Amid Wind and Stone

by Nicole Luiken

  Two hands closed over Audrey’s ears, cutting off the name, and a warm mouth pressed a kiss to her nape. “Oh!” She twisted around, and the blurry outline of The Phantom smiled down at her, unrepentant.

  “Ah, ah,” he tsked. “No fair asking the wind my name.” He lifted his voice. “Zephyr, I command you not to tell anyone my identity.”

  The wind darted away.

  “You!” Audrey seethed. She still had goose bumps where his lips had touched her skin.

  He raised his hands in laughing surrender. “Is that any way to talk to the man who saved your life?”

  Her temper cooled. He had saved her when he didn’t have to. “I thank you for it, but you’re still a thief.”

  “You wound me.” Eyes dancing, he ran a finger over her eyebrow.

  She snatched at his hand but missed. “Stop that. What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “I heard your Call on the wind and dropped by.”

  She wished the balcony were closer to the garden party. She’d dearly love to capture The Phantom and prove to her father that she hadn’t lied. But if she yelled for help, he’d just slip away and leave her looking like a fool.

  “Drop by?” she scoffed. “Am I supposed to believe our meeting is a coincidence? What are you really doing here?”

  He stared out at the view. She could see the spires and glass domes of other townhouses through him. Four terraces lay below, blanketing Donlon’s peak. Below that seethed the white fog of the poison marshes. “Perhaps I wanted to see you again,” he said.

  “Why?”

  A shrug. The air blurred his outline, bending around his invisible form. “A chance to talk. Few people can see me like this.”

  Almost, almost she felt sorry for him. She inhaled sharply on a sudden suspicion. “You’re here to steal something! What is it? What have you taken?”

  “Well, some people do make it too easy…” he drawled. From his pocket, he withdrew Frederica’s sapphire earrings.

  Audrey gasped. “Give me those!”

  “They’re not yours,” The Phantom said piously. He held them over the rail.

  “They’re not yours either,” Audrey said through clenched teeth. That did it. Seized by sudden inspiration, she quietly unclipped one of the bracelet/carabiners. If she cuffed him to herself or the railing, she could have him arrested. Though not true handcuffs, the carabiner bracelets were tricky to open, the catch cleverly disguised.

  “I disagree. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Besides, you can’t tell me that harpy deserves these pretties?”

  It soothed Audrey’s soul to hear Frederica called a harpy. Boys usually tripped on their own tongues around her. “They belong to Frederica,” Audrey said weakly.

  “Not anymore. Taking her down a peg is practically a public service.”

  “So what are you saying? You only steal from unkind people?”

  Another charming grin. “Oh, no. Just that stealing from them is more fun. I’m willing to do it on speculation.”

  Which made her think of something else. “Last time we met, you said someone paid you a pretty penny to steal the courier message. Who was it?” She inched closer to The Phantom, keeping her eyes trained on his transparent face. “The Siparese?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. That’s how the system works,” he explained kindly. “Word comes to me through the Queen o’ Thieves. She plays middleman, which protects both buyer and seller. O’ course, the queen takes her own cut, see?”

  Someone styled themselves as the Queen of Thieves? How pretentious. “So this Queen of Thieves knows who ordered the theft?” Audrey asked. Almost close enough now. Her heart pounded in swift strokes.

  “Yes. And no, before you ask, I ain’t telling you who the queen is.” His accent had lapsed into lower-tier. “That would be bad business.” He chucked her under the chin.

  She caught his wrist and clicked the bracelet on, linking the two of them together.

  Chapter Five

  The Trap

  Stone World

  The siren whooped four times then fell silent, but Dorotea’s heart kept banging like a drum. Panic filled her in an icy rush. They were going to catch her.

  Could she put the gargoyle back? Hide the incriminating collar and bracelets, then sneak back home—

  Back to where Marta lay so still and broken on the pallet, barely breathing, head swathed in bandages. Back to where her mother was too quiet, face already etched with grief, and Martin kept glaring at Dorotea accusingly and asking for the tenth time just what she’d been doing in the tunnel that particular day.

