They were building a case against him. But for what? On whose orders?
He needed someone who understood Tower politics, who could navigate the currents of power he’d always ignored. Someone who heard all the whispers and knew all the relationships. His feet carried him to the eyrie next door to his own.
His mother answered the door immediately, as if she’d been waiting. Her eyes widened at seeing him, though. He couldn’t blame her surprise after how cold he’d acted at Loïc’s Fledging.
To her credit, she didn’t ask questions in the hallway but ushered him inside immediately. Ghantal’s new home was smaller, but it was as stately and tasteful as the female herself, with the same carved wooden wall panels and flagstone floors as the home they’d shared. Her touch was already obvious in the rich fabrics and furnishings and swarm of well-bred moths that clustered around the lantern. “What’s happened? Are you well?”
“Yes. No.” He rubbed his horn, trying to sort out his racing thoughts. “I need your help. Your political understanding.”
“Sit. Tell me.” She took a seat on a bench by the window, but he couldn’t keep still, so he paced nearby, words tumbling out. His clear progress once he ceased their “treatments.” The masons trying to obscure his memories. The threat of incarceration if he didn’t resume their regimen.
“They’re covering something up,” he finished. “Something terrible that they don’t want anyone to know. I’m certain of it now. Rikard and I are the only ones left who remember, and he’s walled his off and has no interest in recovering them. I can’t blame him. Why add pain to pain?”
“What is it?” she asked gently, worry creasing her forehead. “What memories do you have that are so terrifying?”
He stopped pacing and studied her face. Was her concern for him or for her image if this all came out? Was she asking questions because she believed him or because she thought he was delusional and paranoid?
She seemed genuine, he decided. And he had little choice but to trust her.
“The goblin hordes attacking the human settlements were mostly younglings,” he said finally. “They were starving children, not warriors. I sent two scouts to Meravenna to report it. Kerec and Tomin, brothers from the northern cliffs. But I never heard back from them, and I couldn’t spare any more messengers. I assume they were killed.”
“Weeks later, we received orders to continue as planned. Drive back the hordes.” He met her eyes. “Someone in leadership ordered us to slaughter children. So we did. At least until the mounted companies began their attacks, and we had to turn away from the hordes to pursue them. Now the masons are trying to make me forget it all happened.”
She was quiet for a long moment, claws tapping against her chair’s arm in that pattern that meant she was thinking. “Do you know who gave the order?”
“No. Could have been sky command at Meravenna. Someone here in Solvantis. Could have been the Zenith himself. But whoever it is has the head healer in his claws.”
Ghantal stood, moving to her desk where she kept her carefully cultivated ledgers. “I have connections. Many gargoyleswho owe me favors. Let me ask discreet questions of those I trust and send moths to those I don’t.”
He tensed at the thought of her poking around and unwittingly exposing herself to unknown enemies. “Be very careful. If the ones responsible are willing to alter memories, they have few scruples.”
“Leave it to me. I know which stones to turn and which to leave untouched.” She leafed through a ledger, pausing to scan the records, already absorbed in the task.
She was so matter-of-fact about it, as though she’d expected it. As though she’d kept these ledgers for that very purpose.
“Why are you so eager to help me with something that will likely end in us being banished from the Tower? We’ll be lucky to have a roost in the rookery by the time they’re done with us.”
Her shoulders sagged so the tips of her wings scraped the floor. “Because you’re my son. Because I failed you once by keeping secrets that should have been aired. Because—” She paused, vulnerability cracking through her composed facade. “Because I want to earn the right to be in your life again.”
“If you do this,” Brandt said slowly, “it doesn’t mean I forgive everything. I can’t promise it will erase the slate.”
“I know it won’t be that simple.” She sighed heavily. “I love you, you know. You are the pride of my heart. If I’ve wronged you, I will right it, even if it takes me the rest of my life.”
He jerked a nod, his throat too thick to speak. “I love you, too.”
Her expression eased. “Give me three days, and I’ll have answers.”
He turned to leave, then paused. “The head mason will file a report tomorrow. The gaolers may come for me. Take care of Idabel and Loïc if they do. Make sure they’re safe, even if it means leaving the city.”
“Then we’d better work quickly.” Ghantal was already reaching for her ink and fresh parchment.
He left her to her moths and letters, returning to his own eyrie where Idabel waited in his nest, Loïc asleep in her arms. Her hair was undone, and she had dark smudges under her eyes when her sooty lashes opened. She’d already worked a full day when his was just beginning.
“You shouldn’t have waited up. You aren’t sleeping enough.” It was hypocritical of him to say it, since he was so often responsible for keeping her awake.
“Are you all right? I felt your unease,” she said quietly, ignoring his admonishment. “How is Rikard?”
“Broken. Permanently. He’ll never fly again.” He settled beside them, wing coming around his small family. “It could have been me. I was just lucky that my roost was protected that day. That’s why you felt trouble in the bond.”
