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“Not very shrewd, this one,” the gargoyle muttered. He crossed his arms. “Aren’t you going to offer me a blanket?”
“You get cold?”
“I like to rest with something over my eyes.”
“Like covering a birdcage,” I explained, adding hurriedly, “not that you are anything like a bird.”
“There should be blankets in the stables.”
“Very well.” The gargoyle sauntered away, but not before casting me a backward glance. “In all your stories of things you might do when you left Aisling, Bartholomew, did you ever tell one like today’s?”
I managed a weak laugh. “Not by a mile.”
He smiled. When he was gone, into the stable, I felt Rory’s gaze on the side of my face.
I blew out a sigh. Faced him. “I have questions. Or must I beat you at your craft to have them answered?”
“No.” A nearby knight wrapped himself in his own whip, the yard an uproar of laughter. Rory kept his focus on me. “But, out of curiosity, what craft is mine, Diviner?”
“Pride. Godlessness. Disdain, maybe.”
“And you’d defeat me by… what? Throwing me down in front of the knighthood? Aiming your pitchfork tongue at me, calling me stupid and a thousand other unflattering things? I’d say my pride is wholly forfeit at this point.”
“You say horrible things to me all the time.”
“I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Perhaps it’s why I worried you might be twenty miles away. That I might not—” He made a face. “That you might not come back.”
“I didn’t come back. I was arrested.”
“You and a gargoyle against a couple of guards? Please. You could be halfway to any of the hamlets by now, but you are not.” He paused. “As to the grievance of my godlessness—”
Rory’s back tensed, shoulders practically at his ears. “You. Me. Maude. Benji. The Harried Scribe. I realize it wasn’t exactly a mild way to show you the… complexity of the Omens.”
A complexity I did not yet understand by half. “Nothing about you is mild, Myndacious. Your disdain for Aisling, for the Omens—for me—has been written on your face from the moment I clapped eyes on you.” I sighed. The day was just begi
“I have disdain in me, yes.” Rory’s brows drew together, lips parted slightly enough for me to hear the shaky sound of his exhale. “But none for you.”
Our gazes held. They held and held, the effect sharper than the cracking of whips—
“Six!”
I turned, looking into a pair of beautiful green eyes. “Maude.”
She came before me. Gripped my arm. “Happy you made it back to us. I meant to ask yesterday—” She looked down at my dirty feet. “Where are your shoes?”
Rory snorted. “We’re working on it.”
Maude took my hand, winked at Rory, then went into the compound. “I should have something that’ll fit you.”
“Oh, there’s no need—”
“I’m being nice. You’ll be wanting the king’s ear.” She threw her arm over my shoulder. “But first you need a bath.”