by Jaymin Eve
He clears his throat. “I made it as far as the courtyard outside the Storm Vault.”
My eyes widen. “You came for me.”
“I saw you.” He swallows. “You were surrounded by your Storm Command. Your advisor, Elise, was with you. I saw her first and she was clearly upset about something. Then I saw that your storm suit was all cut up. Your hands and knees were bleeding. You were dripping, shivering, shaking. But you grit your teeth and kept your head up. Glaring the world down. Daring anyone to come near you.”
He stops. Stops for so long that I don’t think he’s going to continue.
“Baelen?”
“I felt it, Marbella. I felt the storm rising off you. I realized then that I couldn’t take you away from that. I needed to be part of it. Which meant I had to wait for the Heartstone Ceremony. My father was right.
“But there was no way I could breathe the same air as you and stay sane for three years. So I walked away. Walked all the way back to Rath land. I followed the mountains south for months. I lived wild, kept away from everyone.” His mouth twitches into a half smile. “Grew a pretty savage beard.”
I crinkle my forehead, trying to picture Baelen with a beard. Hmm, no.
He says, “I reached the wastelands and kept going. Until one day I heard a scream. It was little Adalie. A talon crow, the biggest I’d ever seen, had just killed her brother and it was about to rip her apart. I had so much rage… There wasn’t anything left of that bird by the time I finished with it.”
No wonder Adalie was afraid of the crows if one killed her brother. I’ve never seen a talon crow in real life. Just like I’d never seen a shadow panther before one attacked me. “So that’s how you met them.”
“I lived with Senturi for over two years. Went out each day and hunted those birds down until there were hardly any of them left. Killed a bunch of shadow panthers too. For some reason, Senturi never once asked me why I was there. It took me forever to figure out that he had Sight.”
He shakes his head with a soft laugh, but the sound fades. “Then one day, he comes to me and says I have to go. He tells me he’s had a message from the northern Outliers… that my father has died. He tells me I can’t trust anyone except you.”
“I’m sorry, Baelen.”
“I cut off my beard, came back for the funeral, stayed away from the Elven Command. And that’s when I started planning. I searched the mountains for the best places to hide in case I needed a backup plan. I concealed emergency packs throughout them, but it was when I discovered gargoyle nests where they shouldn’t be that I started to ask questions. Carefully of course.”
“Then you offered me your heartstone.”
He says, “You know the rest.”
“I can’t imagine you with a beard.” I push my chair back, cross to him, and slide my hand across his cheek. For so long, a simple touch like this was forbidden to me.
I bend to press my lips to his. Before our mouths meet, he catches my waist and pulls me to him. Responding to his touch, I slide one leg over his, straddling him. I press against him and plant a kiss on his lips, tasting the warmth of his mouth. My body heats up as his thumbs brush across each of my hips, his fingers spreading out around my waist to shift me closer.
It takes all my willpower to break contact. “I want you to know that I tried to see you at your father’s funeral. I wanted to tell you how sad I was for your loss.”
Baelen had lost his mother when he was ten years old. I was there for him at that time. After that, his father was his only remaining family and it broke my heart knowing Baelen went through his father’s death alone, that I wasn’t there for him. “They wouldn’t let me near you.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear, running his fingers across my cheek. “I wouldn’t let you near me.” He swallows. “It was hard enough to stay away from you for seven years. Even in the beginning after the fall, when I couldn’t walk, I… uh… would try to get up and leave the house. It was like there was a thread between us and it kept getting shorter, pulling me toward you. I knew that one conversation with you at the funeral, one look in your eyes, and I’d abandon all reason. I’d tear down whatever I had to—destroy whatever I had to—to get to you.”
A shiver races down my spine. We had been connected. We just didn’t know it was the storm. “I missed you, Baelen.”
Such simple words. So much heartache to go with them.
I press my lips to his, drowning in the contact and trying to form coherent thoughts. “I don’t want to be apart from you today.”
