CHAPTER FIVE #2
I glanced around. An accent wall behind a massive four-poster bed harkened the deep aquamarine of the Hasting Sea, flanked by walls of slate-gray stone.
Blue accents dotted the room, ensconced in every small detail and embellishment.
Even the orange glow of a fire complemented the blues so well I wanted to vomit.
I dumped my cloak on the floor and wandered to the washroom.
My dirty fingers met smooth, chocolaty marble countertops that were loaded with an assortment of soaps and shampoos.
A deep basin sat near the corner, the cupboard beside it stuffed with towels and every bathing accessory I could dream up.
I was half tempted to meet with Davina as I was out of spite.
But the louder half incessantly bitched about every itchy twig and smear of blood on me.
I sighed and started to unbuckle my armor.
Once I’d rinsed about three pounds of Dray’s Crossing down the drain, I wrapped an obscenely fluffy towel around myself and shuffled to the bedroom.
A plate of steaming food waited in the small sitting area beside the door.
I descended on it and shoveled roasted meat and perfectly tender vegetables into my mouth.
The company Beck and Bellan typically kept would have been aghast at the display.
I snorted at the thought of their horrified expressions and licked the fruit bowl for good measure, the whipped topping tugging a moan off my lips.
My gaze fell on a pair of clothes laid out on the bed. My nose crinkled. I strode over to them and plucked a soft shirt off the pile, then let it fall in a heap on the floor. “Not in any lifetime,” I mumbled.
I returned to the bathroom and dunked my clothes in a fresh basin of water until it was a rusty red-brown, then hung them in front of the hearth to dry while I scrubbed the myriad bloody additions off my armor.
I left the spot on the left shoulder, where it sat just above my heart, and a spot on my bracer so old the leather was beginning to crumble.
It wasn’t long after I buckled the armor over still-damp clothes that a rap sounded from the door. I glared at the offending sound, then threw the door wide.
The female on the other side looked about my age, but it was impossible to tell when their aging turned glacial at thirty.
Her features were soft and unguarded, her ivory skin all but luminescent in the soft glow that illuminated the hallway.
I glanced at my own pasty skin and almost snorted at how tanned I looked in comparison.
Her striking blue eyes were oddly familiar.
“I’m Laney,” she said, her voice lilting and far too chipper for the occasion. “I’m here to take you to Archon Davina.” She turned and bounded down the hall without waiting for a response.
I groaned and trudged after her. “You must be as useless as the first idiot to get stuck with that job.” My lip twisted just thinking of Griffon’s smug-as-shit face.
She glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I volunteered. Because who wouldn’t want a chance to get a look at the Ash Bringer when they can’t get burned?”
I narrowed my eyes at that hideous name.
She winked at me and continued to trot down the hall. “I consider myself lucky, really. It’s not like every gargoyle in Falcos isn’t aware you’re here.”
“That’s just great,” I muttered. There was more than one of them missing a family member because of me. My fingers drifted to the annuleaf still stuffed in my pocket, but it didn’t matter; if someone decided to kill me, it wouldn’t work in time.
Laney caught the look on my face and smirked. “Yeah, whatever you’re thinking right now is probably true. But don’t worry. Archon Davina made it clear that no one is to make good on any grand designs for revenge.”
I snorted. “That should be as effective as leaving some brat in a candy shop and telling him not to eat anything.”
Laney’s brow quirked. “Perhaps that is true with humans. But here, Archon Davina’s word is law. No one will bother you.”
She led me through another convoluted series of passages.
I could swear there was a method in all the madness, but my mind just couldn’t grasp what it was.
Something like the fiftieth corner brought us to a set of massive wooden doors fashioned into a pair of wings.
The stone around them was expertly carved to hug the wings’ clawed tips.
When the doors swung inward on silent hinges, the tips pivoted outward a dozen feet above my head.
Laney led me inside. The Archon stood on the dais before a plain, rigid throne.
She was in Stone, as Alexei had called it, her teeth bared and wings splayed behind her.
Her skin was onyx given life, each subtle vein in her sculpted arms like the striations through marble.
Tight braids, starting at a point in the middle of her forehead, fanned back along her scalp.
A delicate golden charm dangled from the middle braid and lay over her forehead, the metal perfectly complemented by the warmth in her skin.
Golden cuffs gleamed on some of the braids and all of them cascaded over her shoulders.
Midnight eyes bored into a male gargoyle standing before her.
My eyes popped wide at the sight of her.
I had expected a frail old hag, not the stunning warrior standing before me.
She was hundreds of years old. Didn’t they age at all?
My newest headache stood to the side of the dais, a carefully blank expression plastered on his face.
Of course, he was here. I couldn’t get away from the bastard.
The Archon glanced at me and hissed, her fangs bared, before her gaze darted back to her companion. “See that it is done,” she demanded.
The male inclined his chin and left.
The gargoyles’ leader pivoted smoothly toward me. Her body shuddered, like the delicate vibrations of a freshly plucked string, and the shifting facets of her skin shimmered in the rays of lantern light. I blinked and a flawless, elegant female stood where the gargoyle had been.
“Welcome,” she said, the wide arms of her gown flowing at her sides as she spread her arms. “A human associated with the Council of Vircann has not graced these halls in quite some time.”
I buried my momentary awe and sighed dramatically. “I suppose that’s what happens when you abandon and slaughter your supposed allies.” I flicked a finger in the general direction her companion had gone. “Is their loyalty so fickle that you must threaten them to ensure obedience?”
She glided down the dais, her burgundy gown trailing along the steps behind her.
“Hardly. Vincint presented me with a difficult decision—one where neither option was appealing to me. The gargoyle mind is calculative. Almost cold, in its clinicality. I find it easier to make difficult decisions absent the stronger of human emotions.”
A smirk tugged at my lips. “What was the decision? Slaughter a human village, or merely enslave them?” I tossed a finger toward a human standing to one side, her eyes downcast and hands tucked behind her back.
The Archon’s brows scrunched together. “The humans in Falcos are not slaves. On the contrary, they are people your society cast aside and deemed worthless. Beggars, courtesans, and servants paid such a pitiful wage they essentially were slaves. They came here seeking refuge and we provided it. They work because they choose to.”
The woman I had indicated stepped forward, her plain but well-made frock swishing against the stone as she moved. “It is true, Lady Lydia,” she squeaked as she bent in a clumsy curtsy, eyes still cast downward. “All of the humans in Falcos have found a home we never had with our own kind.”
I scoffed and crossed my arms over my chest. “Like she’d be allowed to say otherwise. She can’t even lift her eyes from the ground!”
Davina’s brow cocked and a knowing smile slid over her flawless features. “It is not I, nor any gargoyle here, that she fears.”
“Ha!” I barked. “As if she fears me!”
The Archon motioned for her slave to answer and I whipped back toward her.
She flinched. “Your reputation was well known in Vircann, Lady Lydia. I’ve heard stories of your wrath. Those from other villages knew of you only as the Ash Bringer.”
My jaw flopped open, indignation clogging my throat and burning my cheeks. “My ‘wrath’ was never aimed at humans, but them,” I snapped, jabbing a finger in the Archon’s direction.
The girl shrank back toward the wall. The next splash of heat on my cheeks had nothing to do with anger.