Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Gale
Back in the fortress, I head straight to Eulayla’s room, hoping she’s still awake. A soft knock and her friendly “Come in” confirm that she is.
Her space is a lovely reflection of her.
Soft, warm quilts, cozy furniture, soothing colors, and the sweet, floral scent of her favorite soap, the kind Marissa makes for her each winter solstice.
And the art on her walls reveals the feisty streak we all love, full of bright, multicolored depictions from her favorite storybooks: dragons, princes, demons, and sprites.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, my dear?” She’s folding freshly washed cloths.
There’s no use in pitter-pattering around the point with Eulie, so I enter and get straight to it. “Why can’t we call him Ezra? Why must we always say ‘the Gatekeeper’?”
She pauses, studies me, then sets down her laundry. “Because that’s how he prefers it, and we do as he says.”
“But why does he prefer it? And for that matter, why must we do as he says?”
Eulie points to the cushioned, wooden rocker by her bed. “Sit.”
I do.
So does she, on her bed, facing me. “Because he is our benefactor, and we are his grateful wards.”
“Pfft. He stole us. Tell me again why we’re grateful?”
Her expression grows stern. “Every bite you’ve had to eat? Provided by him. The roof that keeps you sheltered? His. The clothes on your back, the shoes on your feet, even the ribbon in your hair.” She gestures at me with a waving flourish. “All his doing.”
“We might have had all those things without him, if he’d left us alone.”
“And we might have starved to death before our molars had a chance to grow in. There’s no telling and no reason to fret over every ‘what if’ you can think of.”
“Not every ‘what if.’ Just the big one.”
“What’s gotten into you, Gale? I’ve never known you to be ungrateful.”
I slouch. “Ezra is a good name. Ezra feels like someone I could be friends with.” And perhaps more than friends with. “Ezra feels like an equal. But ‘the Gatekeeper’ feels like a warden.” Impersonal. Isolated. Untouchable. “It feels separate. I don’t want to feel separate.”
“It’s not your choice to make.”
She’s right about that, but I don’t have to like it. “Maybe I’d feel differently if I understood why.”
“You could ask him. He likes you. But you must be prepared to accept his answer. Or his right not to answer at all.”
She’s right about that too. I rise and press a kiss to her cheek. “Sorry to bother you with it.”
“You’re no bother. Now, put it out of your mind for tonight and get some rest, hmm?”
“I will,” I lie. I will do neither of those things anytime soon.
Instead, I wait up for him on an uncomfortable wooden bench in the front hall. Hours go by minute by slow minute, but I can’t sleep, not when there will be a new baby to greet and perhaps a new story of the switch from the Gatekeeper to listen to.
That, and I owe him an apology.
I hadn’t realized using his name would offend him so much. As the hours pass, the guilt compounds. The thought of him being upset with me unsettles my stomach.
But when he finally returns, I forget all that and gasp at what I see.
He’s disheveled, covered in blood, and clearly favoring his left leg. One arm holds the bawling, red-faced infant while the other white-knuckles a filthy dagger.
I jump to my feet. “Smoldering ashes, what happened to you?”
“Not now, Gale. Fetch Eulayla.” He glances down at himself and sniffs. “On second thought, don’t get her yet.”
“Were you in a fight? Are you okay? That’s a lot of blood.” The closer he comes, limping with each step, the more I smell him. An awful scent wafts from his dirtied clothes. Death.
“I’m fine.”
He’s not, though. “And the baby?”
“She’s terrified but unharmed.” He stalks past me and makes for the kitchen. “Put water on to warm, and fetch a stack of clean linens.”
I hurry to complete those tasks, jittery hands fumbling with the water. The more I stare, the more he doesn’t look fine to me. He looks injured. Gravely injured.
Fear crawls under my skin, making it itch. I’ve never seen him get so much as a splinter. I thought him invincible. That something could happen that would cause him to limp is unfathomable.
Linens in hand, I rush back to his side. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing, at the moment.”
I reach for the baby. “Let me take her to Eulayla.”
“Wash her first.” He unwraps her from the grimy swaddle and hands her over. Her nightclothes are damp with whatever mix of blood and filth covers them both. I undress her as he peels off his layers.
“What happened?”
“I said not now, Gale.”
I drop it because “not now” implies he’ll tell me later, and I’m willing to settle for that. But my mind runs wild with possibilities. Other fae or other vampires, maybe even humans? Who could do this to him?
