Page 22 of Tangwystle

“Tangwystle.” The name came softly, almost unsure, like this could all be a dream.

I brushed her hair back.

One single tear dripped over the bridge of her nose and splattered on the table.

If Baz had still been there, he could have soothed her. Told her comforting words like ‘It’s okay.’ Or, ‘You’re safe now.’

But we didn’t know if that was completely true yet. I couldn’t even hum under my breath in a pretty way, so I remained silent.

“I knew. . .” Gretel’s thought mixed with a sigh, ripping from her chest. “I knew it’d be you. . .”

Had she known I’d be the one to help because of last time? Or because she knew I always helped anytime she came nagging about ingredients she needed.

Baz came back, a little less than an hour later. We moved her to a bed. I told him to get some sleep, but he wouldn’t leave. Neither would I.

Oddly reminiscent of our nights in the library, we sat in a pair of chairs, watching over a sleeping Gretel.

eight

Partof me expected Gretel to pop up the next morning. I wanted a bright, cheerful, annoying little thing to make all my nerves go away.

Of course, that’s not what happened.

The sleeping tonic effectively knocked Gretel out, but by dawn, there were little groans and slight movements. We kept her on her stomach, her wounds on display all night.

I’d catch Baz staring at them, the fire from the hearth reflecting in his dark sapphire eyes.

It amplified the smoldering heat curling around him. His hands remained clenched, but he managed to hold himself back. To not march down to Clinemell Manor and shake his fists at Rufus. Or worse—whip him as he had Gretel.

The poor girl moaned as dawn crested. She opened her eyes and then closed them. This went on for most of the morning until, at one point, I woke in my chair to find her staring at me.

“I’m in a bed.” The hoarse whisper barely made it to my ears.

Gretel’s eyes went from me to Baz. Her gaze roamed as much as it could, considering her cheek remained against the pillow.

I understood why her brow pinched together.

The high ceiling and fire going and the soft bedsheets confirmed she wasn’t in the pantry like last time. But there was more to inspect.

Blackwell Manor had never been called cozy or cheerful. Master Blackwell wanted tidiness and order.

But Baz had brought the sunlight to the place, and now it streamed all around the room.

My muscles protested, but I stood from my wingback chair. I cautiously brushed Gretel’s hair off her shoulder.

“Some water?” I asked.

“I don’t want to go home this time.”

The hushed words made me pause, my hand hovering for the cup of water on the bedside table.

I knew exactly what she meant.

Baz stirred in his chair, pushing himself forward. But Gretel only stared at me, a curl falling into her green eyes.

I pushed it back, my hand moving automatically.

“First things first,” I said. “You must recover.”