“I don’t know you!” The words exploded out of him, echoing off the Tower walls.
“Come fly with me,” she begged. “I’ll show you the eyrie where we live together. Maybe that will be the missing piece you seek.”
In his peripheral vision three masons approaching from the hall, their faces grim. He felt an unwelcome wash of gratitude at their intervention. His head hurt from battering against his mind walls. His claws ached to rip and ruin.
“I’m sorry, Ghantal,” Aalis said firmly. So she hadn’t lied about her name. “He cannot leave this tier until he is no longer a danger to himself or others.”
“He won’t hurt me. He’s my son.” Her voice wobbled on the word. “I just want to take him home.”
“His home is here for now. Zenith’s orders.”
Ghantal’s expression cycled through hurt, anger, and finally resignation. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“No.” Brandt felt raw. The mason hadn’t denied their relationship, so she wasn’t lying about that, either. He might not see anything familiar in her face, but she was his mother. He just wasn’t sure he was her son. Not the one she remembered, the one who was proud and loyal and happy. “Don’t come again. Not until—” Until what? Until the mind walls came down? Until he remembered how to be whoever he’d been before? “Not until I send for you.”
She left without another word, though he caught the gleam of moisture on her face as she dove from the roost. The sight stirred something behind a wall, but when he reached for it, pain lanced through his skull.
“Commander,” Aalis said carefully. “Perhaps you should eat something. It might speed your healing.”
“No. Leave me alone.”
“You need sustenance.”
“I need to think.” Or not think. “Just...go.”
The masons retreated, whispering among themselves.
He sat alone, trying to penetrate his own mind, but it was as well-guarded as the city itself. The moon set, painting Solvantis in shadows. Hidden somewhere in this place was his life, but every time he chased it, it slipped through his fingers as easily as tears.
A scent drifted up from the streets below. The smell of someone cooking in the marketplace with lemon and herbs. His appetite returned in a rush. Suddenly, he was starving. His whole body went rigid, every instinct screaming that this meant something, but when he tried to follow the thought, agony bloomed behind his eyes.
He built another mind wall against the pain and turned his back on the city. When dawn broke, he was forced to stare at the blank Tower wall all day, without even a view to distract him from his own thoughts.
Tonight, the mind-masons would try again. His unfamiliar mother would likely return, even though he’d warned her away. Everyone would keep pushing him to remember who he’d been.
But Brandt was beginning to suspect that they’d be disappointed when his mind walls finally crumbled. They wouldn’t find his old self in the rubble. That Brandt was gone for good.
They’d more likely find a corpse.
Chapter 18
Idabel
The flying school met on the second tier, close enough to the rookery to make it easy for fledglings of any tier to attend, highborn or otherwise. Stubby-horned gargoyles younger than Loïc glided in wobbly circles above the practice nets while two harried instructors did their best to herd them away from any hazards.
Idabel spotted Loïc immediately. He was the only student still on the platform, wings drooping as he watched his classmates soar.
“Mama!” He ran to her as soon as he saw her, but instead of the dejection she expected, his gray eyes blazed with excitement. “Did you see him? Did you talk to Papa? What did he say?”
One of the instructor, a patient, wiry gargoyle named André, glided over with an apologetic expression on his griffin-beaked face. She knew him from the rookery as a mild-mannered, helpful sort who always had a kind word for Loïc. Not all the instructors were so accepting. “He didn’t have a chance to fly today. We usually take him out one-on-one so he has a bit of time in the air, but we were all distracted by the news of the Sixth Watch. He’s not quite ready for solo flight yet.”
Idabel nodded, feeling weary. “He’ll get there. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“He’s home, isn’t he?” Loïc bounced on his toes, wings flapping behind him as he climbed down the ladder between her arms.
Idabel nodded, swallowing down the tide of emotion that threatened to drown her. “He is.”
“I told you! The moths were right! Can we go see him now?”
