Page 7 of The Gargoyle's Captive

My father had a firm belief that everything was up for negotiation, and he seemed to enjoy haggling with the staff about their wages. I don’t have the luxury. I study this man. He’s on the lean side, a good head and shoulders shorter than me, and his skin has more of a blue tinge to it than purple. Nothing about his appearance tells me anything useful.

“What did Jay tell you the wages are?”

He rattles off a number that has me gritting my teeth. It’s nearly double what I actually paid Jay. At this point, though, the new cook has me over a barrel whether he knows it or not. I drag my hand over my face. My father will be rolling in the grave over what I say next, but I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for his poor choices, so fuck him. “If you stay past the first month, I’ll double them.”

He raises his brows and shifts his wings restlessly. “The initial wages are already borderline robbery.”

“True, but that won’t stop you from taking them, or taking the raise after a month.” If he stays that long.

He runs his hand through his short black hair. “I’m not as superstitious as the rest of our people. If the pay is good and no one fucks with me, I’m more than happy to stay in the kitchen and collect my income.”

“That’s very enlightened of you.”

He shrugs again. “No, not really. Anyone with a little bit of brainpower would realize that if thereisa curse, it only affects you and your family. You’re not looking to marry a lowly cook, so I should be in no danger.”

I don’t know if I should be depressed or relieved, but at this point, I’m out of options. “I’ll need dinner prepared for me and my...” I’m not sure what to call Grace. She’s a guest, but a guest who stays for seven years is practically a resident. I barely know the woman, so calling her my partner or anything more intimate doesn’t make sense or feel right. “Lady,” I finally finish awkwardly.

“I already started. Dinner will be served in an hour.” He turns back to the oven, then glances over his shoulder at me. “My name is Silas by the way.”

I nod and leave the kitchen as quickly as possible. It seems like every time I turn around, something else is going wrong. I’m flying through a storm, getting buffeted back and forth by unexpected winds, certain to be struck by lightning at any moment. There’s only one way to fix this, and I don’t know if I’m up to the task.

If not for the fact that my absence would plunge my territory into a civil war, I would’ve stepped down as territory leader years ago. I’m the last of my family. That means that without me in the picture, any belief about a curse should dwindle away to nothing. Someone else could step into this position easily enough... if not for the politics involved. My family has ruled our territory for as far back as anyone can remember. While we have married the other noble families into our ranks, there’s always been someone from our line to inherit the title.

Until now.

For once in my fucking life, I want nothing more than to be selfish, but fear of the cost haunts me. If I fail, if war comes, not only will hundreds—if not thousands—die in the infighting, but our territory will be so weakened that it will take no effort at all for one of the others to sweep in and finish us off.

No, I have to succeed. I have no other choice.

I can’t think inside these walls. This is my childhood home, and there once was a time when I ran through these halls with the confidence that nothing and no one could touch me. That I was perfectly safe. Now this place is more like a mausoleum. A memory of all I’ve lost that I can never escape. If I stop moving, it feels like the walls are closing in. Almost as if they will press me into mortar and stone, course over me until I am no longer a man, until I’m just another ghost haunting these hallways.

The dark thoughts drive me to the nearest vertical shaft and push me to launch myself into the air. I clear the castle walls in seconds, and only then can I breathe properly. At least for a moment. But everywhere I look is more evidence of what will be lost if I’m not skilled enough to succeed.

The peaks to the north, across the large lake, butt up against Rusalka’s territory. She already has her fiery fingers sunken into plenty of people in my territory. The delights she offers are intense enough to combat their instinctive fear of both incubi and succubi. My people only remember how brutal the last war was when it’s convenient for them.

If I keep flying, over the mountains to the west and past the bargainer demon territory to the ocean, I could just go until my wings give out and I plummet into the water. There would be no curse to worry about then. Maybe the memories plaguing me would finally cease rattling around in the back of my mind where I can never escape.

The look of surprise on my father’s face, frozen there in death.

My sister’s blood soaking the stones as her breath rattles to a stop.

The twins, their bodies so badly damaged that I’m not even certain what killed them. Only who.

The knowledge that I ran when I should have fought, that I hid when I should have helped.

Ishouldhave died that day with the rest of my family. Every moment I’ve lived since then feels stolen. That’s the true curse I live under.

The claustrophobic feeling inside me presses hard until I want to rip my skin off just to be rid of it. I know I need to keep everything inside, to power through any sign of weakness, but it bubbles up despite my best effort.

I throw my head back and keen my grief to the wind.

5

GRACE

I’m leaning halfway out my window, examining the exterior of the castle for a backup exit route, when I see the distant form of Bram shooting into the air. I pause despite myself. I was never one to wish for wings or flight. Being able to read people’s auras is magic enough, though no one really talks about how horrific it is that you can’t be lied to. Why wish for more? It seems to me that all magic is a double-edged blade, and I’m sure flight is no different.

It certainly is beautiful to watch, though. Bram cuts through the air the way sharks swim through the sea, every bit of energy seemingly devoted to his mobility, his speed. At least until he arches, throwing his head back. Even at this distance, I hear his cry and feel an answering twinge in my chest. I don’t need to see the white edged with pale blue pulsing from his body to know that he’s experiencing grief on a level most people can only dream of.

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