Oh!
There are pirates on the other side. I’ve read stories. Maybe it was pirates!
“Was it pirates?”
“No.” He grunts and tugs off his boots.
“Damn.” Pirates would have been neat. I soak a clean rag in warm water and coo at the baby as I wash her. “You’re safe now, little one. Don’t cry.”
She cries.
Poor thing. I mix a bit of soap with the water and take care of the worst of it while watching him out of the corner of my eyes. “What’s her name?”
“She doesn’t have one anymore.” He doesn’t sugarcoat that in the slightest.
How sad. To be so young and already experience such a great loss. “She’ll need a new one.”
“You choose.”
“Me?”
He’s down to his underclothes. The rest lies in a stinking pile in the middle of the floor. He strips off the last upper layer, leaving his chest bare. “Why not?”
I forget what we’re talking about and stare. I’ve never seen him undressed before. Even covered in blood, he’s alluring. I shake off the stupor. “You said there’s a couple in the village who want her.”
“There is.” He grabs a rag, wets it, and wipes himself down. If he’s noticed my ogling, he’s kind enough to ignore it.
I’m hesitant to keep watching, but I can’t tear my gaze away. Whatever wounds lie beneath the blood are bound to be gnarly, and my stomach is feeling squeamish. “We should let them pick her name.”
“If you wish.” He scrubs off. The gore steadily vanishes to reveal perfect, unharmed, pale skin.
“You’re… not hurt?”
“What?” He looks down at himself. “Oh, no. This isn’t my blood.”
I gulp. A hundred questions race through my mind, but the obvious one—whose blood is it?—probably falls under not now, Gale. “What about your leg?”
“Twisted my knee. Don’t worry yourself over it. The joint is already healing.” He bends it a few times as if to test his assertion. “I’d have fared better if I hadn’t had the babe to protect.”
She’s gone quiet, but not yet asleep. I wash the grit and grime from her hair. She sniffles pathetically. My heart goes out to her. I dry her off as best I can, wrap her in fresh linen, and cuddle her close. “I’ll take her to Eulayla. Then I’ll fetch you something to wear.”
He doesn’t glance up from where he’s scraping dried blood from his hands. “Thank you, that would be helpful.”
I peel my greedy eyes off his body and hurry to Eulayla’s quarters. She wakes as I’m laying the baby in the cradle next to her bed.
“Back so soon, dear heart?” Her voice is throaty from sleep. “Everything all right?”
“Oh, erm. Mm-hmm.” I can’t lie to Eulie, but I don’t want to cause her unnecessary alarm either. “She’s cranky, but I think she’s cried herself to exhaustion.”
“She’ll feel better tomorrow when she meets her new family.”
I’m not so sure, but the baby settles well enough in her cradle, tiny eyelids fluttering closed. “Good night, little one. Good night, Eulayla.”
“Night, dear. Sweet dreams.”
In my room, I collect a fresh shirt and breeches for Ezra. He may not like his given name, but I do. And if I use it only in my own mind, he’ll never know.
We’re close enough in size for my clothes to fit him well enough. He’s a bit taller, but I’m broader, so it evens out.
That done, I return to the kitchen and find him stripped nude save a sheet around his hips, skin wet and glistening from his wash, hair drenched with what was left in the pot.
Water rivulets run down his neck, following the curve of his spine in a race where there is no loser.
I stop in my tracks and stare, nearly dropping the clothes I’ve balled up to my chest.
He runs his hands through the ebony tangles and squeezes another round of droplets for me to admire.
He’s gorgeous, all smooth skin and lean muscle. His bare feet leave damp footprints on the stone, and I find even that small detail fascinating to observe.
“I, erm, I brought some of my clothes.” I hold them out. “For you.”
He has to come close to take them, giving me an even better view of all that gloriously exposed skin.
I bite my tongue to keep from saying something stupid like, “Can I touch you?” Because moments ago, he was covered in blood, and the last thing I should be thinking about is licking the water droplets off him. Especially when he’s clearly upset over whatever happened on the other side.
He takes the clothes. “Much obliged.”
I turn to give him some privacy, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. He’s incredibly distracting like this. Naked.
So very naked.
I stare at the slowly fading wet footprints on the stone as he dresses. The rustle of fabric stirs my imagination, and if it’s possible, he’s even more enticing in the wanderings of my mind.
