Page 33 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

“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. “Please forgive me, I’m being a terrible hostess. 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, moving 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 in 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 across 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.”

Galinor begins to accept my mother’s offer but is cut short by a deep, bone-chilling cry from the rooms 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.

But before he can investigate, Mother comes into the room.

Though her hair is a little disheveled, 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, meeting his cobalt eyes before I 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 Galinor 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.”

“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 isn’t 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 care what the serving maids place in front of me. I absently thank the man who fills my goblet, hoping it appears I’m interested only for the sake of those who put so much effort into the preparations.

“Anwen,” Mother says when she sees I’m barely 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, and 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, bread, 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. Though I have no idea what time it is, I finally fling aside the covers and slip my bare feet into my boots.

Generally, 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. Unfortunately, there’s 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.”

Shutting the door, I wait until Mother fetches me. Moments later, she lets me in. She’s lit candles, and the room is illuminated with their dim, flickering light.

I inhale softly when I see Father. He sits in a chair near their bed, covered with a woolen throw. He looks 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 man from one of the traveling troupes.” 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?”

“The wanderers 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’s in pain. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Even though I lost your stone?”

After everything that’s 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 dark curtain. The sky just above the silhouetted horizon is no longer black but an ever-lightening blue.

“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.