Page 13 of The Gargoyle’s Glade (The Gargoyle Knights #3)

Imogen’s head tilted as she took me in with her eyes, then her arms. Her grip was as impressive as ever because of her work as forge mistress. Her forearms might even have gotten bigger than mine. “Nice to see you, little brother.”

“You look well, Imo.”

“She’s practically radiant lately,” Lovette snickered from behind her.

“Hush.” Lovette only laughed harder at Imogen’s protest.

“Have they got a name?” I asked. A lightness came over me, the banter between me and my sisters comfortable.

“Brom,” Lovette supplied helpfully, returning with a fist full of silverware.

Horrified, I straightened. “The mason?”

“Saints, no,” Lovette laughed and Imo cursed at me. “The other one.”

Relieved that my sister hadn’t started dating a relic, I sagged, considering who else it could be. “The leathersmith?” My brows drew together. He was at least around our ages and not a hunched old man.

“That’s the one.”

“Lovette.” Imo sighed deeply, clearly having had this particular conversation with our little sister several times.

“It’s hilarious every time, though!”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “For you. Why is it that everyone assumes I’d be attracted to Old Brom in the first place? That’s insulting. To both of us, honestly.”

Lovette laughed, the cheerful sound drawing a smile out of me. “They’re adorable together,” she assured me. “Make yourself comfortable.”

We obeyed our incorrigible little ray of sunshine and spread ourselves out on her furniture, plates and cups of ale doled out in an old, familiar rhythm.

“So? What’s new out at the ruins?” Lovette asked.

I groaned. “Too much.”

“It’s nice though, right? Well, accidents that bring you here with injured, aside. At least you’ve got some help. You can leave now and again.”

I nodded, the flavor of the roasted meat so specific to stone kin cuisine it triggered several layers of nostalgic memory. “Seir’s presence is very helpful.”

“But?” Imogen asked.

“But they’re building new homes. There will be more people there soon. I’m not used to it.”

“Everyone on that project that I’ve encountered speaks very highly of the location.”

“You’re welcome to visit,” I found myself offering. “The glade is very peaceful. Hopefully it stays that way.”

“Why wouldn’t it? There are only a few other dwellings, right? And none of them inhabited. Seir and Hailon aside.” Lovette sipped on her ale.

“Hailon’s friend Merry has taken one of the cabins.” My heartburn flared from the spicy meat, and I rubbed at my chest. My sisters shared a look. One that meant nothing but trouble.

“The one that was staying with Ophelia for a bit, right? What’s she like?” Lovette asked.

I shrugged, unable to stop the memory of her in that towel from appearing in my mind. “Human. Red hair. Likes to garden.”

“She must be something special if Ophelia took her in.” Imogen reached for a slice of cheese.

“I guess. Though she’s prone to unsafe behavior and attracts noisy woodland creatures.” I held my breath, my heart doing that strange pounding in my throat again. Both of my sisters stared at me, then one another. “What?”

“Is she pretty?” Lovette asked, batting her eyelashes.

“I suppose.” It almost hurt me to speak so casually about her beauty.

“Does she carry a blade?” Imo asked, leaning forward curiously.

“Aside from the dangerous garden tool she was using the other day, not that I know of. Wait, what is this exactly?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just small talk,” Lovette assured me. She grinned, her expression positively unsettling. “When can we meet her?”

I shrugged. “Whenever you like. She’s at d’Arcan often, keeps her horse there. Or you can always come directly to the glade. Our portal is getting far more use than your infirmary, by the looks of things.”

“Maybe I will.” There was no telling if Lovette was kidding or not, and I wondered if I would regret my offer.

The conversation moved on to other things for a bit—what I’d seen at the ruins, the feasibility of Ophelia leaving her hut to help me with my ward. Talk veered back to Merry about the time I decided I needed to get on my way.

“There’s nothing else really I can tell you about her.”

“If you say so,” Imogen said, eyebrow raised.

“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” I asked, glancing between my sisters as I rubbed at my chest. The burning would not subside, no matter how much other food I ate or ale I drank.

“Because you’re hiding something.” Lovette crossed her arms, her gaze dropping momentarily to my chest.

“I’m not.” My body protested the lie, a significant part of me eager to share the burden of my visions, my gift.

“You are. But I think it’s because you’re scared.” Imogen relaxed back into the cushions of the sofa, expression serious. “How interesting.”

“No.” The bees suddenly appeared inside my chest again with the lie. “I’m not,” I insisted.

“How are your lessons with Ophelia going?” Lovette asked.

“What do you know about that?” I barked.

She only snorted at my outburst.

“Your visits to the sorceress are not a secret, Coltor. What other reason could take you there so often? So. What is it you’ve learned that’s got you so twisted up?” Imogen asked.

Panic settled in, smothering the anger that had started to rise up. If I couldn’t trust my sisters, who could I trust? They were smart, capable. They’d both been students of Ophelia’s as well. Maybe they knew something I didn’t.

After much internal debate, I chose faith in my sisters.

I vented and cursed and complained all over them and myself, as much as I could without exposing my gift in its entirety.

Such a thing was too dangerous to be common knowledge, especially as I hadn’t yet mastered it.

I focused on my fear of Merry—or anyone else, now that Emry had landed in the infirmary—coming to harm, the amount of distracting noise I was struggling with.

How I’d barked at Merry not meaning to, invaded her privacy trying to help after hearing her scream.

Imogen nodded sagely, and Lovette chirped encouraging words.

They didn’t minimize my frustration, but they also didn’t have an answer for it.

“That sounds really difficult, Coltor. I’m sure you’ll figure it out though.” Imogen reached across the table and patted me on the shoulder. “We’re always here, for whatever you need.”

“You should ask Greta about an elixir,” Lovette suggested.

“If anyone is injured, you have a whole host of healers you can turn to. Me, Hailon, the archmage… his whole household, basically. But perhaps there’s something she can make up as a preventive.

Or a charm maybe, from the archmage? Something to put your mind at ease a bit. ”

“That would require you speaking to Merry about your worry, of course. Being honest. And apologizing for your earlier, perhaps less-rational reactions to your fear. Surely there’s a good reason for it?”

Both of my sisters stared at me as though they were waiting for me to have an epiphany. But I was just as perplexed as I had been after talking with Ophelia. Disappointed, they looked at one another, and a short time later, we said our goodbyes.

Imogen was right though. Our conversation had brought me back to my original dilemma, and I was in a right foul mood about it the rest of the night.

How exactly do you go about telling someone you’ve had a vision of them dying?