Page 45 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

Brandt

T hree nights later, the summons came. The High Council would hear his testimony against Tomin. Brandt’s hands shook as he read it.

“Will you come?” he asked Idabel. He struggled for words, so he begged through the bond. Please. I need you there.

“Of course, if you think it will help. You’ll have to carry me when you fly up there, though. That’s way too many ladders to climb.” She grinned at him, and he gave her an impulsive kiss. She always knew how to lighten the mood at the right time.

T he Zenith perched behind a massive granite desk, his gray eyes unreadable. On either side of him, the judgment council roosted: five elder gargoyles whose combined ages exceeded a millennium. A few guards were posted around the perimeter of the room.

There in the center, wings arrogantly half-spread, stood Tomin. It was like seeing a ghost, but one warped by reflection.

He’d grown broader than when Brandt had last seen him.

His hide bore a few more scars, though not many.

That was the privilege of commanding from safety while others bled.

He wore a silver chainmail breastplate as though he were going to battle, and when he smiled cooly at their arrival, his face held the confidence of someone who’d already won.

Brant was going to kill him.

“Commander.” The Zenith motioned for Brandt to stand beside Tomin. “You’ve made serious accusations. Now is the time to speak them aloud.”

Brandt stepped forward, feeling Idabel’s presence behind him like an anchor. “I accuse Tomin, Commander of the Ninth Tier, of lacking a guardian heart. Of using Watch intelligence meant to save lives to instead advance his position through the slaughter of goblin younglings.”

“Serious indeed,” murmured one of the council, a gargoyle so old that both his hair and eyes were pure white. “And how does the accused answer?”

“He speaks from a broken mind,” Tomin said smoothly. “Everyone knows the former commander suffers from wall- sickness. His memories can’t be trusted. He refused treatment from the masons, who are the finest in all of Tael-Nost.”

“Masons you command. Masons who tried to meddle with my memories,” Brandt growled. “It was only when I stopped treatment that I could recover them.”

“Your memory is flawed, Commander.” Tomin faced the Council.

“War is ugly, but I did my duty to keep the human settlements safe. All the Watches except the Sixth worked together to drive back the horde. When I faced the goblins, I did not ask their ages or their mothers’ names, because every goblin eliminated was my enemy.

If they weren’t yet warriors, they would have become warriors.

By destroying them, I saved countless human and gargoyle lives.

Unlike Commander Brandt, whose entire watch perished under his leadership. ”

The words hit like physical blows. Brandt felt his control slipping, pressure building behind his eyes.

He wanted to tear Tomin’s smug face off. “You used my intelligence to find easy targets. Children. You built your reputation on the corpses of younglings too weak to fight back.”

“I ended the war.” Tomin’s voice rose. “While you cowered inside your mind walls, I took decisive action. The humans are safe because of me.”

“You’re a butcher, not a hero!”

“And you’re a failure who can’t accept that someone else succeeded where you couldn’t.”

The fury that he’d been caging finally broke through in a screaming torrent. Brandt lunged forward, claws extended. Just as quickly, the Zenith signaled his guards. Four of them flew at Brandt, pinning his wings to the floor before he even reached Tomin.

But the damage was done. He struggled to rise, snarling and lashing out at anyone he could reach, proving Tomin’s case about his instability.

Then his mate’s hands touched his face. Through the bond came her strength, drawing his rage like poison from a wound. She took his pain into herself and gave back a golden tonic of peace and purpose.

He fought her as hard as the guards, throwing mind walls in the path of her calm, blocking it off because his claws ached to tear into Tomin.

He deserved to hurt. He deserved to pay.

When Brandt’s walls didn’t stop Idabel, he tried worse.

He pushed everything ugly into the bond.

The roaring jealousy of scenting a male at her door.

The sick satisfaction of breaking her skin, of hurting her.

Every ounce of murderous intent he had toward Tomin.

Anything to make her retreat from him, leave his mind and cease her endless pour of patient love.

