Page 48

“With the fruit in our possession, we simply had to wait for someone desperate enough to taste it. Willingly of course; we’re not monsters.” The queen waved at my father. “We gave him a choice . He could have chosen death.”

The night my father died, well, the night I believed he died, the coroner had come early, almost in anticipation.

They’d gone in to see my father, only to return and inform us of his passing.

It wasn’t sadness that rocked me, but relief.

A twisted comfort in knowing my father’s pained cries couldn’t torment my mother any longer.

After all these years, the shame of those thoughts still taunted me.

‘It’s not safe to be around the body,’ the coroner told us. ‘We know nothing of this illness; it could spread.’ It took all of us to hold my grieving mother back, lest she beat the coroner to death for taking her husband away.

“We brought him to the castle,” Queen Aenor said, breaking my recollection.

“He remained in the dungeon for years. Bronwyn visited him every day, training him. Until the day he emerged in disguise.” Queen Aenor looked at my father, who was gasping for breath.

“So much time and effort, wasted.” She leaned a fist against her chin and sighed.

“Fortunately, a replacement walked straight into our arms.” Queen Aenor’s lavender eyes set on me.

“I won’t—”

Clattering wood and metal cut me off. The device holding Lottie burst open, hitting the cobblestones with a loud BANG!

Lottie pounced on Bronwyn, choking her. Queen Aenor jumped up, and Lottie hid behind Bronwyn.

The blade Lottie used on the lock lay at Bronwyn’s throat.

As a queen, Aenor was practiced in governing her face, though her throat constricted when she looked at the knife, so close to Bronwyn.

Bronwyn started, “I’ll—”

Lottie smothered Bronwyn’s mouth and dug the knife in. “Bitch! One more word and you’ll eat this blade!”

“Cut her, and it’ll be the last thing you do,” Queen Aenor growled. “I promise.”

Lottie drew the blade along Bronwyn, prompting a muted gasp from her hostage. As a fine line of blood trickled down Bronwyn’s neck, Lottie shouted, “Make a deal!”

I bunched the cloak against Father’s injury and stood. “You will let us leave, and you will not pursue us.” I eased my father up. He was so weak, all his weight bore down on me. Backing away, I dragged him toward the castle.

Doing the same with Bronwyn, Lottie said. “Pursue us, and I’ll gut your little rat.”

Queen Aenor smiled at Bronwyn, the same way I sometimes smiled at Rook. The softness of her features whispered, ‘It’ll be okay.’ Tenderness melted to malice as Queen Aenor’s attention shifted to Lottie, and I feared my sister might freeze to death where she stood.

“You have five minutes before I send my guards.” Queen Aenor pointed at Lottie. “You have ten minutes until I chase you.”

Wasting no time, I dragged my father away. Never turning her back on the queen, Lottie did the same with Bronwyn.

“I will find you,” the queen called. “If I need to.”

A frozen quill etched the warning onto my heart.

We rushed through the castle with as much haste as we could muster, given we were slowed by a hostage and a half-dead man.

When the great hall came into view, I said, “We’ll go through there and out the passage—Lottie?

” I’d been so focused on keeping my father upright, I hadn’t been listening for Lottie and Bronwyn’s shuffling steps. “Lottie where are you?!”

Lottie reappeared from a side room. “Hey! I’m here.

It’s fine.” She grabbed my father’s arm, easing some of the weight from my back.

“It’s fine—it’s fine.” When someone says a situation is ‘fine’ no one thinks anything of it.

However, there are a certain amount of times a person might say ‘fine’ before those listening realize there’s definitely a cause for concern.

And Lottie had used it thrice .

“Where’s Bronwyn?” I whisper-shouted. Lottie only gave me a sidelong glance. “What did you do to her?!” Lottie laughed, pulling my father and me along. Dread settled in me. “Lottie, I’m serious. What did you do?”

“I took care of her.”

“Lottie!” I stopped, yanking my father back. “What does that mean?”

“Relax.” Lottie started toward the passage. “She was slowing us down, so I put her somewhere the guards will find her.”

“Was she alive when you put her there?!”

Lottie threw her head back and laughed.

To this day, I don’t know the answer.

