He’s guarded you well by my estimate. Kept your secret.”

“He destroyed everything! He ground my garden into nothing beneath his beastly foot.”

“Likely believed he was doing you a favor. Growing things is prohibited inside Solvantis, and enforcement is strict. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of the Nadir, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of the wall as well.”

Idabel had never met the Nadir, the gargoyle who acted as a liaison between the human residents of the city and their inhuman protectors.

She had cleaned his office, of course, but she had never seen him with her own eyes.

She did not know if he was cruel or just excessively devoted to the law.

But she was glad enough to avoid a fine that she could not afford.

Her anger faded into irritation, though her throat still ached. “Why are they so afraid of magic when it doesn’t even affect them?”

Betje was slow to answer. “Because it affects us.”

“There’s tael in everything we eat! Every plant harvested from a field outside the walls. Every bull who grazed on grass or ate a pail of corn. Every leaf of tobacco smoked,” Idabel railed. “What’s a little bit more?”

“They don’t want us tapping into the source. Opening channels they can’t control. It’s a rule for a reason.” Betje shrugged, her sleeves whispering against her sides as she reached to pet over the long, feathery branches of defeated dillweed. “Where did you get the seeds?”

“Brought them with me.” She didn’t have the energy to explain her circumstances.

How the goblins had taken her family and farm in one fell swoop.

The seeds would have been gone, too, if they hadn’t been buried in an earthenware jar for safekeeping.

She’d sewn them into the hems of her skirts to smuggle them into the city. “Everything else was destroyed.”

“You poor thing. Do you have any left?”

“Family? No.” Her chest tightened, forcing the air out. Even her baby brother, little Yanni, was gone.

Betje winced. “Ah. I’m sorry. I meant seeds.”

Those, she had. Every good farmer held back some seed to replant, just in case crops failed. “A few,” she admitted. “Do you think I should turn them in?”

Betje barked a laugh. “Absolutely not. I think you should plant them and convince this soft-hearted gargoyle of yours to shield you from the consequences.”

“He’s not soft-hearted.” And he certainly wasn’t hers. She’d been a cowering, spineless creature at his feet.

“How do you know unless you ask?” Betje wheedled, a spark of humor in her eye. “I’m being purely selfish, of course, but I will pay you good coin for fresh herbs that haven’t seen the rigors of travel. A bonus if you don’t sell them to any other apothecaries.”

“I don’t even know his name.” But Idabel’s mind was already racing over the possibilities. She could make her garden smaller, add a bit of screening to disguise it. Cover it at night to avoid being caught by gargoyles or their moth minions. Anything to afford the guild fees.

Betje’s eyes sparked behind her spectacles, her face lighting. “I know how we can find out.”

T he office of the Nadir was located in the lowest tier of the tower and had a steep stone staircase that led directly to the street. Idabel eyed the long line of waiting humans that snaked down it, spilling onto the cobbles.

“We’ll be here all night,” she groaned.

Betje patted her arm. “It moves quickly. You’ll see.”

Quickly was not the word for it, but the line did move.

Idabel was yawning and stomping her feet to stay awake by the time they made it to the top of the stairs.

They had to sign a register and then, after another brief wait inside the high-ceilinged, oak-paneled room that reminded her of Maiden Hall, they were led into the Nadir’s office by a keeper, who bowed stiffly before leaving.

An elderly gargoyle, scarred and mossy, perched behind a slanted desk, peering at them with eyes like milky opals.

He rapped his claws against the desk, calling their attention before launching into a weary, practiced monologue.

“I am the Nadir, Bardoux of the seventh tier. What business have you females with the gargoyles? If it’s to complain of the noise lately, that is merely temporary.

The Sixth Watch is feasting in preparation for their deployment, but normal operations will resume shortly.

If it’s to complain of refuse dropping from the Tower onto your private property, you can leave your address with the desk, and the offending items will be removed and any damage repaired.

If it’s to complain of mistreatment by a guard—”

“Yes,” Betje broke in, leaning forward slightly. “That one.”

“Hmm.” Bardoux searched through the scrolls on his desk until he uncovered a ledger. “And on what day and time did this alleged mistreatment occur?”

