Page 45 of The Gargoyle's Glade
“Yes, hello.”
“Be nice!” Lovette hissed under her breath. “Bury this thing festering between you once and for all, it’s not healthy to hang onto such ugliness.”
My father and I both tensed, worried that this might be the thing that sent the ancient into a rage. After a long moment, where it seemed nobody breathed—the demons on the fringes of our group included—Ophelia shook my sisters off and approached hers.
“Which version of the speech are you planning?” Ophelia asked.
“The modified of course. Nobody wants to sit through the original. Too stodgy and dated.” Euphemia curled her lip as though the thought disgusted her.
“Good.”
They stood there staring at one another, stone kin hundreds of years old looking very much like children too stubborn to apologize over breaking the other’s toy.
“Would you like to help me prepare?”
“If you like. I can perhaps give some valuable input.”
“Of course you can. You always could, Ophelia.”
Ophelia stared at her sister, mouth set in a tight line. “That’s not?—”
“I know what I said all those years ago, but that’s not what I meant. Not then, not now, not ever.”
Ophelia squinted, debating. Then she stepped forward, chin lifted. “Fine. I’ll help.”
Leaving the rest of us to finally breathe, the pair moved off toward the pools to continue their conversation.
“Mind the path,” I warned several of my kin walking through. Some carried big planks to be used for tables and benches, others toted metal rods for cooking spits and barrels of wine and ale.
To hold a ceremony was to celebrate, and to celebrate required copious amounts of food and drink. My kin were nothing if not consistent for their love of those things in equalmeasure. And when stone kin were motivated to celebrate, they could accomplish just about anything, very, very quickly.
Since Merry’s mind was too fragile for her to use the portal and all the animals were here anyway, my kin were bringing all the tools needed for celebrating from the conclave to the glade. It had barely been a day, and preparations were nearly complete.
The glade had been flooded with people coming and going once again. Every available dwelling was open to be used for rest, food, planning. My hut was the only exception, it was deemed too far from the activity, much to my relief. The new cabins had been outfitted with furniture and staples by the aunts, simply out of necessity for them to be functional. The matriarchs were spread through the kitchens, providing expert direction on just about everything. I’d seen Grace and Jorna paired up at one point, both pointing agitated fingers and scowling as they barked orders to terrified men half their age and twice their size. I was amused but also thankful I was not one of them.
“I need a drink,” my father breathed, right before stalking off toward Rylan and Vassago, who were watching with the same tense interest as the rest of us. Well, except for my sisters; they were smiling as though thoroughly pleased.
“Is Merry prepared?” Lovette asked.
“She says she is.”
“You don’t agree?” Imogen asked, fingers tapping along the leather of her vest.
“I think she needs more time to heal. All of this has happened very quickly, and she’s barely on her feet again.”
“It will be more peaceful once the ceremony is done.” Lovette patted my shoulder as she walked past me. “We’ll go check on her.”
“I have a gift for her anyhow,” Imogen said with a grin.
I turned a stern look on my sister, knowing full well she had a blade hidden somewhere on her person for Merry. “What kind?”
She chuffed. “The perfect for her kind.”
“Big or small, Imo? I’m already on my last frayed nerve here.”
My sisters laughed at me outright. “We know,” Lovette said. “You were already experiencing some terrible symptoms when we saw you last.”
“Symptoms?” I balked.