  No. She couldn’t give up, having come this far.

  The siren had shut off, but she could hear another far-off sound like running water. Which was odd—they weren’t anywhere near the underground river. It didn’t matter. They had to move, now.

  “Follow me,” she snapped at the gargoyle.

  He bared his fangs. “You already said that. I can’t follow if you don’t lead,” he mocked her. His gold eyes shone in the red- and black-streaked stone of his face.

  A flush washed over her cheeks. Hateful creature.

  Dorotea stomped toward the exit. The gargoyle followed on her heels, looming over her. She swallowed, throat painfully dry. He was so large!

  He couldn’t hurt her. The collar controlled him. Still, it took all her willpower not to run from those heavy footsteps.

  The rushing sound grew as she neared the tunnel, and in a moment, she saw why. Dirty water poured in through two large pipes in the wall. Already, liquid lapped at the fourth step. The lower part of the tunnel was completely flooded. The water smelled strongly of minerals.

  When the gargoyle stepped off the plinth, it had triggered this trap.

  Fear howled through her. “Hurry.” Dorotea picked up her pace. As she reached the top step, she wished she were wearing proper Stone Heart clothes: snug leather trousers and a tunic. In contrast, Artisans dressed to showcase their skills. The dye for her turquoise dress was hard to prepare, a mixture of woad and vegetable dyes. It was pretty, but the dress would hinder her legs.

  At least she knew how to swim. Her father had taught her over her mother’s protestations. Marta couldn’t. Dorotea had always meant to teach her when she was a little older.

  Only now Marta might never get older. The cruel knowledge festered like a barb under her skin.

  She inhaled sharply. Focus. She started down the staircase. The water was chilly, but not freezing. It was also brown and cloudy with silt. She disliked the thought of swimming in it, but it had to be done. And quickly. Before the waters rose past the level of the door.

  The gargoyle hissed. “What are you doing? I can’t go into that.”

  Dorotea rounded on him, fear making her voice sharp. “If you disobey me, you’ll suffer!” She held her breath at the first true test of her command over him.

  “No.” He started to turn back, and the collar around his neck flamed brilliant gold with red sparks. The gargoyle screamed and dropped to his knees. He clawed at his throat.

  Dorotea’s stomach twisted with nausea. If she’d eaten breakfast, she might have lost it. She hadn’t expected it to hurt him so much. All the stories painted gargoyles as beasts who lacked finer feeling. Was he faking? She told herself that he was made of stone; the collar wouldn’t do any permanent damage. Still, even knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to break her neck if given the chance, it was hard to watch his suffering. Why didn’t he just give in and obey?

  His screams shredded her nerves. “Stop,” she cried, unable to stand it.

  The collar subsided, but the gargoyle made no move to get up, gasping on the floor. She eyed the still-rising water anxiously.

  “You have to obey me, understand? We have to get out of here. We’re running out of time.”

  He lifted his head to glare at her. “Stupid sandspider—I’ll drown.”

  Dorotea’s shoulders drew up at the slur. He was the animal, not her! “Never insult me
again. You will call me ‘Mistress.’ And you can’t drown; you’re made of stone.” Could he? She stared at him, perplexed. He couldn’t swim, of course, but she’d assumed he could simply walk across the bottom of the growing lake and up the other side.

  “Of course I can drown.”

  “But you don’t breathe,” she exclaimed in frustration. “You probably hadn’t breathed for ten years before I woke you.”

  “Stasis spell. I’m awake now, and I breathe.”

  She stared at his sculpted chest, and indeed it did rise and fall beneath the slabs of muscle. “Well, what do you suggest? We have to pass through there.”

  “Go another way.”

  “This is the only entrance to the Cavern of Traitors.”

  He blinked. “It is the Cavern of Gargoyles, and there may be only one entrance for humans, but I can travel through stone.”

