Chapter 6
Rikard
The Lamont woman was back. He recognized her name when the keeper announced it, and it was a good thing, because she was so changed that he might not have recognized her otherwise.
Gone was the mothish dress and tight plait.
This woman was a frothy confection, with rosebud lips and flowers in her pale hair.
She looked as edible as icing on a honeycake.
Her hands were clasped in the same white-knuckled grip, though.
He hated to send her away again, but there was little he could do for her. When had that ever stopped a human from issuing a complaint, though? He reached for his quill with a sigh. “What brings you back, Miss Lamont?”
“I’m pregnant.”
The quill snapped in his fingers. He set the pieces down.
“The gargoyle I told you about,” she added, though the clarification was unnecessary. “I’m several months along.”
His gaze dropped to her midsection, though he could not detect any change in her figure.
Still, he believed her. If she were a liar, she’d pin it on a gargoyle she knew by name.
That might gain her something. No, he was quite certain she carried a child she hadn’t asked for, put in her by a gargoyle who’d defied all sense and every treaty to violate her.
And humans couldn’t build mind walls like gargoyles could.
She likely remembered every word and deed, every panicked moment.
It disturbed him. He’d seen enough abject cruelty during the war to last him a lifetime. His claws curled against the desk. The scratches from their last meeting were still there, pale grooves in the dark wood.
“Have you sought a remedy?” he asked her.
“I’ve sought every remedy. Unfortunately, at this stage, the risks are great…” She trailed off, seemingly lost in thought, and then collected herself, flatly declaring, “I’ve decided to keep the child.”
He should have felt nothing. The affairs of humans were his concern only insofar as he was required to hear and record them, providing they involved gargoyles.
But her resigned tone weaseled beneath his professional detachment, perhaps because he understood the feeling that life did not turn out as one hoped.
“I’m sorry for your situation,” he said, and meant it.
He found another quill inside his desk and sliced the tip at the perfect angle with his claw.
He’d really become too competent at this role.
It was hard to remember the young warrior he’d been before the war.
That Rikard would have laughed at such a dedicated bureaucrat.
He dipped the pen in the inkwell. “I will add the pregnancy to your complaint, in case the perpetrator is found.”
“Please don’t. I don’t want to find him.”
He froze, taken aback. Ink dripped from the quill, splattering on the entry. “Then why are you here?”
She rose from her seat and came toward him. A bolt of…something. Fear? Shot through him as she approached, her pale-blue eyes flashing. “I never want to see him again. I need a protector. A real one who can keep me safe from him. Give my child a name after it’s born. A father.”
“The child has a father,” he remarked dryly. “We may not know his name, but certainly he exists. All the more reason to seek him out now, so his family can provide you some support.”
She’d reached the desk and leaned over it, resting her hands on the surface. “He is not a father. He is a monster. A nightmare. He can never know about this baby. That’s why I need your help.”
He frowned. “You want me to play matchmaker? Find some human man willing to raise a half-gargoyle child?”
“No, not at all.” She looked at him directly. The terror was still there in her eyes. “I want you.”
The silence that followed was so complete he could hear the moths’ wings against the window. He stared at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Any clarification that would change her meaning.
“Me,” he repeated.
“I know you need an heir.” Her pulse was visible in her pale throat, a frantic flutter. “I know you can’t father one yourself.”
The words found a gap in his armor he hadn’t known was exposed. His jaw locked and he growled through his teeth. Moths. Somehow, they’d heard. He only hoped they hadn’t spread their gossip too far. “Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He snorted. “In fact, it matters a great deal.”
“Not to this conversation.” Her composure held, the tendons of her neck pulled taut. “It’s quite simple. I have a child growing in me that needs a father and a name. You need an heir you cannot produce. I am suggesting we could solve each other’s problems.”
Her words were so shocking he could barely understand them. Surely she didn’t mean… “If I take you as my mate?”
“Yes.”
He stood, and the sudden movement made her flinch.
She should flinch. She should understand exactly what she was proposing.
She was offering herself as a mate to a gargoyle who couldn’t fly and couldn’t fuck.
He barely had a civil word in his head, and his office was the butt of many jokes. He was hardly a prize.
Yet, he could not deny that he was her best option. The absurdity of it would make him laugh if it weren’t so painfully logical.
“You’re already mated,” he pointed out.
“I’m very aware.” She rubbed behind her ear, grimacing. Even the foul expression didn’t detract from her delicate beauty, he observed. He could imagine worse faces to watch across the breakfast table than hers.
“Then you know a second bond can’t take. The mating bite is singular. One bite, one bond. If I were to bite you, nothing would—”
“You won’t.” Her words were as sharp as claws through silk.
“No biting. That is my first condition. My second is no bedding. I don’t want your teeth in me, and I don’t want your cock in me.
I’ve had enough of both.” Her hands were trembling again, and she pressed them into fists.
“This would be a mating in name only. A contract between us. I will give you an heir to raise as your own. You give me safety and a home and your family name. We need not share more. I am a creature of the day, and you are a creature of the night. We could live our entire lives in the same quarters and rarely cross paths.”
He gaped at her. Any other gargoyle of his rank, offered a mateless marriage by a disgraced human who came with conditions as though she were the one bestowing a favor, would be offended.
But he was not.
Because she was right. Every word of it.