He whispers against my lips. “I understand your intentions. Your people don’t know me. They don’t trust me like they trust you.”
That’s the second time he’s called them my people. “Our people, Baelen. You lived with gargoyles longer than I have.”
His thumb grazes my lips, trailing across my jaw. “I lived with Outliers. That sets me even further apart. But I promise you, I will do anything to be with you.”
How am I going to wait a week? I shiver as his other hand strokes the curve between my waist and hip through my shirt.
He sighs, but it’s resigned. “Our time is up. Erit has returned.”
He picks me up and slides me to the floor. I smooth my clothing in time for Erit to push through the doors. “Lady Storm, everything’s ready.”
I steel myself for what’s ahead of me. It’s time to face the Grievous Clan head on.
9
I’ve never flown with Erit before. He was the leader of one of the mining teams and for a while, he was the last gargoyle I thought would ever be my ally. Over time, I got to know him and heard his story. He’d told me about killing a shadow panther when he was a teenager—that if he didn’t come back with one, clan law meant he would be thrown out of his home to starve. Now, he’s flying me to the heart of the Grievous stronghold.
After some consideration, I left my armor behind. I don’t want to fly into Mount Grievous looking like I’m about to launch a war. Erit has chosen to wear light armor, but that’s because it has straps that he has wrapped around me to make sure I don’t fall. It’s a handy addition to gargoyle armor that is usually intended for carrying bundled weapons but happens to be conveniently Marbella-sized. The safety straps are also helpful when he has to navigate through mountain peaks, tilting on his side or even flying horizontal. We decided early on in our flight that it would be a good idea to stay low and fly through the mountains, rather than making ourselves a target in clear sky.
He apologizes along the way for the bristles on his chin, which catch my hair as I press my head against his chest. I laugh, thinking it’s strange that I’m so comfortable being this up close and personal with a gargoyle, let alone one I used to think wanted to kill me.
When I first arrived in Erador, it was nighttime and I didn’t get to see the landscape. Every time I flew across Erador since then I was bundled into a basket so I couldn’t see. Now it takes my breath away. A spider web of mountains spreads out beneath us, each leading back to Mount Erador where the palace is located. Mount Prime is rust-colored, Mount Virtuous is a deep mossy green, and far, far in the west looms a mountain that is black as ochre: the perfect place for shadow panthers to thrive.
“There it is,” Erit says, his voice a rasp as the air rushes past us. “Mount Grievous. The last mountain before we hit the wastelands.”
As we near it, multiple villages come into view, located at various points along the mountain range and deep in the valleys, many of them surrounded by thick forests. Erit angles for the far side of the mountain where the shadows are darkest and the sunlight barely reaches.
I ask, “Should we go to the Cavity?” Each mountain contains a place called a Cavity—it’s where the main nest is located.
He shakes his head. “Grievous live out in the open. They believe it makes them tougher.” He points to a cluster of buildings located at the highest point on the side of the mountain. “Whoever is in charge will be in that village there. It won’t take long
for them to show themselves once we land.”
The village approaches fast as Erit speeds toward the nearest cobbled street. I sense movement below us, swift and furtive, but when we glide to a stop, there’s nobody in sight. The buildings are shuttered and closed. A chill breeze whistles through the gaps between them. Erit unstraps me and I step off his feet, stretching my arms and legs. I love flying but remaining in the same position for hours has left me stiff and sore.
Erit stretches out his muscles while I smooth my hair. He gives me another apologetic glance. He’s older than some of the other gargoyles, but no less agile as he unstraps a sword and hands it to me, swiftly reaching for his bow and nocking an arrow to it. Between us, we have attacks covered both at a distance and up close.
I draw on my power to cast a soft glow across the dark street, the Queen’s heart responding to my wish: destroy the dark. I’m still getting a handle on how to use and control this new power. I hope at some point, I might be able to use it to fly on my own, but I’m not sure how yet. Destroy gravity? Probably not a good idea.
