49. Stella

49

STELLA

My grief is a stalled thing.

Momentum keeps me moving past every sharp wave of yearning that makes it hard to breath when I notice his absence.

Everything reminds me of him and what’s happened. I want to wail and trap myself away, but I refuse to disappoint Stoneheart’s last wish.

Instead, we move forward.

“There’s no reason to believe he won’t eventually wake up. Gargoyles do turn to stone to heal,” Silas tries to reason. We all sit around the library table. No one dares to sit in Stoneheart’s place, and the presence of the empty seat is a shadow on the proceedings.

Silas, Francesca, and Fiona wait to present the state of the territory.

They’d given me as much time as they could to clean up and calm myself. The sky outside is black, and the city lights glitter despite the yawning ache in my chest.

“One of the paid muscle captured said that the spell they had on hand for the gargoyle is a fae concoction,” Fiona says. She has a black eye, and a burn covered with a bandage on her arm. Her voice lacks any of her usual playfulness. “He’s not meant to wake up.”

Silas looks like he wants to send her away to rest, but she’s not going to be kept out of territory business. Not when we’re shorthanded.

Connors is expected to live, but Caleb, Andrew’s twin brother, got him good with a poison dagger. Andrew has been detained until he can be cleared of wrongdoing.

“Then we summon that scholar to look at it. There will be someone who can break the spell,” Silas says.

Francesca nods. “I’ll manage the other territory in the meantime. What do we tell everyone?”

They look to me.

I expected Remy to continue on if I fell. I never asked whether I could do the same, but I can’t stop. If not for the baby, for the people relying on me.

“We tell them he’s healing,” I say. It’s not a lie.

Silas nods in agreement. “We’ve retrieved Frank’s body. By the looks of it, and mind you, no one is saying they saw a thing, he was dragged from the compound after Fiona took out the mercenaries and killed by a group of people.” He blows out a breath. “That group of people then ripped apart the Leonid compound brick by brick.”

The people of the territory have spoken. The remaining Leonids had to be involved to get to him if he’d been hiding out in the compound.

Nothing feels right at the moment, but Frank’s end feels like justice.

“That’s one less thing to worry about.” My voice sounds even, but the room regards me with caution. “I’ll contact Rowan to look at the curse inflicting Stoneheart. He’ll be more receptive to my request.”

“This is nasty stuff,” Rowan says, his hands hovering over Stoneheart. The moon is bright tonight and leaves a stronger cast shadow than the illumination of the pool some distance away. The rest of the roof is a world rock and patio stones, the minimal plants up here having gone dormant for the season.

I shiver in my sweater but lift my chin to the fae when he turns. Silas stands by my side, taking notes.

Rowan sighs. “I have some ideas, but the ingredients for a curse like this run toward the unsavory side.”

I mouth the word while he’s lost in thought. Unsavory .

He hesitates. “The counter spell may need to make use of the same ingredients.” His gaze beseeches mine, and it takes a moment to understand. “It’s nothing I’ve ever worked with before and?—”

“We can’t use them,” I interject. Rowan’s shoulders drop in relief as the hope that his presence provided flickers. My throat hurts. “We won’t use black market body parts.”

Silas also looks sickened, and for the life of me, I don’t know if it’s the fact that the magic makes use of such thing or if he’s disappointed at the line I’ve drawn. I trust it’s the first, but my guilt threatens to choke me.

Shouldn’t I be willing to do and pay anything to have Stoneheart back?

But it can’t cost this.

“He wouldn’t want that,” I say, and it’s the truth even though it’s poor comfort. “It would ruin our credibility. We are here to protect people, and that is what we’ll do.”

Silas nods in support.

I hope I’m always strong enough to stick to this conviction, but in this moment, I’m going to do what I know Remy would want.

“We’ll find another way,” I decree.

“Ready, my lady?” Rowan asks kindly.

I nod, trying not to choke on my hope that this will work. I warm the small blade against my palm, the sharp edge keeping me from getting lost in my wishes.

It’s been a week since I’ve heard Stoneheart’s voice or felt his arms.

The voting of the territory happens tomorrow, and I need him with me.

