Page 71 of A Treason of Thorns

Wyn takes a breath and strides forward, but at the tree line, hecomes up short and shakes his head, as if to clear it, or to banish a ringing in his ears. He stands in place for a moment, then takes a few steps back and does the same thing.

“It’s no good,” he says. “I can’t... I can’t make myself go any farther.”

Behind him, Papa throws his head back and laughs, a bitter, unwholesome sound. “What, did you think I haven’t tried leaving before? Because a good Caretaker always puts his House first? I would have left a thousand times over in the last year.” He wipes mortar from his face once more.

Wyn walks back, putting twenty or thirty paces between himself and the forest’s edge. Then he hurtles across the leaf mold, running for all he’s worth.

A thunderclap sounds, directly overhead, and Wyn is thrown back by the power of the House. My father grins, and moves to crouch at his side once more. Wyn blinks, dazed by the fall.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Papa says. He puts a hand on Wyn’s chest, but it’s not to help or reassure, it’s to hold him down. “The only thing keeping us here is each other. If you kill me, you can walk away. If you let the House take you, I can. Which would you rather be, boy? A murderer or a martyr?”

Wyn turns his head aside to avoid my father’s gaze, and although I know it’s only memory, it’s as if our eyes are locked on one another. The despair I see in him is all-consuming, and silent tears track down my face.

Papa’s hand creeps up to Wyn’s throat. His fingers rest gently, curled beneath Wyn’s jaw.

“I’ll make it easy on you,” Papa mutters. “Push you to the point of self-defense or no return.”

There’s a bitingly cold gale rising in the wood—the House isn’t happy about what Papa’s doing, and I’m furious and sick over who he’s become.

My father’s hand tightens.

The earth roars and shakes beneath us. Brambles burst from the ground, tearing Papa away from Wyn, vicious thorns piercing his wrists and ankles. The vines drag Papa back toward the House itself and Wyn follows unsteadily, pleading with Burleigh to stop.

“It’s a Great House,” Papa rages at the boy. “It puts itself first, and you’re just a broken piece of it, now I’ve bound the two of you together. Sooner or later, it’ll take all of you for itself. And I want you to remember until then that you could have chosen your time. You could’ve kept me alive, or at very least given me a more merciful death.”

The two of them are hidden by trees, and the earth stops its shaking as mortar begins to rain from the sky. I’m left alone in Burleigh’s memory of the winter woods, and for a moment, I wish I could stay here forever. Alone. Forgotten. Until the cold leaches into my bones and numbs my aching legs and I fall into a sleep that never ends.

But the forest fades and my room swims back into view. I slip out of bed and into the hallway, where Wyn lies sleeping, shadows like bruises beneath his eyes. Sliding under the blanket, I curl up beside him. He shifts a little without waking, and his arm goes around me. But I don’t sleep again. I lie still and wait for dawn, knowing I won’t truly rest until all this is over and done with.

25

IN THE PALE LIGHT OF EARLY MORNING, I BREAK THEnews that I’ve found the deed’s location to my coconspirators. Esperanza descends upon the House in full state to pack me up for the journey to Cornwall, while Alfred goes off to see about post-horses and stopping places and the like. Frey grants me a leave of absence. Mira kneads bread fiercely, looking wan and disapproving. Jed’s taken a rare morning at home, and he sits whittling in silence, though he’s wistful where Mira is fierce.

Wyn’s nowhere to be found. I’ve given up trying to understand him, but I can’t blame him for disappearing—our last parting weighs heavy on me. It tore me in two, that last goodbye when we were children, and found ourselves separated for such a long time. I try to assure myself that I’ll be back soon, and we’ll be together again. It wears on me, though, thinking of leaving him behind. I worry that he lied and that while I’m gone, he may find the strength to give himself to Burleigh entirely. That he may be doing it right now. I want him by my side, to watch over as carefully as he’s watched over me. I steal time away from the others to lookfor him, but he’s nowhere in the House, and his shepherd’s hut is empty, the woods around it malicious and brooding, though there are gaps in the wall of thorns now.

During a moment of solitude, when I’m left in my bedroom with a half-packed bag, I glare at the walls around me.

“So help me, Burleigh,” I mutter, “if you let Wyn do anything foolish, I will set a match to you myself.”

A cloud of old smoke billows out from the fireplace, and the walls groan sadly.

In a matter of hours, everything’s ready. A dreary rain falls out of doors as if to mirror the way I feel, and again I’m reminded, with a heart-stopping pang, of the last time I left Burleigh behind.

This time, it won’t be for seven years. It’ll barely be seven days. Yet there’s a painful lump in my throat as I hug Jed and Mira tightly on the doorstep.

“Look after yourself in Cornwall,” Jed says, his voice a bass rumble. “We want our girl home safe when all this is over.”

Mira presses a paper bag full of ginger biscuits into my hands. “For the road.”

“I love you both,” I say, kissing her worn cheek. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

The words sound far more cheerful than I feel.

“You’ll take care of Wyn for me, won’t you? Find him once I’m past the gate and don’t let him out of your sight. Tell him I said goodbye, and that I won’t be gone any longer than I have to.” I can’t keep a pleading note from creeping into my voice. They assure me they will, and then there’s nothing for it. I hurry down to the waiting carriage, ducking my head against the rain.

“You’re so pale,” Espie fusses as I climb inside. “It’s a good thing we’re going on a trip to the seaside.”

“It’s not a holiday,” Alfred reminds her, and she rolls her eyes at him.