Erit raises his weapon, assessing all attack points from the rooftops to the street. “Go ahead, Lady Storm.”
I plant my feet in the middle of the street and raise my voice. “I am Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy. You will show yourselves or I will burn your homes to dust.”
It’s a horrible threat; one I wouldn’t normally make but Erit has schooled me up on Grievous culture. They will only respond to brute strength.
A shadow grows from an alleyway on my right and a figure emerges from the darkness, but not so far that I can see who it is. A female voice hisses, “Supreme Incorruptible, you stole something from me that can’t be replaced.”
I consider shining the heartstone’s light into the shadowed recess that hides the newcomer. But I let her have her cloak of darkness for now. “Who are you?”
“I am Grievous Indira.”
Erit stiffens beside me. His eyes widen and tension enters his posture. “Careful, Lady Storm. She is Howl’s sister.”
Sister. Of course. Always a boy and a girl. It’s difficult to imagine Howl having any sort of family.
The female emerges into the light. All female gargoyles are beautiful, but she is savagely gorgeous. Her eyes are such a dark shade of brown that they appear black like her brother’s. Her hair matches the color of her eyes and it’s glossy, long, and braided down one side. She wears the skin of a shadow panther slung across one shoulder, attached to leather armor that covers her entire body. Female wings don’t have wing daggers like the males, but she’s made up for it with leather casings that cover the top of her wings attached to which are sharp spikes.
I appraise her as she takes up position ten paces away. She doesn’t carry any weapons as far as I can see, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t hidden around her body.
I say, “I won’t apologize for killing your brother.”
“But you will apologize for taking his death from me.”
My forehead crinkles. That is a strange thing to say. I’m not sure what she means.
Her hands curl into fists as she snarls, “It was my right to kill him. Not yours! You stole that from me.”
She wanted him dead? I definitely didn’t expect that. “Then I saved you the trouble.”
She stalks toward me. Erit keeps his bow trained on her and I ready my sword, although it’s the heartstones I’ll draw on if I’m really threatened.
She stops three paces away. Up close, I can see there are rips in her wings. It looks like someone took a knife to them, shredding the bottom third into wide ribbons. Llion once told me that to injure another gargoyle’s wings was a heinous crime, an act of violence that was meant to subjugate the victim.
“Did he hurt your wings?”
She snarls, “I did this to myself.”
Well, she’s a ball of contradictions.
“You owe me his death,” she says, drawing her right hand slowly up to her left shoulder and toward the first spike on her wing armor. It looks like she’s about to scrape her palm across it.
“Stop.” Erit lowers his bow, surprising me by separating bow from arrow and raising both in a placating gesture. “Lady Indira, you don’t have to do this. Lady Storm was mistreated by your brother the same as you. She had every right to kill him.”
“I don’t care! He hurt me first. That gave me first right.”
“Lady Indira—”
“Nobody calls me ‘Lady!’ Especially not you!”
He tilts his head, taking his time to respond. I’m dying to leap into the conversation with all sorts of retorts. If she claims she had first right to kill Howl, then why the hell didn’t she try? Or maybe she did and failed? And why is she so angry at Erit? What did he do?
Erit contemplates her. “So you do recognize me. I wasn’t sure how much I’d changed over the last fifteen years.”
Indira scowls back at him, one foot planted slightly in front of the other, right palm resting across her upper chest very close to the spike. I’m still not entirely sure what she was about to do with it, but Erit’s efforts to stop her make me worried.
She studies the cut of his stubbly jaw, his gently pointed ears, and slate-gray eyes, taking her time to assess him. Her flinty gaze softens, but only briefly. “They told me you were dead.”
“Dead?” It’s his turn to appear surprised, but he slowly nods his head. “Of course, that’s what my parents would tell everyone to save face, isn’t it?”
She whispers, “You got out.”
“I did.”
She says, “Then you know I have to do this.”
He shakes his head. “You really don’t.”
In a flash she drags her hand across the wing spike, spilling droplets of blood on the street.