But she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Faintly, he heard Idabel’s voice over the din of memory in his ears. “Stay here with me. Come back to me, and all will be well. Don’t leave me again.”

That plea did him in. He sagged in the guards’ hold, breathing hard.

“Apologies to the Council,” he managed to choke out. “I may be wall-sick, but I speak the truth about Tomin.”

The Zenith and the Council conferred in low whispers.

Finally, the eldest spoke in his rasping, quavery voice: “We’ve reviewed the evidence.

It supports Commander Brandt’s account. We believe Tomin received and suppressed intelligence about the nature of the enemy.

He also extorted the mind-masons to harm their patient, and that is a grievous insult to the Tower and what we’ve built here. ”

Brandt yanked his wings out of the grip of the guards, who took a step back, keeping a wary eye on him.

He reached for Idabel and folded her in his arms so she’d know how grateful he was for her.

How glad he was to share this moment with her.

It was finally happening. Tomin was going to face justice.

“However,” the Zenith continued, “he did not break the heartstone vow. The protection of humans was achieved, even if through dishonorable means.” He fixed Tomin with an icy gray stare.

“You are stripped of tier and rank. You will be escorted from the Tower. But no further punishment will be given.”

“He should forfeit his wings!” Brandt blurted out, astonished by the light sentence. Idabel squeezed his hands, and he could feel her worry that he was going to lose control again. It was his turn to send soothing thoughts, which ironically made him calmer himself.

“The Council has spoken,” the Zenith said sternly, frowning at the outburst. “Their decision is final.”

“It might be just, but it’s not right,” Brandt muttered as the same guards who’d pinned him down now escorted Tomin to the balcony.

Tomin bared his teeth at him as he passed. “I regret nothing. I saved lives.”

“And you took many more. I hope it eats you from the inside,” Brandt said quietly. He was certainly familiar with how the gnaw of guilt was a life sentence.

H e carried Idabel home in silence, both of them reflecting on the hollow victory.

He didn’t care about the humiliating scene on the floor with the guards.

At this point, he was just glad to have his mate in his arms. Tael-Nost could deal with Tomin.

It wasn’t until he landed on the balcony that Brandt finally noticed the blood.

Four scratches on Idabel’s arm where he’d slashed her during his rage pinked the edges of her torn sleeve.

“No,” he breathed, horror flooding through him. After all the accusations he’d thrown at Tomin, he was the one hurting humans. He was the one who broke the heartstone vow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you getting in more trouble. You’ve already paid too much for what was lost during the war. Anyway, it’s nothing a stitch and a salve won’t fix,” Idabel said staunchly, heading for her cabinet of supplies.

“Let me tend you so they don’t scar,” he begged. His saliva would help her wounds close cleanly if he treated them quickly enough. He couldn’t stand to see his marks on her forever.

She turned toward him, mouth twisted in a bitter smile as she rolled up her sleeve.

The scratches looked worse like this, dark lines carved into her thin skin.

“You wear scars for the ones you lost. You even wear one for me. Why shouldn’t I?

” She traced them in a macabre count. “One for my parents I couldn’t heal, one for my siblings I couldn’t protect.

One for the gargoyles I betrayed, and one for the mate I threw away. ”

He wouldn’t let her do this. He wouldn’t let her use his mistake to count her sins on her flesh. Waving aside her protests, he picked her up and took her to their nest. Laying her in the soft furs, he positioned her so his tongue could find her wounds.

“You’ve done your penance, Idabel. Six years of paying for our losses, and it wasn’t even truly your fault.

I forgive you.” He met her eyes as he licked up her arm.

The sweet, metallic tang of her blood was oddly comforting.

It tasted like their bond. “I forgive you completely. You need only to forgive yourself.”

Tears tracked down her face as she watched him clean her wounds, the edges of them already silvering as they knit together.

“We’ve both paid enough.” He pulled her close, careful of his claws. “No more penance. No more guilt. No more scars.”