Thicker Than Ashlar
Unable to derive anything aside from grunts and glares from my gargoyle kin, I opted for answers elsewhere. Though I had no recollection of time, how long I’d been trapped here, how long I’d even been aware of being trapped here, something unnerving condensed my phantom bowels into water. Something dark and cold and preternatural marched our way, stinking of unchecked power and fury, perhaps even tied to the scrim. But was it coming for me or the citadel? I suppose it didn’t matter. Our imminent demise wasn’t mutually exclusive. I may’ve had an empty hive for a mind, yet if one little egg survived, it had hatched to tell me this: ignorance was a dungeon, and only uncovering my identity would set me free.
When I concentrated hard enough, my glimmer could slice through the ashlar like softened butter, past the maze of halls buzzing with hives, and focus on Her. The Keeper, the key to my past. Not that I had any concrete proof. After all, my awareness keened and blurred around her at the same time. She was the eye of my hurricane, my refuge, and only once I reached her could I embrace any semblance of calm. Even with no audience, save me, this evening she sat at her vanity with perfect posture, her long, glossy braid skimming the floor. Latticed with sculpted flowers and bees, her mirror glowed beneath the sconces, reflecting her glare. Unlike most humans, anger twisting their features ugly, seething suited her like lightning in a storm, dazzlingly dangerous.
Her door slammed open, thumping the wall of red roses. Loose petals whispered to the floor. A thin, uniformed woman with sharp features marched in. Captain of the guards. Had I known her in a former life or was she simply there when I awoke?
“Another dead end,” she said, breathless.
The Keeper picked at her nails, not bothering to look up. “Never took you to be easily defeated, Avice.”
“Tried everything.” The captain’s gaze dropped to the glass floor. “They refuse to speak.”
Torture? The room went cold. If the citadel was conducting vile business, was I not also vile for guarding them?
“Then move to the next.” The Keeper rose, silk nightgown clinging to her curves. Like everything she wore and most of the citadel’s décor, the ivy and metal fixtures, the ornate carvings and my tower, it radiated red. The deep red of good wine, of unbridled fury, of pooled blood. She sashayed to the window, petals swirling around her slippers. From the tilt of her hips, the flounce of her braid, she knew the captain was watching. Did she know I was too? “Should I assign the task to someone better suited?”
The captain flinched like she’d been slapped, then followed. Her carmine trousers, piped in bronze, swished with each urgent step. She squeezed the Keeper’s shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”
I squirmed and lost focus, nearly getting sucked back into my stone jail. How dare this creature touch the Keeper? But she didn’t take offense. If anything, she leaned in like a cat getting scratched above the tail. Red flared, blurring the edges of my vision. This wasn’t the first time they’d touched. I sucked in measured breaths, attempting to tamp down my nonsense. They’d just mentioned they were interrogating someone. Had alluded to torture, that there’d be more, and this was what I’d chosen to prioritize? Irrational, unfounded jealousy. Could I have been more selfish? Whatever I was, I deserved my lot.
“I need a drink.” The Keeper passed a goblet to the captain, who bowed, about-faced, then strode off. “Pour one for yourself, too.”
Avice halted as if to argue but thought better and continued to the wrought-iron shelf where the Keeper’s collection of spirits glinted like dark gems. She grabbed a sapphire bottle, light flashing off her hand. I squinted. From her ring, a six-sided emerald with gold filigree. Distinctive, winking with keen familiarity. But from where and when?
Rum sluiced the air. No, not rum. Fermented cloudcane. A fruit fluffier, sweeter than spun sugar, with the bite of spicy peppers. My mouth watered. I’d tasted this before. I’d loved this before. Curse my damaged mind.
The Keeper accepted her goblet, but instead of drinking, stared out her windows: an impressive row of arches spanning the wall. With the new moon just elapsed, outside was murky as my memory, yet she surveyed the isle like she could see every mossy pebble, every flower petal. What was she thinking? Perhaps I could find out who they were interrogating, or a clue to my identity? I homed in, moving past her black locks, past the bone—
Resistance rumbled, nudging me back. I tried again. A flash. White crackled, blinding, severing my hold. Clawing me from her chambers, through the walls, back to my haunt. Crickets chirred, and I shivered. Strange. My glimmer could pierce the citadel but not her skull? What was thicker than ashlar?