“You want me to teach you to use a sword?” There’s laughter in his voice.
I scowl. “Not a big sword. A little one.”
“Like a knife?”
“Never mind.” I wave my hand. “It was a foolish idea.”
Galinor pulls his horse to a halt and leads it off the road.
I follow him. “What are you doing?”
He gets off his horse and waits for me on the ground. “It’s not foolish.”
I glance at the sun, which is now high in the sky. “You want to start now? Right now?”
Galinor waves me over. “We have time today. We’ll reach the next village well before dark.” He smiles reassuringly.
He offers me his dagger. I take it from him, but it feels heavy and awkward in my palm. I try to hand the weapon back. “This was a bad idea.”
“No, it’s a good idea.” He steps to me. “You’re holding it wrong. It’s not going to bite you.”
I try to mimic the way he shows me, but the dagger slips from my fingers. I reach to catch it before it falls to the ground.
Galinor steps forward. “No!”
Luckily, I don’t grasp hold of it, but I do nick myself.
I examine my hand. “You were wrong. It does bite.”
Galinor shakes his head, trying to hold back a laugh, as he looks at my hand. There are a few tiny droplets of blood forming down a small slice on my finger.
“Don’t try to catch a falling knife,” he says.
I pull my hand back.
“Let’s put it away for now.” He picks the blade up and slips it in his sheath. “Now listen. You don’t need a weapon to protect yourself.”
I cross my arms and scowl at him.
He grins and rubs his hands up and down my arms. “I’m not going to teach you anything difficult. If someone comes at you, I don’t want you to be nice, you understand?”
“All right.”
Why would I be nice to someone attacking me?
Galinor steps forward. “There are several areas you can do the most damage easily: eyes, nose, groin, knees, and neck.”
I chew my lip, nervous.
“Gouge them in the eyes if you can.” He shows me how to arrange my fingers. “Use the palm of your hand and thrust it upward into their nose.”
I cringe.
“Kick them on the side of their knee. Hard.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do this, Galinor.”
He steps toward me. “That’s what I mean. You can’t be nice. If you need to use this, it’s because someone wants to hurt you. You hurt them first so you can get away. All of this is just so you can escape.” He continues, “If you think you can, hit them in the throat. If all else fails, knee them in the groin—but be careful they aren’t expecting it or they can grab your knee.”
We go over the moves, and he helps me. I feel more confident, but I’m not sure what I would do if someone like Dimitri’s big gypsy tried to grab me from behind again. When I tell Galinor about it, his expression grows dark.
“I’m fine.” I set my hand on his arm. “Now show me what to do should it ever happen again.”
Gently, he wraps his arm around my neck. “If they grab you like this, I want you to slam your head backwards into their body. Elbow his stomach and then hit him in the groin. That should knock off his balance enough that you can twist and get away.”
He has me practice a few times, and by the time we’re finished, I’m exhausted.
Galinor nods. “Good. And if all else fails, you can jump on his back and pummel him with a rock.”
I laugh as I get back on Mara, feeling a little more confident. My smile fades as we ride.
Soon I will be home.
***
It feels wrong to knock on my own door, but that’s what I do. Just as promised, Galinor stands behind me. The manor looks the same as always. Ivy climbs the stone walls; the dark wood shutters are open wide to let the autumn sunshine in, and my mother’s meticulous herb garden grows in the entry.
Our housemaid opens the door. “Good afternoon—” She freezes, the door only halfway open. “Anwen,” she whispers. Her eyes move to Galinor, and she frowns.
“Hello, Brynna.” I work very hard to keep my voice even, but I’m afraid I just sound cold.
“Come in.” She steps aside. “I’ll fetch your mother.”
She scurries away, and I roll my stiff shoulders. The tension returns as soon as I hear my mother’s boots clicking down the hall. Hushed whispers are exchanged, but they end abruptly when the two women enter.
