There came a shuffling sound, one Gwyneth couldn’t fathom the meaning of, but which made Papa snap upright. Made him lift his hands, palms out, and make a placating motion. “Gates—”
“I am through reasoning with you, Fairchild. Tell me where they are. Now.”
One of Papa’s hands lowered toward his desk drawer, but another shuffle made him pause. “I am only—”
“You think me so great a fool? I already removed that, dear brother.”
Papa’s swallow looked painful. “I cannot help you.”
More curses exploded from Uncle Gates. Closer now, as though he were rounding the desk, just out of her view. “Like thunder you can’t! Tell me where they are!”
Papa’s sharp inhalation was clearly audible, even in the hall. “Gone.”
“Gone? Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“Just that. Out of my hands and on their way to those who can put a stop to this before you destroy two nations in the name of avarice.”
A cry tore through the room, guttural and animalistic. Light flashed on something metallic as her uncle charged into view, the gleaming length held before him. Still, she had no idea what it was he wielded until she saw the silver stained red.
She pressed her hands to her mouth to hold back the scream, hold back the horror. But it didn’t help. Uncle still hissed words of hatred. Papa still staggered back, away from the blade. Then he crumpled and fell.
Gates followed him down, muttering, “You couldn’t have, not yet. You must have it.” And his hands shoved into Papa’s jacket and searched.
Papa, fight back! But he didn’t. He gasped, seemed to struggle for a moment, but then he went lax. No. No, no, no, no, no!
Did she bleed too? She must. She felt no life, no heat, nothing. Couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t be. Not anymore. Not without them both. Mama, and now Papa too.
His head lolled to the side and he blinked. And his gaze focused on her. There was life yet in those familiar depths, but it seemed to flicker. To sputter. “Gwyneth.”
She didn’t hear it, not really. Just saw the movement of his lips. But her uncle, tossing Papa’s case of calling cards into the wall, snarled. “Now you worry about your darling daughter? Oh, have no fear, Fairchild. Dear Uncle Gates will take care of our precious girl.”
He had called her that before, and always she had accepted it as an affectionate gesture. Now, though, it sounded filthy. Threatening.
Papa blinked again, tried to pull in a breath that choked him. Again his gaze sharpened, caught hers. This time when his lips moved, she knew that he made no sound whatsoever. Run.
Then it was gone, all light in his eyes. Extinguished like a flame left before an open window.
And she ran. She turned on her silent slippers and fled back around the corner and down the hall. Out the doors and straight into the waiting carriage.
“Gwyneth? Miss Fairchild?”
All she noted of the voice from the garden was that it wasn’t Uncle Gates’s—nothing else mattered. Seeing that the Wesleys were already seated, their eyes now wide, Gwyneth pulled the door shut herself. “Drive!”
An eternal second later, the driver’s “Yah!” reached her ears and the carriage jolted forward. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was darkness yawning before her.
About the Publisher
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Ring of Secrets Page 36