She eyed Silfast for another strange, stilted instant, but then nodded, and waved him and Stella back toward her bedroom with a shaky hand. And once they’d gone, closing the door tightly behind them, Gwyn took one last look at Roy’s immobile form, and then strode to her front door, and yanked it open.
There were a dozen-odd men waiting outside, chattering and brushing down their horses. And when they looked up toward Gwyn, their voices fading, it was far too easy to put a trembly hand to her heart, to bring the genuine fear to her eyes.
“I need help,” she told them, her voice hoarse. “There’s been an — an accident. Is there a medic here?Please.”
She braced herself for their questions, their censure, their certain accusations — but the grey-haired man who must have been Roy’s second-in-command immediately jogged toward her, and gestured for the other men to follow. And soon they were all rushing inside her house, taking stock of Roy’s unconscious body on the table, and launching into frantic, furious action. Assessing the wound, pouring painkillers down his throat, extracting the crossbow-bolt, binding him up again.
And throughout it all, Gwyn pointedly ignored her own considerable knowledge of wound care, and instead stood there wringing her hands, and answering the men’s questions with astonishing honesty.Roy was angry with me. He threatened me. He attacked me.
Roy thankfully didn’t once awaken to offer his own side of the tale, and his second-in-command seemed grimly unsurprised by it all, gravely shaking his grey head. “I’ve told that boy his foolish ways will come to haunt him someday,” he said, frowning as his men finally dragged Roy’s limp form out the door, and strapped him to a horse. “And to attempt such wrongs against our lord’s own daughter. I’ll be sure to report this to your father when he arrives here tonight, Lady Gwynevere, and I assure you, he’ll not be pleased to hear it.”
Wait. So Roy really had been telling the truth about her father? Lord Anton was coming? Here?Now?
“My father’s really on his way here?” Gwyn echoed, her voice rising, her heart reeling in her chest. “Tonight?”
“Yes indeed,” the man replied, with a smile that was surely intended to be comforting. “He means to escort you back to Dunburg himself, I believe.”
Oh. Oh, goddess. Back to Dunburg.Tonight.
And whatever relief Gwyn might have found in this — whatever hope she’d still been clinging to — seemed to plummet all at once, clenching hard and cold in her belly. Because yes, her father’s one-month deadline was nearly up, wasn’t it? And she still hadn’t found a way out of that, had she? Had she?
No. No, she hadn’t. Because even if she’d managed to get rid of Roy, her father’s awful new law was still looming, still waiting. Still just as deadly as ever…
“Why don’t I leave you to rest for a spell, Lady Gwynevere,” the man said, patting his hand to her shoulder. “I’ll stay with a few men outside, and wait for your father’s band. Just call if you need anything more.”
Gwyn twitched a nod, and somehow even managed to express her thanks. And then the man was shutting the door behind him, leaving her alone again, while the panic kept ringing louder and louder through her thoughts.
Her father was coming. Her father was going to take her back to Dunburg, to her old life. Away from Orc Mountain. Away from Joarr.
And in Dunburg — Gwyn’s hands fluttered to her still-flat waist — she would still need to testify. To make as public a scene as possible. To fight as loudly and vehemently as possible against that horrible law. Lord Anton’s dotty, unfashionable, plant-obsessed daughter… pregnant. With an orc’s son.
And she would do it. Shewould. She would serve the Bautul. Serve all the women she’d met, all the new friends she’d made. She would serve Joarr. Serve… her son.
An odd gulp choked from her throat, and she felt her head bowing, her hands clutching to fists. She’d been fighting so hard to forget about the truth of her son these past days, to pretend he didn’t truly exist — because if hedidexist, what then? What if she started thinking about a little, bright-eyed Joarr, scampering about a garden, climbing trees with his tiny claws? What if she started thinking about rocking him in their hammock, or chasing him all over Orc Mountain, or teaching him about herbs and mushrooms? What if she started thinking about — about afamily?
But no.No. It didn’t matter. Because their son was just another pawn in this war, and always had been. And Gwyn had always known that returning to Dunburg would seal his fate for good. She couldn’t think about it. Shecouldn’t.
And without even seeing it, knowing it, she’d stumbled toward her candlewood. Her candlewood, that was still here, one of the few plants left. And that was surely because — she stilled, even as her hands were already reaching for its sharp spines — Joarr hadn’t meant to bring it. Hadn’t wanted to add that temptation into her life.
Find other way, he’d kept saying, over and over again.Seek other relief. Stay safe.
Gwyn’s stomach twisted, her face crumpling— and somehow,somehow, she shoved away from the candlewood, back toward the table. Gripping it so hard it hurt, bowing her head, squeezing her eyes shut. Listening, seeking, choked and desperate, for her own heart, her own altar. Where Joarr had first found her, taken her, made her scream under his tongue.You are quick. Sharp. Wise. Now we mate…
And she clung to it, dragged it in with breath after strangled breath. Seeking, waiting, praying. Finding a new way. Seeking one more favour, upon one more altar. Please.Please.
And when the next commotion finally came beyond the door — the familiar hard rap against it, the familiar voice — Gwyn’s eyes were dry, her jaw set. And she lurched toward the door with staggering steps, and yanked it open.
“Father,” she said, with her best attempt at a smile. “You’re here.”
38
Behind the door, Gwyn indeed found Lord Anton of Dunburg, in the flesh. Looking distinctly hot and sweaty and ruffled, his corpulent body hunched in the doorway, his brow heavy and furrowed.
But then — he blinked at Gwyn once, twice — his shoulders sagged, and that was surely warmth, flashing across his bloodshot eyes.Relief.
“Gwynnie!” he exclaimed, as he stepped inside, and dragged her into a tight, sticky hug. “You’re here! And alive, andsafe, thank the gods. And looking so well, too! And” — he yanked back, frowning, as his eyes darted up and down her form — “what’s all this I heard about you up and disappearing? And now, about youshootingRoy?!”
Right. Straight to that, then. And Gwyn drew in breath, lifted her chin, held her father’s watching eyes. “I didn’t disappear in the least, Father,” she said. “I was busyworking, just as I’d planned to do when I moved here. As for Roy, he insulted me, tried to attack me, and threatened to burn down myhouse, and” — she felt her anger genuinely rising, sharpening — “he publicly announced our engagement, and even booked a wedding-date in Dunburg, withoutonceconsulting with me!”