Betje nudged Idabel to answer.

“Oh! Um, this evening around eight. Possibly as late as nine.” Her gaze slipped to Betje to see if her tardiness had registered, but Betje seemed unperturbed.

Bardoux leafed through a few pages, peering at each of them through a heavy, ornate magnifying glass. “On which street of Solvantis?”

“The first ring.”

He seemed to locate what he was looking for in the ledger and paused to glance up at her. “And what happened, exactly?”

Idabel’s insides squirmed, and she glanced at Betje, unsure of the lie she was supposed to tell. But her mentor only nodded at her to go ahead. “I was on the upper balcony of Maiden Hall. The gargoyle…” She hesitated.

“Yes?” Bardoux prompted impatiently. “What did she do?”

Idabel frowned, wonder if the old Nadir had misspoken. “ He was…rude,” she finished lamely. That wasn’t a lie. “He accused me of being an intruder and a thief, but I reside there.”

Bardoux’s craggy brow furrowed, and he peered through his magnifying glass at the page again. “Hm. Are you sure it was the day, time, and location you claim? It could be no other?”

She wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. “Yes. It was tonight.”

He snapped the ledger shut. “Then you are a liar. The gargoyle on duty on that street at that time was female. And even so, rudeness is not a crime. The keeper will see you out. Next!” he barked, and the office door swung open.

“Perhaps it was a guard from another street. Tell us who was on duty tonight,” Betje quickly cajoled. “We only want to return something he left behind.”

“Leave it at the desk.” The crotchety old gargoyle looked past them at the new set of humans entering his office, listening to the keeper’s introduction rather than watching the two of them exit.

“It was worth a try.” Idabel shrugged off whatever faint hope she’d developed, but Betje shook her head, eyes twinkling.

“We’re not done yet.”

“Come along,” the keeper muttered in a low voice, appearing at Betje’s side to usher them back to the outer chamber. “The Nadir is quite busy and can’t abide dawdlers.”

“You must know a lot about the gargoyles here,” Betje said admiringly, once the door had shut behind them.

The keeper brightened inside her hood, and Idabel had to do everything in her power not to roll her eyes.

“I know several by name,” the keeper whispered, beaming. “And they know mine!”

“How lucky you are. Perhaps you know the one we’re looking for? He did my friend a favor, and we’d like to thank him personally.” Betje nudged her with an elbow, and Idabel jumped to attention, nodding while her mind raced to come up with a story. Betje always did keep her on her toes.

“Yes, a grand favor, but he didn’t leave his name.”

“They don’t, generally,” the keeper whispered, eyes wide at the mention of a favor. “What did he look like?”

“Tall. Stony. He had…large wings.” Realizing how silly and vague she was sounding, she tried again. “Long hair. Scars all over.”

“Old or young?”

Idabel frowned. Gargoyles aged differently than humans. Young could mean a hundred years or more. It was hard to tell. But the gargoyle who’d smashed her buckets hadn’t looked like the Nadir, who was obviously elderly. “Young, I suppose.”

“Hmm. Sounds like Brandt. He’s the only young one with noticeable scars. You said he did you a favor?” The keeper’s expression was doubtful. Idabel wasn’t surprised by her skepticism. He hadn’t seemed particularly generous to her, either.

“Do you know where we could find him?” Betje asked casually.

The keeper shook her head. “If it’s Brandt, he’s in the Tower, training the watch. He’s a commander.”

“Thank you,” Idabel cut in before Betje could drag this out any further. She pulled her out the door, past the impatient line of complaining humans perched on the stairs, and into the street.

Betje huffed at her. “We could have found out more about his schedule.”

“Pointless. If he’s a watch commander, he’s leaving when they deploy. Even if we found him, even if he agreed to guard my little garden—which I doubt he would, given that he smashed it all up—he won’t be around to protect it, anyway.”

“Hush!” Betje hissed, glancing at the moths circling the street lamp overhead. She slipped her arm through Idabel’s and hurried her over the cobbles in the direction of the apothecary shop. “We can talk about it inside.”

“Do they really listen?”

“Of course they do!”