Page 28 of The Phoenix Inheritance

Dane weighs my words, adding the new details to what he already knows about me.

“That’s why you’re so nifty with a cast net.”

I grin, though it’s not as wide as I wish. “My parents taught me many things. In my mind they’re still with me, because I make use of their lessons everyday. I never would’ve survived here without them.”

The fact that my mother and father are no longer of this world is something that I deal with every minute, every second that goes by. After a couple of years the raw horror dulled down to a more bearable emptiness. Their absence simply became part of my life, and though at times I still break down, I’ve learned how to find their warmth and comfort elsewhere.

I still hear my father’s instructions every time I cast a net. When the wind keeps me up at night I like to sew by the fireplace, as I found my mother doing each time I was afraid of a storm when I was little. I’ll never have her talent as a seamstress, but with each stitch I remember the stories she told me to make my fears go away.

But just because it’s my story and I’ve grown to endure the bite of it doesn’t mean it won’t terrify others. I look at Dane grimly, sorry for the anguish I put on his face. Moments ago I had a taste of what it feels like to panic about the wellbeing of someone who means the world to you – more frightening than if you’re the one hurting, because you’re virtually helpless.

“Where are your parents?” Dane rasps in disbelief, visibly hoping he misunderstood.

“They’re dead,” I say bluntly. “I was fourteen.”

I’m nearly knocked off my chair as Dane scrambles to my side and scoops me into his embrace. The clatter of terracotta resonates on the floor as he flings his bowl away, stew included. I’m too overwhelmed by his presence to harp about the mess.

“I’m so sorry, Isobel,” he croaks, clutching me as close as physically possible. “I wish I’d met you sooner… That I could’ve been there…”

I rest my head on his arm. Given that his face is buried in the crook of my neck, I hope that he can feel my grateful smile on his skin.

“You’re sweet,” I breathe, silently thanking the Gods for sending me this man, no matter how long it may last. “It’s over and done though, and all you can do is build upon the past before it gets a chance to drag you down, right?”

His fists clench until his veins pop. “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be sad.”

Dane is right. If there’s one lesson I learned from the years it took to heal, is that grief is a beast better tamed when unleashed rather than stowed away into a dark corner.

The first months after the death of my parents, my mind was filled only with survival. I refused to shed a single tear, to think once about the faces I missed so bitterly. I thought I’d conquered my misery, until one day I slipped into the lake and dropped deep into its depths.

You let your parents die, you ran away to hide, hissed the small voice in my mind. You deserve to die too.

The sheer bitterness of the thought caused me to swim back to the surface in panic. That’s when I realized guilt had been gnawing at me from the inside from the beginning, all because I didn’t dare face my sorrow.

“I am sad” I respond with a vigor that startles him. “I’m angry, even. But it’s not my fault. It’s not yours. It’s not my parents’ fault either.” My throat constricts with resentment. “It’s Østrom’s fault.”

I’m too overcome with a surge of blind, crushing rage to think much of the way Dane freezes around me.

“Østrom?”He echoes hollowly.

“The Phoenix King sent the fort’s Gargoyles down to Gronlund,” I explain in a voice that sounds rough even to my own ears.

“G-gargoyles? You mean, the ones that stand guard around the fort?”

I nod briskly. “They’re enchanted to come to life only when their master orders them to awaken. That’s why they make such cruel servants.”

“But they were only unleashed once,” Dane blurts in a strangely shaky voice. “I remember. I had just turned fifteen. It was –”

“Five years ago, yes,” I finish bitterly. “One broke into our home while we were asleep. Tore my parents apart while they were still in bed. Their screams woke me up.”

His tight embrace slackens as if he was just dealt a blow. For a moment, I’m not in the warm shelter of Dane’s arms anymore in my faraway cottage. I’m back in the stone and slate house of my youth, where the most horrendous sound ever resonates in my ears. It’s dark and all I can see is the outline of a gnarly winged creature ripping flesh open.

“My instinct was to run,” I force myself to say, grateful after years of guilt that I fled, because deep down I know my parents would’ve wanted no less. “I made it to the barn by the time I heard the Gargoyle crashing through the wall. I had little choice but to hide.”

My heart slams as hard as it did that night, afraid to even breathe as a monster gutted my home. “I was crouching underneath a table when the Gargoyle found me.”

Dane seems to have found his voice again, but it holds none of the gruff fortitude that usually underlies his tone. “How did you make it?” He asks in a whisper that’s barely there. “I’ve never heard of anyone who survived a Gargoyle.”

Indeed, Gargoyles have a brute force that makes them nearly invincible, but their talons hold a poison that finishes off their prey, should their unfortunate victim slip through its claws. Within hours the slightest scratch spreads, turning flesh to stone until it disintegrates into particles as fine as sand.

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