“No!” Erit’s shout dies in this throat.
Indira’s focus returns to me. “Supreme Incorruptible Marbella Mercy, you owe me Grievous Howl’s death. I will have yours instead.”
Erit sags beside me. The fact that he’s concerned makes me concerned. I keep my voice low, trying not to react to this fierce female. “Erit?”
“She has challenged you to a fight to the death.”
The heartstones glow around me. “That seems unwise.” But as I speak, the glow dims and all of a sudden, the lights in the heartstones go out.
“Unfortunately, it is a blood challenge. The deep magic is bound by it, which means you will not be able to use the heartstones’ power in this fight.”
This is news I didn’t want to hear. No wonder Erit was trying to stop her. Leaving my armor behind is suddenly the worst decision I made today.
Indira watches my reaction closely, so I keep my response casual, calm. Just talking about the weather. Nothing to worry about. “So it’s just me and her?”
“I’m afraid so. You need to know that Lady Indira is a fierce warrior. She will not be easy to defeat but… Lady Storm, I’ve seen you fight without any power to aid you. Like many others before her—including myself—Lady Indira is underestimating you.”
I search his eyes. Indira can hear every word he says. He’s deliberately allowing his genuine concern to show through. I consider carefully what he said. First of all, he’s trying to psych her out, which tells me I actually need to be worried about her skill as a fighter. But on top of that, he’s reminding me of my fight with Arlo, of how I forced Arlo to yield. Whatever history Erit has with Indira, whatever injustice Indira has faced, to kill her would be a tragedy and it will get me no closer to improving relationships with the Grievous Clan.
I place my hand on his arm. “Erit, I can see that you care deeply about the outcome of this fight. I promise you, I will show mercy.”
Indira spits from the side. “How very magnanimous of you, Supreme Incorruptible. I assure you, I will not.”
It’s her turn to try to psych me out. As she speaks, gargoyles emerge from the shadows around us. The street is wide enough for a single gargoyle to spread its wings and land
with room to spare, but the alleyways between the buildings are narrow and cramped. Gargoyles cling to the sides of the buildings, hanging off the edges of the roofs, their faces shadowed, hunched beneath their wings, their wing daggers pointed aggressively forward.
Now this is the picture of blood-thirsty gargoyles that the elves fear. I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cower. Neither seems like a good idea.
“Well, what are the rules?” I ask Erit. I’m still holding the sword. “Weapons or hand-to-hand combat?”
Indira is quick. “There are no rules.”
She takes two steps forward, feinting around my sword, and aims her fist at my face.
I evade Indira’s attack just in time. Light on my feet, I sidestep and throw my sword off to Erit in the same movement. I won’t use a weapon until she does. He catches it by the handle and hurries out of our way.
Dodging Indira’s next attack, I assess her movements, the rips in her wings, and the way she favors her right foot. She won’t be able to fly, which makes the fight between us even, but she makes up for it with five wing spikes across each wing, each spike at least an inch long. They remind me of Senturi’s wing tips, razor sharp. Of course, she has to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself with them so I could turn them into a liability.
She comes at me again and I discover I was wrong about her wings being completely out of action. She spreads them and catches air that lifts her higher than I expected. At the same time, she shoots forward. My defensive position is too low and her fist slams down on me like rocks. I’m forced backward, rolling to my feet. She comes in too close, allowing me to land two quick jabs, left-right on each of her cheeks. As she rolls backward with the punches, she uses her unbalanced position to her advantage to kick her upper leg straight into my stomach.
I slam hard up against the wall of the nearest building, grab the closest object I can lay my hands on—a ceramic pot with a dusting of soil and dead weeds in it—and crack it against her head. Her arms fly wide and I use the gap to land several hits to her stomach and face before she grabs my arm, lifting me bodily upward across her shoulders. Her wing spikes scrape across my arms and chest. I’m lucky they don’t pierce anything important before she throws me across the street.
