Heart of Stone

2. Books Are Treasures

Her brothers stood close to each other. Seven statues in a half-circle, facing one another. They stood in a small, circular courtyard, close to the forested mountain that supported the palace. The place was dark, like all the other rooms and courtyards she had found.

Thistle walked around the circle, lifting the lantern she had taken from an empty room to illuminate her brothers' faces. Her youngest brothers had fear in their frozen expressions, but further down the circle, the faces of her older brothers showed anger and determination. The eldest had closed his eyes, his back straight, his sword loose in his fingers, resignation in his features.

She reached up to touch his face. His skin was stone-cold, moist form the creeping mist. She closed her eyes and swallowed, a tear rolling over her cheek. "I'll bring you back," she whispered. "I'll find a way. I promise."

The statue didn't answer.

She bit her lip curled up at her brother's feet, wrapped in her thin, patchy cloak. She cried, shivering in the icy mist, her sobs echoing between the palace's towers.

♥

Thistle woke, a weak ray of sunshine in her eyes. She turned around in the warm, heavy cloak. Fur brushed her face.

She shot up, tearing off the cloak. She held it out in front of her. It wasn't hers. It was pitch-black on the outside and lined with soft fur on the inside. Her own cloak was still wrapped around her, but it was barely more than a rag compared to this garment. The black cloak must've cost a fortune. How did it end up as her blanket?

Something moved. She snapped her gaze towards the glimpse she caught out of the corner of her eye. It was hiding behind the nearest statue.

Carefully, she pushed herself from the cold, stone floor. She felt her waist, only to realise that the sheaths of her sword and dagger were empty. She muttered a curse. In her hurry to get away, she had left her weapons at the beast's throne.

Thistle snuck closer to the statue, her muscles tense.

Two small, horned animals looked up at her, their eyes wide and innocent. One let out a high squeaking noise and took a few wobbly steps towards her, its tiny wings flapping uselessly on its back.

She stepped back. They were no animals. They were made entirely out of stone. They were little gargoyles, and they were alive.

The nearest gargoyle, the one with four tiny horns sprouting from its skull, tilted its head, letting out another, confused squeak. It leapt forward, waggling its tiny tail, looking up with expectant eyes.

Thistle sighed and knelt down. She patted the creature's head. "I can't play. I have to find a weapon. I can hardly fight a beast unarmed, can I?"

The gargoyle sat up straight and squeaked. It bit into the black cloak and pulled.

"I told you, I can't play."

The gargoyle let go, hopped towards the massive tower to the south and then came back to tug at the cloak again.

"You want to show me something?"

It squeaked, nodding.

"A weapon?"

It squeaked again. She shook her head and pushed herself up, wrapping the warm black cloak around her shoulders. It was too long, the end dragging over the stones as she followed the little creature and its friend.

Thistle looked around the palace. It was less intimidating by day, the stones colouring light grey instead of black, the glass domes reflecting the faint sunlight. She would stay away from the central tower, for now. She didn't want to meet the beast again.