Father groaned and his legs buckled. He lurched forward, tugging me with him. “Get his legs,” I huffed. “We’ll carry him out.”

“You get his legs,” Lottie argued. “I’m stronger; give me his shoulders.”

“Why must you argue with everything—” But Lottie was already shoving me aside, a task she performed easily, because she was stronger.

As she heaved my father up, I swallowed my sisterly contempt and grabbed his legs.

We made it through the passage and into the moonlight without interruption and only minimal bumping.

My heart leapt at the sight of stars, of freedom.

Could we make it?

“Agh!” Lottie’s boot caught a stone. She floundered, yanking my father’s ankles from my grasp. He struck the ground and cried out.

“We don’t have time for this!” I scrambled to lift him, but my father’s hand rested on mine. Shaking his head, the message was painfully obvious.

‘I can go no farther.’

Haggard, wet breathing broke the night. Lottie and I crouched with our father, the shadow of the man from our childhood.

He caressed my face, and then Lottie’s. He’d given us everything we needed to get here, to escape, to be free and happy as a family.

The pride that his lessons, his tools, had not been forgotten was unmistakable.

Father’s trembling hand located a chain around his neck, hidden beneath layers of fabric.

His dirty fingers curled around the ring dangling from it.

Our mother gave him that ring when she’d asked him to be hers.

He kissed it and tapped his heart.

‘I wish she was here.’

My father’s hands settled on his chest, as if he were preparing for burial.

‘This is the end for me.’

Lottie looked to me. At the set of my jaw, she grimaced.

I nodded, confirming her silent question.

He’s not going to make it. For the second time in our life, death was here for our father.

The tingle that travelled along my fingertips as I brushed his chest was so faint. There was nothing we could do.

Nothing I could do.

A shout ruptured the cool air. As promised, the first of the guards appeared.

High up on the hill, they searched in the night.

Father pushed us away, pointing down the path.

He waved frantically, encouraging us to abandon him.

Lottie’s features were stone as she climbed to her feet.

She didn’t take the path that led away from the castle, rather, she stalked back, toward the guards who would find us soon.

“Where are you going?” I hissed.

Lottie rounded, her cheeks splotchy and wet. “Fix him!”

“It’s too late! I have nothing to sew him up with—no fabric! I can’t do it!”

“It’s not about the stupid fabric !” Lottie dragged an arm across her face. “I’m tired of pretending, of coddling you! You could have fixed him then, and you can fix him now!”

Guilt punctuated my words when I shrieked, “I can’t!” back at Lottie. Fear rocked me. The worst night of my life was repeating itself, and I was helpless to stop it.

“You have a gift ! Embrace it! Trust your hands! Trust yourself!” Lottie screamed.

“You use whatever you have and you fix him!” Lottie’s eye yellowed.

“Mother will see him again, even if it—” Lottie’s words died as she changed.

Snarling, the one-eyed hound set down the path toward the guards. She needn’t finish the sentence.

Even if it kills me.

Lottie ran headfirst toward danger, and I turned back to my father. Even if she could buy us time, what would that achieve? Despair settled on me like a blanket. What could I do?

You can’t do anything!

You wanted to slay him quickly, so there wasn’t any suffering, and you couldn’t even do that. Look at him—just look!

If it weren’t for the agonized grimace, I wouldn’t have known Father was still alive. He was so near death, he could slip away any moment. A hiccup bubbled in my throat. I’d always been weak. Too soft to do what needed to be done.

Father caught my hand.

Even in his torment, he reassured me. Through all the hardships of the last seven years, his touch was delicate, still soft. Despite that tenderness, I thought the world of him. To me, he was one of the strongest people. Perhaps…I was strong too?

All this time, I’d been trying to prove my strength in killing a foe, to measure myself against Mother, or Lottie.

I’d tried so desperately to fight who I was, who I was raised to be.

Shouts rose as Lottie reached our pursuers; I pushed them aside.

With no small amount of effort, I shushed the thoughts that sought to drown me, to suffocate me with doubt.

An encouraging voice spoke up, one I was so unfamiliar with.

You can do this.

A violent howl, followed by mewling whimpers, carried to us. I didn’t look. I focused and embraced the strength I’d always had. I pulled the cloak away from Father’s wound.

And I did what I did best.