I’m not worried about the results. In a twist of ingenuity Fiona was able to bring enough evidence of meddling to the other territory leaders, and with the help of Lobo himself, McConnell has lost his seat on the Council.

The unnamed others in his faction have all pulled back for fear of their own positions being put at risk.

Lobo has proven an unlikely, but valuable ally. We don’t talk much, but the empathy he shows me when we do makes conversing both harder and easier. He knows what it’s like to lose someone.

Missing Stoneheart and Ben has left me a husk of myself, but a productive husk.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say to no one in particular. It’s weird to have so many people up here with me. I visit Stoneheart every night. It’s usually a lonely vigil, where I talk to him and pretend he can hear my updates about what I’m doing with our territory.

Part of me longs to reach out to Ben, but every day he stays away without Stoneheart’s confidence to buoy me, a piece of my heart chips away. I don’t think I’m strong enough for him to reject me again.

I focus on the here and now to keep from dwelling on thoughts of him and how he should be here. The moon is darker tonight, and the air this high up is frigid, though the breeze is blessedly gentle.

“We need more candles,” Zena says, and Rowan makes a sound in agreement. I don’t know how I feel about the potion master. She’s…quirky, but her work is making this attempt to break the curse possible.

It’s lucky for us that Rowan heard rumors about a potion master researching unusual ingredient substitutions.

The extra candles Rowan adds flicker and cast shadows on the statue of Stoneheart in a way that makes it almost look like he’s moving.

Like this could really work.

I inhale.

“You know your part?” Rowan asks, and I nod. I have a simple task. I run my thumb over the blade, a meditation and prayer to any that will listen.

Zena finishes adding something dark and mushy to the wide golden bowl resting on the ground. The contents smell sharp with an underlying layer of butchered animal. I breathe through my mouth and try to keep my stomach from turning more than it usually does.

The territory has kept me busy enough not to dwell on how awful I still feel every day. Whoever said that pregnancy is full of joy can walk off a cliff.

Rowan starts an incantation in a lilting language that must be fae. The feel of the air shifts, and Zena lights the contents of the bowl. There must something in there to help it burn because the flame is sudden and powerful.

Rowan’s chanting gets louder and louder until he looks over at me.

That’s my cue.

I don’t let myself hesitate. I draw the knife against my palm and step forward. The heat of the fire curls around my legs, but I keep my gaze forward. The familiar lines of Stoneheart’s face are home in the dark night.

I press my bloodied palm against his chest and a crack of energy vibrates through the air. There’s a collective gasp, and I look up. The surge of magic filling me with hope.

It takes until the bowl of fire to die out for the truth to be apparent.

It didn’t work.

I pull my hand away from the stone. My blood leaves a nearly dried print. The stinging of my palm barely registers past the shattered feeling behind my sternum.

Someone clears their throat and suddenly Rowan is standing beside me. “Don’t lose heart, lady. Fae magic is wily. We will find a way. This is merely our first attempt.”

My chin dips in acknowledgment, and I take the wipe he hands me, pressing the antiseptic against the cut there.

I don’t have any pretty words of encouragement but luckily no one seems to require them.

Stoneheart remains in a permanent sleep.

The candles get blown out, and people move to clean up the failed spell.

There’s a soft touch to my elbow, and I look up at Zena.

“I’m glad the other potion worked,” she says. “We’ll try to break the curse again. Don’t give up hope. I’ve never had so many people volunteer to give me hair and blood to make substitutions.”

That is an uplifting distraction. The truth of Stoneheart’s affliction isn’t out yet, but the people know something is wrong, and have come forward wanting to help. This territory is a very different place than just last month.

But the other thing she said makes me frown. “The potion?”

She looks at my stomach, and her face softens. “The one Ben picked up. I was surprised he couldn’t make it tonight.”

Of course this is the potion master who made the fertility aid. The world is such a small place, and that reminder makes the absence of Ben even sharper.

“Oh, yes, that.” I blush and try to disentangle myself from the conversation. “Let’s hope the next attempt to break the curse works as well.”

“There’s magic to hoping,” she says, and I nod politely.

I just wish hoping didn’t hurt so much.