  Dorotea sneered back at him. “While you slept, the Elect coated the walls of this cavern with a plastic precisely so that your kind can’t travel through them. And the water will flood any tunnel you make out here.” She studied the water. “You’re taller than me. It will only be over your head for a few feet. Just run and hold your breath. Jump up when you need air.”

  “Hold my breath. That’s your solution?”

  “We don’t have time to argue. The water is rising. Follow me, now!” She splashed down the first four steps, then turned to make sure he’d obeyed her.

  He took a step forward, and the tightness in her chest eased—he was going to be sensible—but then he stopped. His face contorted in agony as the collar flared back to life. He moved another few inches, until it stopped. Golden eyes searched hers. “How do I know you aren’t deliberately leading me to my death?” he gritted out.

  She stared back at him and offered him stark truth. “I swear I’m not, on the life of my sister. I’ve risked everything in order to wake you.” Because she needed him to speak to the Goddess. Because without him, Marta was doomed.

  He shuddered. “Very well. I’ll try.” He went down the first step, then quirked an eyebrow.

  Right. In order for him to follow, she had to lead.

  Dorotea waded down another two steps, up to her waist, shivering in the chill. Her sodden skirts clung to her legs. They would be a dangerous hindrance. She reached between her legs and pulled the back panel of the skirt forward and up, tucking it into her belt to form crude trousers. The water reached her neck before the last step. She struck out clumsily for the staircase on the other side. Thankfully, the lights perched above the water line, reflecting in bright splashes.

  A third of the way across, she stopped and treaded water. The gargoyle was still standing on the staircase. The water lapped at his chest.

  They could be caught at any moment. Anger surged through her. “Now!” she barked.

  As if pushed from behind, the gargoyle splashed down the remaining steps. The water came up to his chin.

  Dorotea stroked again. The ends of her hair drifted on top of the water. “What are you waiting for? It’s only going to get deeper!”

  More slowly than she liked, he pushed through the pool. After only five feet, the water was touching his lips.

  Worry gnawed at Dorotea. The water was still rising, and they still had twenty-five feet to go. “Stand on your tiptoes!”

  He glared at her. “I am.” He took another stride and spit out a mouthful of water. “It’s going to be over my nose soon.”

  “So jump up to take a breath every two steps.”

  He balked. “I’ll have water in my eyes. I won’t know which way to go.”

  That she could do something about. She swam over to him. “I’ll hold your hand. Go in the direction I pull you. Or you could stay here and drown.”

  Another glare. He gulped in a deep breath and moved forward, plowing through the water. His eyes remained visible for a moment, then his head disappeared underneath the muddy water.

  Dorotea side-stroked and guided his arm.

  He took a step, then suddenly yanked down on her hand. Unprepared, her head slipped below the surface of the water. She tried to free herself, but he wouldn’t let go, stone fingers crushing her own. Then he shot up through the water so suddenly, he almost broke her nose. He gasped in a breath, then sank. This time, he held his hand over his head, so she didn’t get dunked.

  She sputtered and coughed, trying to clear her throat, and tugged forward again.

  They covered half the distance in this fashion but then hit a deeper pocket. Their joined hands were now underwater, and when the gargoyle jumped, he didn’t break the surface. She pulled up, but he was too heavy. His weight dragged her down.

  She let go of his hand and swam up to the surface.

  “Keep walking!” Tension cramped her stomach. She studied the water anxiously. Unconsciously, she held her breath.

  (look at your reflection)

  The odd words slid into her mind as if whispered by her intuition. Beneath her wild-looking reflection, she glimpsed the gleam of red jasper in the brown water. Was he still moving? Had she made a mistake in not listening when he told her he’d drown? She couldn’t bear the thought of having come so far and broken so many taboos, only to fail before she’d even had a chance to fix things. And the thought of having caused his death, gargoyle or not, made her ill.

  Bubbles rose to the surface. Yes! He was still moving. “Come on, come on,” she chanted, swimming alongside him.

  He jumped again but fell short of breaking the surface. His flailing arm caught her leg, and his fingers fastened around her ankle. He plummeted back down through the silty water, towing her with him.