My mother’s face is white, and she stops and stares at me. Her blond hair, so much like mine, is meticulously styled, and her gown is immaculate. If it wasn’t for the shadows under her eyes, I wouldn’t know she lives in a house with a curse.
I bite my cheek to keep from crying.
“Anwen,” she breathes. She runs the last few steps and throws her arms around me.
I’m so surprised, I don’t return her embrace at first. Finally, when she grabs my shoulders to look at me better—and I see the tears running down her face—I come to my senses and wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a sob, and then I repeat it over and over.
“We’ve been so worried.” She’s crying as hard as I am. “Why, Anwen?”
The story comes tumbling out, and when I’m done, she looks ill. “The stone has been destroyed?”
I nod. She steps away and sits on a bench in the entry.
I kneel in front of her. “Is it true? Is Father cursed?”
Mother studies my face, and then she finally nods.
“What does he turn into?” I whisper.
She shakes her head as if she won’t tell me.
“Please.”
“He doesn’t want you to know. He’s so ashamed.”
I stand and turn away. “I want to see him.”
“You mustn’t.”
“Does he hate me?” Though it’s voiced at a whisper, the question seems to echo off the walls.
“No!” She rises from the bench. “Of course he doesn’t.”
I shake my head. “How can’t he?”
Mother narrows her eyes. “You’re his daughter. He loves you.” She blinks back more tears. “We love you.”
We fall silent. The only sound comes from a dog barking near the stables. Apparently Pika has made a friend.
I hope she doesn’t eat him.
Mother sighs and turns to Galinor. “I’m being a terrible hostess. Please forgive me. I am Baroness Galia Millner.”
Galinor bows low. “Galinor of Glendon.”
“Let’s not linger in the hall.” Mother motions for us to follow her to a sitting area. Though it’s only cool outside, a fire has been lit, and it burns merrily in its grate.
Mother finds a chair by the fire. She moves her embroidery from the cushion before she sits. “We were so relieved when we received Irving’s message.” Her eyes flicker to Galinor and then back to me, and she gives me a subtle, pointed look. “Where is Irving?”
“Marigold is visiting Prince Teagan of Glendon,” I answer. “Irving asked Galinor to escort me back.”
Or something like that.
Mother raises an eyebrow. I know what she’s thinking. Galinor’s a little too young and handsome to play the role of escort. “What family are you from, Galinor? Perhaps I know your parents.”
“I am the second born son of King Howell and Queen Penelope, Your Ladyship.”
Mother opens her mouth and then closes it. A smile spreads over her face. “Irving and Marigold are visiting your brother.”
Galinor smiles, flashing her with all his charm. “Yes, that’s right.”
She blinks at him, already won over. “Thank you for returning our daughter to us,” she says once she remembers her manners. “It would please us if you would stay with us for the night.”
He begins to accept my mother’s offer but is cut short by a deep, bone-chilling cry from the r
ooms above us. Mother leaps from her seat and rushes out the door, calling her apologies over her shoulder.
Feeling ill, I whisper, “I don’t think he’s a gnome.”
Galinor looks grim.
There’s movement in the doorway. Our eyes dart to the entry, but it’s only Brynna with a tray. “Tea, cider, or mead?” she asks Galinor. Her voice shakes, and she keeps sending wary glances to the ceiling.
Galinor seems uneasy, and that makes me infinitely more nervous.
“Cider will be fine,” I say.
With trembling hands, Brynna pours the cider first for Galinor and then for me.
I take the pitcher from her. “I can do the rest.”
She nods, grateful, and leaves us.
“Our kitchen maid makes excellent scones,” I say, needing to fill the eerie silence. “The crimsonberry are the tastiest, but the pumpkin ones are fine as well.” I gulp a breath. “As long as you have enough butter. One year the cow stopped—”
Galinor sets his hand on my shoulder. “Anwen.” His eyes meet mine. “It will be all right.”
