She leaned into him cautiously, careful not to wake Loïc. “He was lucky you were there to carry him home.”
“I doubt he’d call that lucky. I’m sure he’d prefer to do the carrying. But he lives, and I can’t be sorry for that.”
She hummed her agreement. “Did the masons pressure you for more treatments?”
“A little. I refused, of course, but Aalis seemed eager to have me gaoled to force it on me. I overheard her say she’s going to file a report about my ‘aggression.’”
She sucked in a horrified breath. “What can we do to stop it?”
“Whatever I can. I have to uncover whatever corruption drove this to happen.” His claws traced gentle patterns on her shoulder over his claiming bite as he watched their son sleep. Loïc looked even younger when his eyes were closed and his face was still. “Sending an army to kill children of any species can’t be brushed away like inconvenient dust. Whoever is responsible will come to justice.”
Idabel worried her lip with her teeth. “How do we know who to trust? I doubt anyone will confide in you. You’ve been away so long, and you’re mated to a traitor—”
He made a harsh, dismissive noise, cutting her off. “I asked my mother to use her political contacts.”
His mate relaxed in his arms. “Oh, good. Ghantal will find answers, if anyone can.”
“Or they’ll silence her, too. It won’t be hard to discredit a cliffborn,” he said bitterly.
“Then we’ll find another way.” Her determination blazed through the bond. “We’ll figure it out together.”
He pulled them closer, breathing in the combined scent of his family. Whatever came next, whatever truths Ghantal uncovered, he would protect them.
Even if it meant facing down the entire Tower hierarchy.
Even if it meant becoming the danger they already claimed he was.
Chapter 32
Idabel
Tonic simmered on the workbench, its honeyed scent filling the apothecary as Idabel struggled to keep her eyes open. Three hours of sleep. That’s all she’d managed between Loïc’s restlessness, Brandt’s episodes, and rising at dawn to open the shop.
She’d worked all day, collected Loïc from school, fed him supper, dropped him off at flying lessons with Ghantal, and then returned to the shop to work on the latest batch of medicine.
“You’re adding too much valerian,” Betje observed from across the room.
Idabel jerked awake, nearly dropping the vial of tincture. “Damn it. I’m just—”
“Exhausted. I can see that.” Betje took the stirring rod and vial from her hands. “Go home. Rest.”
“I can’t. Rikard needs this draught tonight.”
“I can follow a recipe, Idabel. I’ll drop it off at the Nadir’s office when it’s done. Go.”
She wanted to argue, but her hands were shaking with fatigue. The walk back to the Tower felt endless, each rung of the four ladders to their tier more difficult to climb than the last. When she finally reached their eyrie, she found Brandt teaching Loïc to file his claws on a piece of slate.
“Mama!” Loïc bounded over, flashing his fingers at her. “Papa’s showing me gargoyle stuff! Look how shiny and sharp they are.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” She tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice, but she must have failed, because Brandt narrowed his eyes assessingly.
“When did you last sleep? Properly sleep?”
“Last night.” A traitorous yawn slipped out.
“For how long?”
She couldn’t lie through the bond. “A few hours.”
