“Aren’t you glad she did? I certainly couldn’t afford them.”
“If she’d treated you as sheshould have,you would have had access to the account yourself. But she hid you away in the rookery so her political machinations weren’t disrupted. She’s a manipulator who—”
“Who worked tirelessly to bring you home. Who took care of her grandchild because she loves him. Yes, she made a decision or two that you disagree with.” Idabel touched his arm, feeling his conflict through the bond. “I’m not asking you to forgive her. Just...don’t deny Loïc his grandparent. He has no others. Let her come to the fledging party.”
He grumbled. “Fine. But I don’t want to speak to her.”
“That’s fair.”
“She doesn’t deserve my trust.”
“I know.” She knew too well. She didn’t deserve it, either.
They chose their guest list well. Everyone they’d invited came to the Fledging: A few of Loïc’s friends from the rookery. Betje and Hannalinde, who’d never been inside the Tower before but had bravely volunteered to help with the event. André the flight instructor. Even Bardoux and one of Brandt’s commanders and his family.
Idabel surveyed the noisy group with satisfaction. Betje arranged honey-soaked lavender cakes on a platter while Hannalinde helped two young fledglings serve themselves roast turkey legs, Ghantal poured mead for the adults, and Loïc demonstrated his wingspan to anyone who would watch.
“Look!” he announced, spreading them wide as he perched on the long side of the table in the dining room. “I can almost reach end-to-end!” He gave an experimental flap and nearly knocked over the honeycakes.
“Well done, Lo!” Ghantal caught the platter of cakes before it could fall and gently guided Loïc to a clear spot in the room where he’d have more room to show off without breaking anything.
Brandt’s jaw tightened a little at the easy affection between grandmother and grandson. Idabel put her arm around his waist, trying to cajole him out of his tense mood. All the chaos wasn’t doing him any favors. “She loves him. You can’t begrudge her that. She’s been his connection to his gargoyle side, which issomething I couldn’t give him. And he’s been her connection to you.”
“She should have honored his mother, then,” Brandt snapped.
“She did. She honored my choice, even though it was a wrong one. She helped me more times than I can count. To me, that matters more than anything she may have thought of me. She is proud and prickly, but I love her because Loïc loves her. And she regrets helping me break the bond. She apologized to me.”
She thought she saw Brandt’s expression soften slightly. But in the interest of a happy Fledging celebration, she spoke no more of it, and Ghantal deftly stayed out of Brandt’s way for the rest of the party.
When the honeycakes had been decimated and the young fledglings were yawning because dawn was near, Brandt stood. “Loïc, come here.”
Their son bounded over, still vibrating with excitement. Brandt produced something from behind his back—a moonstone, set in a silver pendant and strung on a leather cord.
“Every gargoyle from the cliffs receives one of these on their first flight,” Brandt said solemnly, fastening it around Loïc’s neck. “I received it when I flew for the first time. It belonged to my mother, and her father before that, and his father before him. Now it’s yours.”
Loïc’s eyes went huge as he felt the pendant. “Really? It’s mine?”
“Until you have a fledgling of your own, and you pass it on.”
Idabel’s throat tightened as Loïc threw his arms around Brandt, who hoisted him into the air. Through the bond, she felt Brandt’s fierce pride, both in their son’s rite of passage and in being able to give him this piece of their family history.
“I want to show Ghantmère,” Loïc said, already pulling away.
Brandt hesitated, then nodded. “She’ll recognize it. She wore it for many years herself.”
As Loïc raced to Ghantal, proudly displaying his new treasure, Idabel slipped her hand into Brandt’s. “It’s really beautiful. I don’t think he’s ever had anything so nice.”
“He earned it.” As Brandt watched his mother and son together, a complicated muddle of emotions seeped through the bond—sharp betrayal, but also deep gratitude. “She taught him well.”
It wasn’t reconciliation, but it was a start.
After the feast, when the guests had gone and Loïc was tucked into bed, Idabel began clearing up the bones, tossing each one in a bucket to be burned.
“Leave it for the keepers,” Brandt said, pulling her toward the nesting chamber. “We have just enough time before dawn…”
She giggled and extracted her skirt from his grip so she could return to her work. “I told them not to come anymore. I don’t mind cleaning up.”
He frowned, dragging her back to him again. “You are not a maidservant. I don’t want you on your knees.”
