Page 52 of The Poisoned King (Impossible Creatures #2)

Argus

Argus Argen was in the cells, in the heart of the castle. He waited, pacing like a caged animal, back and forth. The sun had risen, but it made no difference. His child, they told him, was dead. The night had entered his soul, and it would never leave.

At the hour, they would come to hang him.

The clock showed fifty-six minutes past. At last, he ceased to pace. He waited now, Argus Argen, for the dark to swallow him.

It was fifty-seven minutes past the hour.

No counterorder came. The door opened: he stiffened.

It was the two guards, who had come to take him.

One old man, one young; strong, and polite.

Carefully, officially, they closed the door behind them and began to read his sentence. They finished and took his arms.

It was fifty-nine minutes past.

Down the corridor, there came the sound of running feet. Not guards’ feet; lighter, and faster. They were the fastest and lightest feet that had ever run down that corridor.

The door burst open with the force of an exploding bomb, and a child launched herself through the air and into her father’s arms.

Argus cried out, a cry that rang through the castle and shook the very stone. “Anya!”

Anya clung to her father, arms round his neck, legs round his middle, holding so tight he could not breathe.

What need had he to breathe? Oxygen was for other people. He had his living child in his arms.

The young guard began to sob with relief. Nobody noticed.

Anya held her father, clutching him, tighter and tighter. He kissed her cheek, over and over, and the familiar smell of him swept across her. The burning in her throat had gone.

“Father!” said Anya. Her whole body was nothing but a beating heart calling joy joy joy.

“My sweetest girl,” he said.

Anya Argen smiled and did not correct him.