“A keeper might know.”
“You have school.”
“I could stay home today!”
“Absolutely not.” She forced herself to butter bread with shaking hands. “I’ll visit the Nadir after work, while you’re at flying lessons. If there is any news, I’ll tell you everything tonight.”
“But Mama—”
“No arguments.” She softened her tone at his crestfallen expression. “I know it’s hard, sweetheart. But we can’t chase every moth whisper.”
He stabbed a plum with more force than necessary. “I hate school. Why do I have to go to human schoolandflying practice? It’s not fair.”
“You’re lucky to have both.”
His exceptionally sharp mind had earned him a scholarship to the human school, though they’d been dubious about admitting a half-gargoyle, to put it mildly. And she could only afford theflying lessons because Ghantal paid for them, convinced her grandson needed every advantage to keep up with the gargoyles his age.
“Some children don’t get any schooling at all. Plus, it’s very important to Ghantmère that you become a good flyer. You might want to join the guard someday, or even the watch like your papa, and you will need strong wings for that.”
“I’d rather work in the shop with you and Aunt Betje.”
“When you’re older.” She kissed the top of his head, breathing in his sticky, little-boy scent. “Now eat. We’re already running late.”
The walk to school took them through the market. A few merchants greeted Idabel, although plenty turned away and pretended they didn’t see her. She’d built a reputation over the years as a skilled apothecary, but it wasn’t enough to quell the whispers about her half-gargoyle son who walked on the earth and could wake during daylight hours.
Her fingers tightened around his. She didn’t ever want him to feel like he wasn’t perfect in every way.
“Mama.” Loïc squeezed back as they passed a fruit seller. “What if itisPapa, but he doesn’t remember us?”
The question cut deep. “Then we’ll remind him.”
“But you broke the bond.” His voice was small. “To save him from the bad men.”
“I did.” She’d explained it to him as simply as she could when he was old enough to ask about his father: how Lord Wilkin had used her blood to hurt Brandt, so she had to get rid of it to protect him. She hadn’t told him about the moons of agony that followed, like severing part of her soul. She hadn’t told him how much she missed the silver shoulder scar that had faded to nothing once the bond was dissolved. “He might be angry with me about it. But that doesn’t change that he’s your father.”
“Sanctius said no gargoyle with honor would claim a halfling.” Sanctius was one of the fledglings who lived in their section of the rookery and a known bully.
She stopped walking and crouched in front of him so she could look him in the eye. “Your father claimed you the moment you were conceived. He just hasn’t met you yet.”
It was a pretty lie. She had no idea how Brandt—if he was even alive—would react to a son he’d never known existed. But it was one she had to tell herself to make it through this day.
After depositing a reluctant Loïc at school, Idabel nearly ran to the apothecary shop. The familiar scents of dried herbs and beeswax candles couldn’t calm her racing thoughts. She found Betje in the workroom. Though her shop was still located in the same modest storefront in the same humble quarter, the last few years of prosperity had been kind to her. She wore silk and velvet now under her linen apron.
Betje looked up from grinding seedpods in the heavy stone mortar. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“It feels like I have.” Idabel set the tiny bottle of moth dust on the worktable. “Loïc says the moths told him that the Sixth Watch returned last night.”
Betje stilled. “Surely just wishful gossip.”
“That’s what I told him. But what if—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her heart thudded hard as a pestle, grinding her to dust.
“Let me See.” Betje filled a bowl with water and sprinkled the contents of the bottle over it. She bent over it, spectacles reflecting the liquid’s surface where the powder swirled like cream in tea.
Idabel held her breath. For a long moment, Betje silently watched the water. Finally, she lifted her head. “The moths saw a gargoyle fly over the north gate bearing the Sixth Watch standard. They couldn’t see his face clearly, but he carriedsomething heavy. Or someone. The moths don’t seem to agree on that point.”
“Was it Brandt?” The name came out cracked.
“I can’t tell. But Idabel...” Betje’s expression was gentle, pained. “It seems only one returned out of dozens. The odds aren’t good.”
