“Morning, sprout,” she said softly, stroking her son’s hair.
Loïc sat up immediately, yawning and squinting as he stretched his wings out one at a time. “Did you sleep here, too, Mama?”
“No, I went home to my bed.”Where I didn’t sleep at all.
Loïc patted the scarred, stone shoulder next to him. “Papa let me sleep in his nest! It’s so big, we both fit. I bet he would let you sleep here, too, if you wanted. You could ask.”
Idabel darted a look at Brandt. His eyes were frozen shut, but she knew he could hear every word. She shuddered to think what his response would be if she asked to stay in his nest.
“Can I sleep here again tonight? Please?” His gray eyes were bright with hope. She’d always thought he had Brandt’s eyes, and he did, but they were Brandt’s old eyes. His new ones were flint.
“We’ll see. School first.” She offered her hand to help him out of the nest. He scrambled up next to her. “Let’s find you some breakfast.”
Loïc hummed his agreement. “Last night, Papa said he’d teach me battle moves when I’m older. Real gargoyle fighting!” He demonstrated what looked like a violent sneeze. “Like that!”
“Very impressive.” She led him out of the nesting chamber and showed him the toast and plums she’d brought. Her stomach was too tense to eat, but he munched them happily at the big dining table like he’d lived on the fifth tier his whole life.
Maybe it was better for him up here, with Brandt. There was so much about gargoyle life she couldn’t teach him. Even Ghantal couldn’t teach him battle moves.
She hoped Brandt would let her visit him often. Surely he wouldn’t want her in his space, even after the mating bite.The price, he’d called it. But he’d need someone to watch Loïc during the daytime, so maybe he’d let her fill that role. She could take him to and from school and feed him his meals, then sleep in the rookery. It didn’t sound so bad.
“Mama, why are you crying?” Loïc was staring, plum preserves smudged across his cheek.
“I’m not,” she said automatically, swiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her chemise. “I’m not sad. Everything’s fine.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Sometimes I cry when I am happy, too.”
She managed a smile for him, her little sprout.
After depositing a still-chattering Loïc at school, Idabel went straight to the apothecary. The familiar routine of grinding herbs and measuring tinctures usually calmed her, but today her hands shook as she prepared another batch of the healing tonic for Brandt and his surviving watchmate.
“Not much of that moss left,” Betje observed from the doorway. “I don’t mind if you use it all, but I’m not sure where to get more.”
Idabel grimaced, shaking the jar to assess how much of the green powder remained. Only a few more measures. Maybe a half-dozen more batches. A few more moons of medicine. “I’ll ask Ghantal if she knows of a source. She’s from the southern cliffs. Might have friends or family there who could send some.”
“Good thinking.” Betje moved closer, studying Idabel’s face and unsteady hands. “You look tired. Are you all right?”
She nodded and set down the jar of moss powder before she spilled it, returning her attention to the steeping tonic. “I took Loïc to meet Brandt last night.”
Betje sucked her teeth sympathetically, glancing over her shoulder to make sure there was no one who needed help in the shop before asking, “How did it go?”
“Good. They had a good time together. I tried to stay out of the way. Loïc ended up sleeping there.” She left the end of the sentence hanging.
“But not you.” Betje picked up a pestle and began grinding the latest batch of dried betony, her namesake.
Idabel shook her head, biting her lip, her heart aching so much that her shoulders. She couldn’t cry at work. She wouldn’t. She was out of tears anyway.
“No wonder you couldn’t sleep, you poor thing.”
“Brandt wants to give me another mating bite.”
The pestle slipped from Betje’s fingers, clattering on the workbench. “What?”
“He says it’s my penance, to feel what he feels through the bond.” Idabel fumbled the strainer as she set it up in the sink and lined it with cheesecloth. “He wants me to suffer as much as he suffers.”
“Don’t do it,” Betje blurted out as she rushed to right the strainer. She held it steady while Idabel poured the tonic through it. “Take it from someone who has lived a few more years than you. Your life is longer than you think. Bonding yourself to someone who hates you will make it miserable in ways you can’t imagine. It’s not fair of him to ask that of you.”
“It is fair.” Idabel set the strained tonic aside to clean out the sink basin. She felt oddly defensive of Brandt and his motivations, almost angry at Betje for criticizing him. “If anything, it’s a generous offer. I betrayed him. I’m responsible for the deaths of so many gargoyles. I broke our bond. Kept his son a secret. If sharing his pain is a way to make amends, how can I refuse him?”