  Terror jolted through her. The gargoyle didn’t need to breathe. It had all been a trick to get her underwater where she couldn’t order him to let her go. He meant to drown her.

  Frantically, Dorotea kicked his head. Pain shot through her heel, but her blow had no effect on him.

  Inexorably, he pulled her close to his face. She slitted her eyes; in the murky water, she could barely make out the golden gleam of his eyes.

  She tried to shout, “Let go!” but he yanked her close. She expected his fangs to tear out her throat, but instead, he sealed his hard lips over hers.

  (give him your breath; he needs air)

  Dorotea obeyed the strange impulse, blowing into his mouth. Instantly, he released her back to the surface. Her long hair hung in her face in limp strands, and her body shuddered, from the chill or the shock. Confusion muddled her thoughts. Why had he let her go, instead of getting his revenge by ensuring she drowned with him?

  (help him take him another breath)

  Fear made her hesitate. What if this time he didn’t let go? Even if he didn’t purposely try to drown her, he might still panic and hold her under too long.

  But he wouldn’t be in danger if not for her. She was responsible for his life. And she needed his help.

  She took three deep breaths, then dove back into the silty water.

  It was impossible to see, so she felt with her arms, moving them in wide sweeps. Her fingers grazed stone. Seconds later, a hand closed around her wrist.

  As before, the gargoyle pulled her close in a weird parody of a kiss. She didn’t resist as his stone mouth closed over hers again. His lips were hard but not bruising. She blew in the breath she’d taken, and he boosted her up to the surface again.

  Five more shared breaths took them to the second staircase. Dorotea tugged him forward. “Almost there…”

  The water stirred, and then the gargoyle’s head emerged. He climbed to the top of the steps, and the two of them sat side by side, gasping in great lungfuls of air.

  The water sheeted off his stone surface, but she felt bedraggled. She untucked her skirts and squeezed out as much of the excess water as she could.

  “Thank you,” he said unexpectedly. “For giving me breath. For coming back for me.” His golden eyes warmed.

  Dorotea smiled back at him in shared triumph—only to cringe under the hot las
h of embarrassment. What was she thinking? He’s a gargoyle. My enemy. A monster. If he realized that she didn’t want to hurt him, she would lose control. “You’re no good to me at the bottom of a pool,” she said shortly.

  His expression hardened again.

  Dorotea felt wretched, as if she’d hurt his feelings, but that just sent her around the treadmill again, because gargoyles shouldn’t have feelings. Gargoyles were beasts and monsters—everyone knew that. He must be faking it somehow.

  Angry with herself and him, she squelched over to the metal door. Water lapped at the bottom panel. She worried that the door’s tight seal was all that was keeping the water from flooding all the caverns. What would happen when she opened it?

  Another strange knob of metal protruded on this side of the door. As before, Dorotea pushed, pulled, and jiggled it, but this time there was no panel to light up. She shivered, looking with misgivings at the water still pouring out of the pipes.

  Did the same mechanism that flooded the tunnel also lock the door? Would they both drown here, after all?

  With a hiss of impatience, the gargoyle reached past her and grasped the knob. He twisted it to the right, then, with a grunt, pushed the door open.

  Water sluiced over the door’s bottom lip and gurgled down a large drain set in the floor. Dorotea sighed in relief. She hadn’t flooded the caverns. Whoever had designed the trap had made sure the overflow would be contained.

  “Now where?” the gargoyle asked. The dust had been washed from his stone surface, and the red jasper gleamed. It was almost…pretty.

  Dorotea wrung water out her sleeves. “Now we go to the Cathedral, so you can speak to the Goddess.”

  He opened his mouth, showing his fangs. “Why?”

  To beg for my sister’s life. “That’s my business,” Dorotea said curtly. “Follow me.”

  …

  Fire World

  The connection between Leah and her Stone otherself broke when Dorotea left the pool of water behind. Leah lowered her aching arm and collapsed on the bare floor of the Mirrorhall. She ignored the fine layer of black ash that blew in through the slitted window and covered everything.