Page 1 of The Gargoyle's Grace
Prologue
GRACE
The right side of my face throbbed angrily as I blinked back to consciousness. It took several attempts to shake the drowsiness weighing me down and clear my vision.
Aches and pains all over my body let themselves be known as I forced movement into my heavy limbs. My head swam as I pulled myself to a sitting position, and a groan croaked out of my throat, echoing off the bare walls. The absence of a response to the noise gave me hope I was alone—for how long was anyone’s guess, but I didn’t intend on wasting any time leaving while I could.
The floor I’d been sprawled upon was nothing more than packed dirt. Light streamed in through dirty, cracked windows hung more than halfway up the massive walls. The ceiling was a ridiculous distance away, its heavy beams strung with cobwebs so thick I could have fashioned a sweater from them. Whitewash peeled from the wall’s wide blocks in several old layers, and there was a musty smell that wouldn’t clear from my nose.
As I looked around, searching for a door, I trudged backwards through my memories until the truth about what happened rose up, harsh and ugly. My mistress, Calla, and I had been at the beer garden, sharing a friendly meal. She didn’t get out much, and I’d been left in charge of showing her around the city while her mate and my boss, Rylan, took care of an errand.
We’d spent quite a lovely day visiting the market and some shops. Lunch at the beer garden seemed like a lovely way to relax at the end of that. Instead, it had been a terrible mistake. One I might never forgive myself for.
While we’d sat there talking, eating our sausages and enjoying the breeze, someone had drugged our ale. My faculties had left me, and I was forced to watch as she was taken away, unable to do anything to help her.
Then, three men had bundled me off between them. None too gently, they’d carried me to a cart, pulled a sack over my head, and tossed me in. I tried to keep track of the turns we took after leaving the beer garden, but the drug had made me slow, confused. By the time we arrived at the warehouse, I didn’t have the first clue where I’d ended up.
I’d been left there—wherevertherewas—to sleep it off after the men pushed me around between them, laughing as they treated me like worthless cargo. Unable to move, speak, or fight, I’d scraped the whole right side of my face against some kind of equipment as I’d fallen, then my body bounced off of wood and metal, collecting bruises and cuts.
Anger burned hot in my chest at the recollection. Using the block wall to help me, I carefully pressed myself to my feet. My legs were wobbly, and my stomach revolted at the motion, but couldn’t allow myself to stop moving. I slid along the wall, chunks of paint breaking off under the weight of my hand. Sweat coated my brow, and every inhale burned as I tried to fill my lungs.
It took several long minutes to cross the length of the sparsely filled room. I paused at the door, listening for any activity over the thump of my heartbeat in my ears. Breath sawed roughly in and out of my chest as I willed strength into my limbs. It was still quiet, which left me equal parts hopeful and terrified.
Pushing the door open slowly, I crept forward, straining to hear any bit of movement beyond my own breath and the rustle of my dress against the rough wall. When there was no resistance, no yelling or indication of life at all outside of my own… I ran. It was ungainly, as my steps were halting and unsure while I shook off the remainder of the drugged ale left within me. I hadn’t had cause to run in more than a decade, either, so my body protested the motion and every step as I went.
Using the observatory tower at d’Arcan—the collegium where I worked as head cook—as a compass point, I fumbled my way through the city in the early morning light. Glad to slow from a run to a hasty trot, I passed into the densely populated city center. My muscles ached as I forced them to continue moving, keeping my head down so the passersby weren’t alerted to the sorry state I was in.
As I turned down a side alley in a familiar neighborhood, I realized I hadn’t kept track of where I’d come from. I’d not easily find the warehouse again. Frustrated that I’d been in such a hurry, I swore aloud, garnering a harsh look from one of the maids hanging fresh wash.
I apologized and found the words a slurred mess as they crossed my lips. She shook her head and turned away, no doubt writing me off as a morning-after drunken holdover. I wasn’t sure if my memory and mouth were slow because of the drug or something else, but I hated it.
Chest burning, I made my way around apartment blocks, through side streets and alleys not traveled well on my way back to my workplace. My home. Dread settled deep in my bones as I went over the events of the last day in my mind.
By the time the Collegium d’Arcan was within reach, every part of my body screamed at me. The iron gate clanged into its latch as I entered the courtyard, echoing through my chest in a solid, comforting way. As I crossed the cobblestones, considering possible ways to get in touch with the archmage and looking forward to washing the shame from my skin, my legs gave out. I slid to my knees, overwhelmed by the relief of being somewhere safe. Shame slithered down my neck right after, the crushing weight of my failure stirring an uncomfortable storm of emotions inside my chest.
My head snapped up as the doors to the main building crashed open. One large man I knew, along with one I didn’t, came through, stress clear in their features. “Magnus?”
“Grace! What’s happened to you?”
“Is Rylan with you?”
“Yes, he’s inside. You’re hurt—” The fire in his eyes was flattering, but I didn’t have time to consider it at the moment.
“I’ll be alright. I need to speak with Rylan, it’s urgent.”
“Of course.” He nodded tightly and reached out to help me up.
Unsteady, I got to my feet again, and with Magnus’s help, was able to make it inside. The fair man hanging quietly off to the side seemed oddly familiar, though I was certain I’d never met him before. When Magnus left me at the worn dining room table, I was supplied with coffee and a healthy dollop of whiskey, then my young helpers bustled this way and that as the men tromped around angrily. I tried to brace myself as well as I could and planned my words.
“What’s happened?” Rylan asked, coming across the room with electricity streaming from him, panic in his eyes.
My helpers scattered back to the kitchen, and I didn’t blame them. He was imposing and could be terrifying when he was riled, even if he didn’t mean to be.
“I’m a fool, is what happened,” I admitted.
“Where’s Calla?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I dropped my eyes to the table, too ashamed to look him in the eye.