I set the scones down and cover my face with my hands. “What is he?”
“He is your father.”
There’s another roar—this time followed by a scream and a crash—and despite Galinor’s words, his hand goes to his sword. He hesitates, and then he stands.
Mother comes into the room. Her hair is a little disheveled, but she seems unharmed. She won’t look at me; the food and drink have her full attention. “You must be starving. Please, sit—eat.” There’s more demand than request in her voice, and we both slowly sink back to our chairs.
As I bring my cider to my lips, I share a disconcerted look with Galinor.
***
Galinor corners me in the stables when I check on Mara. “You can’t stay here.”
“What choice do I have?” I glance up at him, meet his cobalt eyes, and then look away. “It’s my fault he’s this way.”
Galinor’s hands move to my shoulders, his expression hard. “It’s not safe. Don’t pretend it is.”
“He’s my father. I can’t leave him now.”
He looks thoughtful, and he takes a deep breath. I lean closer, eager for what he’s going to say. Before he speaks, we are interrupted by the voice of a groom and the stable boy. I put my finger to my lips so he’ll know to keep quiet.
“Come back with me,” Galinor says when the voices have faded. “Stay with my family in Glendon. You’ll be our guest until we can figure something out.”
I let out my held breath, disappointed, and stare at the hay-covered floor. I was hoping for more.
It doesn’t matter. Even if he feels the same way I do, I can’t leave my family again—not when I’ve already caused them so much pain. It’s better if he doesn’t return my feelings. I don’t want to hurt him, too.
“Don’t say no yet,” he whispers. “Think about it.”
Outside, the light grows dim. The horses happily eat their evening meal, and it’s quiet except for their occasional nicker.
“When will you leave?” I ask, my voice quiet.
He sighs and leans against a stall wall. “I was planning on tomorrow.” He raises his eyes to mine. “But I’ll stay longer, if you want me to.”
I shrug. “You’ve already done so much.”
We’re quiet for several moments.
“Think about it, Anwen.”
“I will.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I try to clear it. When the silence becomes too much, I say, “It’s almost dusk. Mother said the evening meal will be just after dark.”
“Are you nervous?”
“I’m terrified.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be with you.”
Tonight, he will be. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after that?
Together, we walk back to the manor, and I prepare myself to see Father. We reach the dining hall, but Father is not here.
“Where is he?” I ask Mother.
She only shakes her head and motions for us to sit. The meal is no less than a feast, but I don’t really care what the serving maids place in front of us. I absently thank the man who fills my goblet.
“Anwen,” Mother says when she sees I’m not eating. “He just isn’t ready to see you.”
Her words slice through me.
Registering the look on my face, she clarifies, “He’s humiliated.”
I’m sure that’s not all, but I don’t press for more.
She frowns. “The kitchen girls have prepared your favorites.”
They’ve served seared goose with berry sauce; the skin is dark and crispy, just how I like it. Surrounding the goose are whipped potatoes with dark, yellow butter, and an astounding assortment of vegetables, cheeses, breads, and pastries. It’s a ridiculous amount of food for only three people.
It’s a welcome home feast, and Father won’t join us for it.
I choke down as much as my stomach will allow and then ask to be excused.
“Forgive me for being a rude hostess,” I say to Galinor, hoping he understands.
He waves me away. “The ride to Primewood was long. You need rest.”
As I pass, he catches my hand, holding it for several moments before he sets me free.
My quarters are exactly as I left them. It’s like I was never gone. I undress quickly and crawl under the blankets. I’m exhausted, but I don’t sleep well.
After tossing and turning most of the night, I stare at the dark ceiling and drum my fingers against my stomach. I have no idea what time it is. I finally fling aside my covers and slip my bare feet into boots.
Normally, when I have trouble sleeping, I go down to the kitchens and see if I can scrounge something from the evening meal, but tonight I don’t have food on my mind.