I’ve been attracted to him for as long as I can remember, and as I aged, those feelings developed from simply wishing to be near him, to longing to be chosen, to wanting to kiss him, to the full-blown desire I’m experiencing lately.
But since he’s shown no sign of reciprocation, I shove the longing deep inside where it belongs and try to settle for his company. His time. His conversations.
That will have to be enough.
Though I can’t help but notice he’s never had a partner here. No lovers come and go from his bedchambers. No letters exchanged with a mysterious long-distance paramour. So maybe, someday…
He interrupts my meandering. “I suppose you want to know what happened.”
“You suppose correctly.”
“And I suppose you won’t let me retire until I tell you.”
“Right again.”
“Come along, then. My study is more comfortable.”
I’m delighted he’s going to give up the story without a fight, but I try not to act that way as I scurry along behind him.
We sit in twin armchairs on either side of a small end table. An emerald-green glass lamp flickers between us, casting dancing lights on his freshly washed face.
It’s odd to see him in anything besides his usual all black attire, but he looks comfortable enough in my plain brown breeches and cream cotton shirt. If anything, the light fabric makes his ebony hair even more lustrous.
“I shall tell you the whole of it if you promise to hold your questions until the end.”
“Of course.”
What follows is terrifying.
Also exciting.
It’s excitingly terrifying.
A mysterious fae-souled sorcerer, a powerful bone caller, and a legion of corpses raised to stop Ezra. And he beat them back all by himself to escape with the new baby through the gate.
Wow. This is the stuff of bedtime stories, not real life.
But if Ezra says it happened, it happened.
“You defeated an entire army.” The unrestrained awe in my voice is only slightly embarrassing.
“Not defeated. Were you listening, Mooncalf?”
I ignore the little barb.
“I never laid eyes on the fae sorceress, and the death mage got away before I could kill him. Skinny thing. Young. Dark hair. Far too much power for his own good.”
“Yeah, but all those risen dead you fought.”
“The brainless undead fall easily. The problem comes in the wall of flesh they create between me and the true threat.”
“Why did they fight you to begin with?”
“Why does anyone grasp at power? Greed. Envy. Desire. The sorceress wants passage through the gate, which I will never allow, and so she threatens with her undead hoards.”
“What happens now?”
“I must go back. Speak with the guardians on the other side. Unravel the threads of whatever plot is afoot before danger falls on the fae-souled there.”
“Not alone!”
“Of course alone.”
“But you could be hurt. Killed even. You need backup.” As much as I’d like to be that backup, I’m well aware I’d be useless in a fight.
“I have no backup, nor do I have need of backup.”
“What about the new queen? You’ve said you approve of her. You could ask her for help.”
He shakes his head. “Time is of the essence. But fear not. I won’t be harmed.”
I gesture to his knee. “You were literally just harmed.”
“Well, I won’t be harmed again. I know what to expect from them now, and there will be no babe to protect next time.”
“But, Ez—I mean, sir,” I stutter as his gaze narrows. “What about everyone who needs you here?” Like Eulie and Marissa and Jack.
Like me.
“It shouldn’t take long. I’ll only be gone a few nights. You lot can manage without me. You do fine all day, every day as it is.”
I don’t like the idea of him leaving. Of him rushing headlong into danger. Of not knowing what’s happening while he’s gone. “What if it’s a trap?”
“Fear not. I won’t be caught.”
Such arrogance. What must it be like to possess the confidence of the Gatekeeper? Perhaps if I were a vampire, I’d enjoy such self-conviction too. I’ll never be fae, but it’s possible to make a vampire…
He slaps his hands on his thighs and rises. “It’s time we should retire. Dawn is nigh upon us, and you’ve been awake all day and then all night. Go to bed. You may tell Eulayla and Chester what I’ve shared, but not the others.”
“I wouldn’t tell them anyway. They’re too young, and I don’t want them to be afraid.”
He approaches. I hold my breath as he strokes one hand over my hair and cups my neck. “There’s nothing to fear. Sleep well, Mooncalf.”
“And you, sir.”
He holds my gaze so long I squirm. What is he thinking? Then he pats my shoulder and leaves me alone in his study with only the swirling images of sorcerers, bone callers, corpses, and vampires in my mind for company.
There will be no sweet dreams tonight.