Page 12 of The Gargoyle's Glade
Her complaints were many and loud, but I stopped listening, focused only on getting her away from the danger. I carried her to her bedroom, sat her on the mattress and left the room, closing the door behind myself. While she muttered and opened and closed cabinets, I practiced taking a few full, deep breaths and went in search of a broom to clean up the mess in the bathroom.
She emerged dressed in a fresh tunic and leggings just as I was depositing the last of the glass into the little trash bucket in the kitchen. Her hair dripped wet ribbons down the linen.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Her tone was still sharp, but lacked bite. She sagged. “But thank you.”
“Are you injured?”
“No. Embarrassed, maybe.” Her head tilted. “How did you even hear me?”
Her screams echoed in my ears, and the volatile mix of fear and frustration that had finally settled perked up again. “Your windows are open.”
Her mouth tilted upward. “They were that way when I got here. Besides, is there a danger out here in the middle of nowhere I should be wary of? Someone who might come into my cabin without warning? Besides you, I mean.”
“Besidesme?” I choked on the word.
“You’re the one who decided to just come in here.” She frowned, the lighthearted tone she’d taken turning hot again.
“Youscreamed.”
“I had it handled.” Her bluster infuriated me, but I could see the thread of unease underneath it.
“You should close your windows and lock your doors, Merry.”
“I’ll take it under consideration, Coltor.”
Then, unable to stop going too far, I said, “I was promised I’d hardly know you were here. This is the opposite of that.” I regretted the words even as I said them.
Her gaze shuttered, her tone going cold. “I’m sorry about that, but in fairness I had no idea you’d be lingering nearby while I was being surprised by a squirrel. I do truly appreciate you helping, but I think it would be best if you left now. Please.”
I obeyed, resigned to ignore the fire raging in my veins that Merry had incited, the irritation at myself for lashing out, for making her feel bad.
As I stomped down the path toward my hut, I scrubbed at my chest, the aggressively powerful beat of my heart strangling my throat through a few breaths. I lingered a moment, making sure there was nobody in the glade but us before I finally moved along, cursing myself the whole way. She had no business invading so many of my thoughts, and going into that cabin now that she was in it was none of mine either. We could keep ourseparate schedules, go about our own business, and never see one another if we planned it right.
But what was I to do if she was in danger again? Or about my vision of her dying?
Not meaning to, I slammed the door behind myself, making the windows and even the plates in the cabinet rattle. Hands in my hair, I paced the small single room until my thoughts were coherent again. I picked up my most recent wood carving, a duck, but set it back down after I trimmed one of the wings a little too far and nicked my thumb.
There were several hours before true dark, when I needed to be out in the ruins on patrol. There was only one way I was sure to get some rest instead of obsessing over my new neighbor, my visions, and what I was going to do about them.
I sat on the end of my bed, clasped my hands together and forced myself into stone sleep.
I woke refreshed,but no less burdened by my thoughts. I took to flight immediately once I was outside my little hut, relishing the slight chill on the early autumn air.
Nights in the ruins were my favorite time. Imagined or otherwise, the magic in the old stones seemed to be strongest under the moonlight while most of the creatures in the forest slept.
Castle Emankor had once been a sprawling stronghold, backed by mountains to one side, courted by a river along the edge, and facing the most fertile valley in all of Cyntere. It had been built in the shape of an X, more or less. I would have loved to have seen it when it was whole, such a place was surely nothing short of a spectacle at its height.
Legend was, the old king was a friend of the fae if not fae himself. He’d overseen construction over a lifetime suspiciously long to be simply human, and his magic had been woven into the very stones and lumber he’d built with. Legends were trickly like that, however. It was possible things had been exaggerated or embellished, and those who knew the truth were either fully committed to the lie or long gone.
The old king had held many superstitions if the stories were to be believed, and he’d chosen the shape and many of the decorative patterns specifically to trap any demons that might come through. Wise, if you asked me, but not foolproof. I smirked, thinking of Seir and his brother Tap. Seir was a traveling demon and could go pretty much wherever he cared to at little more than a thought, particularly in Hell, and had a fantastic grasp of portal travel. Tap was in charge of the crossroads, the keeper of all doorways. If the king had known there would one day be a demon living right outside the walls of his castle and another had been in charge of the gates the whole time, he would have been aghast.
Though the old king’s reign had long since passed, and the castle had been reduced to not much more than rubble and lore, the magic remained. At the heart of the old building was a central hall, and if one knew where to look between the fallen stones, broken pillars, and encroaching foliage, they could find the doors I’d been assigned to guard.
Much like the portal to Revalia, the doorways could take the user through to another part of the kingdom or another realm entirely. Unfortunately, doorways work both ways—they sometimes also allow things through to our world that we might not want here. Such an event was rare but had happened, so a permanent post had been assigned for a stone kin sentry. Keeping things out that didn’t belong, like travelers andcreatures from other places, was the whole of my job. It was important. Purposeful. Peaceful.
And much of the time, it was dreadfully boring.
In fact, I’d taken to carving figures out of wood and arranging stones in ever more tediously balanced stacks and arches to keep myself entertained.