Milton, one of my father’s guards, is posted as a night watch in the entry hall. He stands by the stairway leading to my parent’s quarters. There is no way to avoid him.
I clear my throat to announce my presence so I don’t startle him. “Milton?”
It doesn’t work. He jumps at the sound of my voice. “Your Ladyship.” He attempts to hide his surprise. “What are you doing up at this hour? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I bite my lip. “I want to speak with Mother.” He begins to shake his head, but I cut him off, “I’m sure she isn’t sleeping any better than I was.”
He thinks about it and then finally steps aside, letting me pass. I thank him and make the long walk to my parent’s rooms. I tap on the door, hoping they’re awake. When I receive no answer, I push the door open like I used to do when I was a child.
“Anwen?” Mother says, her shadowy form sitting up.
I was right; she’s awake.
“I can’t sleep,” I say. “I have to speak with Father, and I know that I won’t be able to come the morning.”
Mother hesitates, but from her side, Father says, “It’s all right, Galia.”
My chin trembles when I hear his voice, but I take a deep breath and choke back my emotions.
Mother waves her hand to the hall. “Leave us for a moment.”
I nod and shut the door, waiting until Mother fetches me. She’s lit candles, and the room is illuminated with their dim, flickering light. Father sits in a chair near their bed, covered with a woolen throw. I inhale softly. He looks so thin and pale, and his hair has turned mostly gray.
I’ve only been gone for a couple months. How could this happen so quickly?
“Father.” I hesitate by the door. “I’m so sorry.”
It isn’t enough. What I’ve done can’t be rectified with a simple apology, and I feel worse after saying the words.
Father sighs. “Are you well, Anwen?”
“I shouldn’t have left.”
“You ran away with a gypsy.” His voice is heavy with disappointment.
I nod, wishing I could deny it. “I did.”
“Did you ever listen to me? What have I told
you all these years?”
“Gypsies are trouble.” My voice becomes smaller and smaller. Soon I’ll only be speaking in a whisper.
Mother watches us and wrings her hands, looking as if she wishes she could say something to make us right again.
“You haven’t answered me, Anwen.” He doesn’t sound angry—only tired. “Are you well?”
I blink several times. “Yes.”
Father pushes the blanket aside and walks to me. He is slightly stooped over, and he moves as if he is in pain. “I am glad you are home.”
“Even though I lost your stone?”
After everything that has happened, I still sound bitter. I wish I didn’t.
“If I can have only one, I would rather have you.”
The sting in my eyes becomes too much, and I fall against him. I murmur countless apologies, but he only strokes my hair and tells me he forgives me.
Just like that.
Suddenly, Father freezes. “Anwen, go.”
I stumble back and then race to the window, pulling aside the heavy curtain. The sky just above the silhouetted horizon is no longer black but an ever-lightening purple.
“Out!” Father bellows.
But it’s too late.
Mother rushes to me, yanking on my arm. “Anwen, leave!”
I watch in horror as Father’s features twist in front of me.
It’s nothing like the change brought on from the stone. This is a grotesque stretching and bubbling of muscle and bone. He falls to his knees, groaning in agony. His clothes rip around him. His skin darkens to gray, and then it hardens and cracks.
More terrified than I’ve ever been in my life, I scream.
Chapter Nineteen
Firm hands grasp hold of my shoulders. Galinor drags me from the room before it fully registers that it’s him who holds me. Once we’re outside the chamber, Milton slams a heavy cross beam in place, locking Father inside.
“No!” I yell, scrambling to lift the wood. “Mother is in there!”
Galinor pulls me back and wraps me fully in his arms. Milton says something, but I don’t hear over my panic.
“Anwen, stop!” Galinor commands, and that finally gets through to me.
I stare at him, gasping for breath.
“Your Ladyship.” Milton’s voice is clipped and irritated. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “He won’t hurt your mother. She’s the only one he’ll listen to when he’s like this.”
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 42