The Knight and the Moth (The Stonewater Kingdom, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

“‘Faith in the Omens is like a dream. Shrewd, yet shrouded.

“‘Faith requires a display. The greater the spectacle, the greater the illusion.’”

“You want to throw me down,” Rory said, eyelids dropping as he whispered into my parted lips. “And I, prideful, disdainful, godless, want to drag you into the dirt with me.”

The gargoyle batted his eyes. “Oh, Bartholomew. He’s dreamy.”

I was losing my faith in everything. But the two of us meeting… it felt almost divine.

He was a thief, stealing my breath, my reason.

“If you have imagined portents, let me dispel them. The only thing that matters in this world is the effort you exact, Diviner. And you have been working harder than anyone I’ve known. So, please—don’t look to dreams, and don’t look for signs. Just look forward. Tomorrow will go well.”

I dreamed of a knight with gold in his ears and charcoal around his eyes, who did all the ignoble things I asked of him.

I’d fallen through the seams of time into a place where there were no Omens or stone, no armor, no gossamer. There was just Rory, me—and a strange sacrality between us.

“It ends a handful of minutes from now. After you’ve won, and there is one less Omen in the world.” He grinned. “It ends when you kiss me.” “You mean it ends after I’ve won, and there is one less Omen in the world—and I hit you as hard as I can.” “With your mouth.”

Took his arm. “If I could draw the short straw and do it in your place, I probably would.”

“I’m about to pass my own wind if they don’t wrap this up,” the gargoyle muttered.

It is easier, swearing ourselves to someone else’s cause than to sit with who we are without one.”

“Do you still think about Aisling, gargoyle?” “Endlessly.” He stretched his wings. Yawned. “The tor was the only home I ever knew. But I have stepped down from its height and seen the world with my own eyes. You can’t take something like that back. Even if I returned to the cathedral, nothing can be as it was.” His fangs pressed over his teeth as he smiled. “You can never really go home.”

“She believes herself a mother and a god, nurturing Traum with stories of the Omens and faith. But is it godly to punish your subjects for questioning you? Is it motherly to demand resolute devotion?”

“To the faithless, a god is a monster. And I am certainly a god.”

Starving things make for loyal pets, so long as you feed them just enough.