Page 17 of The Gargoyle's Gift
Ophelia had what could only be described as an intense aversion to being around other people. There was no telling what mood I’d catch her in showing up unexpectedly. She was ancient, and that could bring an unpredictable, volatile nature. To be sure, existing for too long could make the most together creature quite mad. Thankfully, I’d never once seen her show a hint of the terrifying nature my father worried about.
I simply adored her.
The door swung open just as I was raising my hand to knock again, but instead of the squatty old woman I was expecting, I came face-to-face with my sister. “What are you doing here?” I blurted.
“I could ask you the same,” Imogen answered, frowning.
“You’re letting the bugs in, girls. Close the door, and come join me,” Ophelia called from somewhere within the cozy dwelling.
We walked together into the little hut’s living area, Ophelia smiling from her favorite chair as she gestured to a tray stacked with fresh bread, a little pot of butter, and steaming teacups.
“You’re just in time, Lovette. This loaf just came out of the oven. I’ve done the honors already.” I knew her well enough to know that meant there was at least as much whiskey as tea in the delicate china cups. “Sit down, the pair of you.” We stared at each other from our seats across from one another. I was toOphelia’s right, and Imogen to her left. I noticed a faint scent in the fabric as I settled in, something sweet that reminded me of our cousin Greta. I wondered if maybe she and her husband had been recent visitors.
Ophelia sighed as she buttered a slice of bread. “Go on then. Drink some tea and tell me how it is you’ve both come to see me on the same day about mate bonds.”
Imogen choked on her tea, and my cup rattled on the saucer as I picked it up. My sister blotted her face on her sleeve as Ophelia chuckled.
Mother always said that fortune favors the bold, so I sipped mightily on the contents of my cup, the faint sting from the way it burned my throat preferable to going into this conversation without the help of the strong liquor.
“May I see that weapon, child?” Ophelia asked, putting her hand out.
“Oh. Of course.” I unlatched the sheath and pulled out the dagger, placing the handle in her palm. “Brom was at the forge earlier, by the way,” I added, raising my eyebrow at my sister. “He was restocking.”
“Mmm.” Imogen’s noise was bland, but I didn’t miss the way she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giving me a reaction.
“This is well suited to you, Lovette.” Ophelia nodded, handing me my blade back. “And it’s excellent work, Imogen. You are doing very well honing your gift. The citrine was a perfect choice.” The pride on the ancient gargoyle’s face was something to behold, her smile wide if gap-toothed, her cheeks crinkled. “Though I’m very curious how a healer has managed to use it in such a way.” She brushed the tip of her finger against the flat of the blade, and I fought to keep from shrinking against my seat under the full weight of her stare.
“What way?” Imogen asked, tone threaded with concern.
I’d somehow forgotten how intuitive the old sorceress was. The way she knew things was often as impressive as it was disconcerting. “It’s a long story.”
“The best ones are.” Ophelia nodded, emptying her cup. She glanced between us. “Go on then.”
“I…” I swallowed and skipped ahead, asking, “Is there a way to break a mate bond? Or could it be ignored? How long until one or both bonded went mad if they did?”
Imogen swore. “For the record, I knew you were keeping something from me.”
“You’ve got secrets too!” I accused, defensive through my guilt.
Ophelia just laughed. “That’s quite a question, girl. No, fated bonds cannot be broken without death to one of the pair. They can be ignored, sure, if you don’t mind feeling like you’re carrying around a hot coal in your chest with no hope of soothing the ache. For how long? Nobody knows for sure. Most pairs who try this last only decades, but some have endured without fulfilling the bond for centuries.”
“There have been mates that ignored their bond forhundredsof years?” Imogen asked, horrified. I wasn’t sure whether this information left me feeling hopeful or saddened.
“Not many,” Ophelia said gently. “And it isn’t pleasant. Nobody gets away unscathed, no matter how hard they pretend.” She frowned, eyebrows drawn together as though she were visualizing someone specific. “Tell me, Lovette. Who is it you’re looking to break a bond with? Must be someone dreadful if you’re ready to go that far.”
Imogen leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “It’s Gaius, isn’t it.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I put my shoulders back, sitting up straight before nodding.
“Is it now?” Ophelia asked, laughing so hard she slapped her knee with one hand. “What a match. Though you do balance one another nicely.” She stopped laughing and tilted her head. “Alright then. I see the concern.”
“I’m not surprised at all, you’ve had some kind of chemistry with him for a very long time.” My sister looked almost smug.
“Chemistry?” I demanded, oddly offended. “What chemistry? He’s mostly just infuriating. It doesn’t matter, anyhow, he’s not interested in fulfilling the bond with me. That’s why I’m here.”
“Mmm. But you haven’t told me the story yet, child.” Ophelia leaned forward, pouring another round of whiskey tea as she waited.
Short of leaving, there was no avoiding her request, and there was no good place to start. After several moments with her staring at me, my heart thumping painfully behind my ribs, I found myself blurting out everything that had happened. My mouth kept spewing words as I relayed how I’d followed Gaius to the council building, how things had gone wrong, how I’d ended up killing three guards. I managed to hold back telling them any damning specifics about our visit to Caster’s business or the resulting days spent quietly working beside Gaius, but I did include the broad strokes in my retelling. I glossed over the fight we’d had after the events with the councilmen and their guards, but they both grunted as if understanding why the rehashing of the covenants battle was a point of contention.
