Page 21 of The Gargoyle's Glade
We obeyed our incorrigible little ray of sunshine and spread ourselves out on her furniture, plates and cups of ale doled out in an old, familiar rhythm.
“So? What’s new out at the ruins?” Lovette asked.
I groaned. “Too much.”
“It’s nice though, right? Well, accidents that bring you here with injured, aside. At least you’ve got some help. You can leave now and again.”
I nodded, the flavor of the roasted meat so specific to stone kin cuisine it triggered several layers of nostalgic memory. “Seir’s presence is very helpful.”
“But?” Imogen asked.
“But they’re building new homes. There will be more people there soon. I’m not used to it.”
“Everyone on that project that I’ve encountered speaks very highly of the location.”
“You’re welcome to visit,” I found myself offering. “The glade is very peaceful. Hopefully it stays that way.”
“Why wouldn’t it? There are only a few other dwellings, right? And none of them inhabited. Seir and Hailon aside.” Lovette sipped on her ale.
“Hailon’s friend Merry has taken one of the cabins.” My heartburn flared from the spicy meat, and I rubbed at my chest. My sisters shared a look. One that meant nothing but trouble.
“The one that was staying with Ophelia for a bit, right? What’s she like?” Lovette asked.
I shrugged, unable to stop the memory of her in that towel from appearing in my mind. “Human. Red hair. Likes to garden.”
“She must be something special if Ophelia took her in.” Imogen reached for a slice of cheese.
“I guess. Though she’s prone to unsafe behavior and attracts noisy woodland creatures.” I held my breath, my heart doingthat strange pounding in my throat again. Both of my sisters stared at me, then one another. “What?”
“Is she pretty?” Lovette asked, batting her eyelashes.
“I suppose.” It almost hurt me to speak so casually about her beauty.
“Does she carry a blade?” Imo asked, leaning forward curiously.
“Aside from the dangerous garden tool she was using the other day, not that I know of. Wait, what is this exactly?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just small talk,” Lovette assured me. She grinned, her expression positively unsettling. “When can we meet her?”
I shrugged. “Whenever you like. She’s at d’Arcan often, keeps her horse there. Or you can always come directly to the glade. Our portal is getting far more use than your infirmary, by the looks of things.”
“Maybe I will.” There was no telling if Lovette was kidding or not, and I wondered if I would regret my offer.
The conversation moved on to other things for a bit—what I’d seen at the ruins, the feasibility of Ophelia leaving her hut to help me with my ward. Talk veered back to Merry about the time I decided I needed to get on my way.
“There’s nothing else really I can tell you about her.”
“If you say so,” Imogen said, eyebrow raised.
“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” I asked, glancing between my sisters as I rubbed at my chest. The burning would not subside, no matter how much other food I ate or ale I drank.
“Because you’re hiding something.” Lovette crossed her arms, her gaze dropping momentarily to my chest.
“I’m not.” My body protested the lie, a significant part of me eager to share the burden of my visions, my gift.
“You are. But I think it’s because you’re scared.” Imogen relaxed back into the cushions of the sofa, expression serious. “How interesting.”
“No.” The bees suddenly appeared inside my chest again with the lie. “I’m not,” I insisted.
