He was either military or trained by one of the mercenary units specializing in magecraft. His blond hair had been shorn close to the scalp, and his eyes were almost green, with hints of light brown, giving them a muddy appearance.
“We met the dryads at the border of our territory. They were ready, although they had come on foot as we expected. We invited them to ride in the cars, which they did. About a mile before we were attacked, the cars began acting irregularly: radios jammed, electronics shorting out.”
“Magecraft?” Cade asked.
“We thought initially it might have been something the dryads were doing. A magic-based EMP or other paramagical attack. Then the cars stopped altogether. We instructed the dryads to remain in the vehicles, and when we got out, the gargoyles attacked. I instructed Henson and Young to return to the compound and alert security to what was happening. We tried to fight them off, and with the dryads’ help, we managed to hold our own until you arrived.” Finley finished with a nod.
“Was there any indication where the gargoyles had come from?” Cade asked.
“No.” Finley shook his head. “They were waiting in the trees for us. They didn’t attack until we were all out of the vehicles. We would have returned to the vehicles, reinforced them with magic, but the gargoyles made it clear they weren’t going to allow that.”
I thought about the crashed car, flattened by tons of rock landing on top of it.
“Gargoyles aren’t native to the forest,” I said. “They’re city creatures. They need buildings. Are you sure they don’t belong to any of the buildings on the property?”
“No. No one in our family line has the ability to weave life into inanimate objects. Weaving is a precise art. House Doyle used to be able to do it, and I’ve heard House Morrison has taken on some mages with the ability.” Cade looked around the table. “Leon, have any of the buildings on our property installed gargoyles recently?”
“No, my prince.” Leon shook his head. “And I’m greatly troubled if they came from outside the territory. Nothing should be able to get in or out. Our wards should protect us from even woven objects like gargoyles.”
“Wait, explain it to me,” I said. “I understand that the wards prevent any sentient being from entering or leaving without permission, but what about everything else? Tree limbs that grow over the boundary? Squirrels that come looking for nuts on your side of the border? I mean, it’s not like you have lines of dead raccoons around your property.”
“No,” Cade shook his head. “The boundary prevents anything with a human’s level of intelligence or anything magical. Gargoyles—though made of rock—wouldcount as magic.”
“Did you sense any magic when the car was initially acting up?” I asked Finley. “Or did you sense a lack of magic?”
That had been one of the things that Cade had mentioned when I asked him about the car explosion. He had said the only reason he knew to put up his own shields was because he had felt a lack of magic, like a fish suddenly being thrust into the desert.
“I didn’t notice anything different,” Finley said. His eyes were slightly narrowed, staring at the distance just over my shoulder, as though he was reviewing the past few hours, searching for the feeling I had mentioned. “Up until we saw the gargoyles, we were focused on the threat the dryads presented.”
“Lynn, is there any chance someone created a hole in our wards?” Cade asked.
The woman who’d come in with the guard had been staring off into space, her eyes fixed somewhere over Sonja’s head. She seemed to come back to herself visibly. As she looked around the table, her presence was a tangible weight when she focused on the rest of us. The heavy attention made me shift in my chair, adjusting my seat.
When she spoke, her voice was featherlight, but the power she wielded took up the entire room. I had almost no sensitivity to magic but could feel the press of her magic against my bones, wrapping tight around me, binding the cells of my body together.
“There are no holes in our wards,” she said firmly.
I twitched. I knew there was at least one hole in the wards.
“Is it possible that another house created a hole temporarily and then allowed it to heal naturally?” Cade asked.
“There areno holes in our wards,” she said, her voice echoing in the chamber. I wanted to raise my hands to my ears, even though she hadn’t been shouting. Further down the table, Sonja winced, her head jerking to the side. Even Leon made a face, rubbing at his ear.
Cade blinked, seemingly unaffected. “I am not challenging your power, nor your attachment to the magic. But we have four gargoyles who say that our wards are incomplete.”
“You know what I have promised. You know what it would cost me if there were any gaps in the magic.” Lynn hissed her words, her eyes turning silver. “There are no holes in our wards.”
Cade’s lips compressed, his blue eyes narrowed. Lynn brushed long hair over her shoulder, shaking her head. Incrementally, I felt the pressure around me lessen. She’d removed a few handfuls of the mountain of granite she’d buried us all under.
“If there aren’t any holes in our wards, that only means that one of the other houses has found a way to transportthroughour wards,” Sonja said. Her eyes flicked to Lynn. “Which istheirstrength, notourweakness. If that’s so, we must trust that this was merely a diversion, a test of the ability.”
Finley nodded. “They sent through the gargoyles because the gargoyles can’t die. Which means they’re going to send through something sentient soon.”
“Finley, call up anyone on staff with you,” Cade said. “Leon, activate all our defensive magic, every alert system we have. Miles, coordinate with the other consorts to run patrols through the forest. Sonja, can you work with Lynn to investigate what sort of magic they would need to be using to teleport through our wards?”
“Yes, of course,” Sonja said, turning to Lynn. She looked between me and Leon, a quick glance before raising her chin. “Tyson would be happy to round up all available consorts and schedule the patrols. He knows everyone’s abilities.”
The feint was obvious. Cade had given me an order, and she was trying to take it back for herself. If Tyson made the schedule, he would be the head of the House Bartlett consorts, and I’d be relegated to a supporting role, a side character who lost their one line in rewrites.
