“Bram . . .” She presses her lips together for a long moment and then says, “I’d love to see the grounds around the castle.”
She’s likely only agreeing to better plan her next escape attempt, but I don’t care. I’m happy to spend more time with her. I nudge her plate back toward her. “Eat up. You’re going to want your strength for this.”
12
BRAM
I almost talk myself out of taking Grace along half a dozen times before she meets me on the roof dressed in so many layers that she looks a bit like a child bundled against the cold. Or, well, a child of some other people. Gargoyles are naturally resistant to extreme temperatures, even from the time we’re born.
I hold out my hand. “Shall we?”
“Do you have a destination in mind?”
I hadn’t when I made the offer, but now I find myself saying, “There’s an old keep in the mountains. It was used in my grandparents’ generation, but it’s falling into disrepair. I like to go out there regularly and make sure that it’s still structurally sound because there’s a superstition among my people that anyone who can spend an hour at midnight in the wine cellar without light will receive good luck and blessings.”
Grace raises her brows. “Not that old of a superstition if it was still used two generations ago.”
I understand how she sees things that way, but that’s not how my people operate. I shrug. “Superstitions are living things, and sometimes they can shift in the space of a few decades. Other times, they stretch back through the years to beyond living memory.”
Saying this the hot spring so high in the mountains that only the most reckless of people would normally attempt to reach it, where it’s said that immersing yourself in the water will result in a healthy pregnancy and a safe birth. Several times a year, pilgrimages are organized to visit it. It doesn’t matter how dangerous the trek—people always show up.
It seems foolhardy to me to risk life and limb in order to protect yourself from risking life and limb, but any faith I had died with my family.
Grace slips her hand into mine and allows me to lift her into my arms. She feels good there. If I didn’t know better, I might believe she was built to occupy the space. I do know better, though. She might be indulging me now, but this is still the same woman who lied to me and then ran from me. She didn’t talk to me about what she wanted or needed. She treated me like an obstacle to overcome.
Just like my people do.
I launch us into the air, flying far too quickly, as if I can outrace my dark thoughts. It’s never worked before. It doesn’t work now. And yet, they don’t cling quite as harshly as they normally do. Strange, that.
We make good time to the keep, and I touch down softly in the courtyard just as the sun reaches its peak in the sky. Part of me wants to keep Grace in my arms, to use the excuse of her potential shakiness to do so, but she’s much sturdier than she was last time. “You didn’t scream.”
“What?”
Why the fuck did I just say that? That’s not a normal thing to say. Then again, this is not a normal woman. I set her carefully on her feet and keep my hands out in case her legs buckle. Of course they don’t. Which means I have no excuse to avoid answering her question. I look away and fight not to hunch my shoulders. “The first time we flew. You were scared. But you didn’t scream. You didn’t scream with the spiders, either.”
“Oh.” She absently combs her fingers through her windswept hair. “It’s training. One of the first things I learned as a kid was to not make a noise when I’m scared. Silence is a prey instinct that humans don’t have for some reason. Too often we scream and bring the predator right to us. My family was invested in ensuring that I didn’t get myself or anyone else killed.”
Because they save people. I don’t know if that’s the full explanation for her knowledge and instincts. Saving people sounds like a virtuous activity. I can’t imagine how one trains a child not to make a sound when they’re afraid. I glance at her face, but her expression and her energy invite no further questions on the subject.
That’s okay. I may not be good at dodging the dark things that plague my steps, but I can try. Right now. For her.
I turn to the keep. It appears much the same as it did the last time I was here a few weeks ago. Weathered gray stone that looks downright immortal, the building carved right into the side of the mountain. The only true sign of decay is the tower that has crumbled to nothing, beaten down by the winds that howl through this ravine.
Grace whistles softly. “I can see why this place is a test of bravery. It’s creepy as shit.”
“There are no ghosts here.” At least not ones she would recognize. I’m young for my people, barely forty, so I was born well after we descended from the heights and built the castle that I live in now. My father used to talk about this place fondly when I was younger, some of the few times he seemed like someone I could understand. I can’t see it the way he saw it. Supposedly this is a happy place. But when war came, it was too isolated to properly defend. It might have been okay if our main opponents in that conflict were the dragons or the kraken, but the succubi and incubi can fly. It only took one devastating attack before there was a call for a change in location. My grandparents headed it, and as a leader, I absolutely understand why they did.
But, as I stand here beside Grace, listening to the wind howl and scream, I feel significantly more at peace than I ever am in the castle in the lower reaches.
Grace turns to me with a mischievous look in her eyes. “Can I see the wine cellar? I could use some good luck.”
“It’s a superstition, not a fact.”
“Come on, Bram.” She turns around to face me as she walks backward toward the door. “You’re a magic man with wings, horns, and the ability to see auras. You, more than anyone, should be willing to believe in magic.”
I follow her as if she wrapped a string around my heart and tugged. I haven’t known this woman long, but this is the side of her that I never expected. It’s almost playful, with a reckless edge that I recognize all too well. If I don’t accompany her, she’ll still go down to the basement and she might hurt herself along the way. “We can go, but you have to promise to be careful.”
“Absolutely not. Where’s the fun in that?” She grins. “But if it’s going to stress you out, I suppose you can lead the way. “
The castle may be made of stone, but it wasn’t built to be accessible to those without wings. There are stairs and ways to get around without flying, but they’re tucked out of the main hallways. This is one of the biggest changes that was made to the design for the castle I live in now. A welcome one, honestly. It’s ridiculous to require someone with a wing injury or disability—or wingless guests—to go so far out of the way. I’m glad it’s no longer an issue.
But it gives me the excuse to launch forward and scoop Grace into my arms again. I enjoy her snarl of faux outrage. “No stairs. We’ll take the fast way.”
“The—” She lets out a little yip as I step through the door and right off the ledge into the air shaft below.