He couldn’t father an heir. He couldn’t secure his line.
Despite Cléa’s hopes, he couldn’t skydance his way into some towerborn female’s favor, and even if he could, the performance would end in humiliation the moment she discovered what the masons had failed to rebuild.
He’d been sinking into the sad truth of it for five long years, and here was a hand reaching toward him to pull him out.
A human hand, bloodless and shaking, extended across his desk.
He took it slowly, the way he might stroke a skittish animal.
Her fingers were cool in his warm ones. “I hope it will not be so grim. We could be friends, perhaps. We will share a child, after all. Surely, we’ll find ourselves in the same room at the same time occasionally, if only for love of him.
” The baby was already a male in his mind, one he’d spoil and teach how to spar.
“I cannot promise I will love it.” Shame flickered across her face. “I will ensure it is fed and clothed and safe. But I cannot promise my affection, and I won’t pretend otherwise when I’m asking you to build a life on a shared truth.”
On a truth. That was generous. They’d be building a life on a lie so enormous it would need its own tier. Every gargoyle in the Tower must believe the child was his.
But the more he thought about it, the less he objected to the idea.
His parents would rejoice. The moths would buzz with the scandal of a human mate, but beneath the scandal, his line would be secured, and Perrin could circle the eyrie all he liked, but he’d never see the inside of it.
His mate would not complain about his incompetent cock, since she’d never see it anyway.
And he would have a son. His throat tightened, as did his fingers around hers.
“The hatchling would not lack for love,” he said gruffly.
“Then that will be your domain. You can teach it gargoyle ways at night, and I will tend its human needs while you sleep.” Her mouth twisted with dark humor. “We won’t be the worst parents in Solvantis.”
“If I agree,” he said as though he had not already convinced himself, “there are things you should know. The Tower is not kind to humans. The keepers serve us, but they are not treated as equals. You will be shunned at best. You may face active hostility from gargoyles who believe your species belongs below us, not beside us.”
“I’ve faced plenty of hostility as it is. I’m used to it.” That, he did not doubt.
“Secondly, no one can know of our agreement outside of ourselves. We will not speak of it after today, not even when we are alone. And I don’t want to hear of your unhappiness with our arrangement in five months or five years.
” He did not want the reminder for the rest of his life that she was not his true mate nor the child his true child. He knew it well enough.
She nodded, still not put off. “There are a few who know already. The apothecary. My friends. I believe they are trustworthy, though.”
He did not trust these human confidences, but they couldn’t be undone.
“Very well. The eyrie I share with my parents is on the seventh tier. There are ladders for your use, but they are steep and numerous, and I will not be available to fly you there. My wings do not work,” he added, in case she hadn’t noticed.
“My legs do.” A faint smile plumped her rosy cheeks and then disappeared just as quickly. “Will your family object to my presence in their home?”
He considered this question. Certainly, they would not approve of the match.
It was not the high-tier connection his mother had hoped for.
But they would approve of the pregnancy.
“As long as you’re carrying my child, they will accept you.
They are kind,” he added. “Kinder than I am. And you will do much to restore me in their eyes. They have nearly given up on me.”
They studied each other. He wondered what she thought of him as she stood on the other side of the desk, her blue eyes fixed on his. Was she cataloging his cracks? Or was she judging him worthy, as he judged her?
“I accept your terms,” he said, before she found too many flaws. He bent over her hand, kissing the back of it and then releasing her to make her choice.
She let out a long, unsteady exhale. For one unguarded moment, her composure cracked, and she bent forward in relief. Then, in an instant, she rebuilt herself, straightening her spine. “And I, yours. What happens next?”
“We’ll have a mating ceremony as soon as it can be arranged.
The gargoyle ceremony is simple. A declaration before witnesses, evidence of a claiming bite.
Conveniently, you already have one, which fits nicely with the timeline of your pregnancy.
We will let it be known that we have had relations for some time.
I assume you would like some sort of human ritual as well? ”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Ours is an exchange of vows before friends and family, not so dissimilar. We can do it at the same time. I’ll need a dress. This one is borrowed,” she explained.
Such a small thing. “Certainly. Anything you need, the keepers will procure for you. You will have all the protections and privileges of the Nadir’s mate, regardless of your species. My reputation might be as tattered as my wings, but my status is relatively intact.” He gave her a sardonic smile.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, dropping into a curtsy.
“Rikard,” he corrected. “If you’re to be my mate, you should use my name.”
“Rikard.” Her human tongue softened the harsh gargoyle consonants into something almost unrecognizable, but he found he liked it. He had a soft little human mate, so why not a soft little human nickname? She added, like an afterthought, “You may call me Hanna, if you wish.”
He nodded, though he’d likely use it little, given the nature of their arrangement. “Use the next few weeks to pack your things and settle your affairs. I will assign keepers to attend and guard you until you relocate to the Tower. You are not to be alone at any time.”
“Thank you. You may not believe it, but you are saving my life and very likely that of my child.” Her face had an open frankness, and he had the sense it might be the last time they spoke freely before the lie consumed their lives.
“My child,” he reminded her.
She bent her head in acknowledgement. It was done. He made the arrangements with the keepers and sent her away to finish her business.
Once she was gone, he located her entry in the ledger and drew a line through Complaint recorded. Beneath it, he wrote a single word.
Resolved.