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I can’t see Chance or my father in the darkness outside my window. But that’s all right, I’ll meet him at the front door. Hurrying out in my nightdress, I grab a lantern from the shelf above the fireplace in the drawing room and head outside.
“Papa?” I call out, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, Chance flips up on his back legs, baring his large teeth, and hollers as if he’s in distress. My heart sinks, and I shine the light behind Chance, running into the night to locate my father. Chance follows me, still shouting at me, and I spin around at him.
“Where’s Papa?” The lantern shakes in my hand. Daddy was constantly warning me about how unsafe it is to leave the house, though he always leaves. I felt as if he was overreacting. But now that Chance is here without him, my mind sings a mournful song of doom. Chance would never return without Papa unless there was something wrong.
I wish Chance and I could communicate in a language that we could both understand so that he could tell me where he is. Tears burn my eyes, and I look back toward the house. I can’t go back in there, not without knowing whether he is dead or alive. Waiting days, weeks, perhaps even months to hear news. My heartbeat pounds my body, pushing me forward, and I grab onto Chance’s reins.
“Steady,” I say, stroking his mane. “I know you’re freaking out. I am too. But you’re going to have to take me to where you left Papa.”
Chance shakes his head, huffing through his nose and mouth.
“What do you mean, no?” I ask, lowering my brows at him and he lowers his head.
Chance backs up.
“What’re you… Don’t you run away. It’s my father, Chance. Your best friend. We can’t leave him out there. Who knows what will…” The violent shaking of my lips interrupts my words, and my breathing grows laboured. I can hardly stand straight when I feel Chance’s big nuzzle bumping against my head. With a puddle in my eyes, I look up into the stallion’s, with an understanding exchanged between us.
He stays still, letting me mount him, and I set out into the darkness with only the lantern and the stars in the sky to light my path. We’re riding for heaven knows how long; the saddle hammers my thighs, and I regret not throwing a mantle on over my nightdress when we stop on top of a snow-filled mountain. Chance won’t go any further when I nudge him, but there’s no sign of Papa anywhere, until I spot a large lump in the snow.
Throwing myself off the horse, I bear the cold wetness seeping through my slippers, soaking my nightdress and shocking my knees as I fall to the ground. My breath swirls around in front of me as I try to catch it. With my bare hands and tears solidifying on my cheeks, I pull at the snow covering the lump. My chest rattles, and my heart constricts as I wait to see my father’s dead body. My fingers, numb and frost nipped as they may be, stumbles across fabric, frozen stiff.
Grabbing for my lantern, I prepare myself. Just the thought of his cold, dead face is traumatizing enough. My brain knocks around in my head as if it’s come loose and fragile, and I take a deep, trembled breath before shining the light over hi… his bag? His bag! Not him. Oh, thank goodness! Not him. Although, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. He could’ve been pulled off into the woods by a wild animal, though there are no obvious blood stains in the snow. I hope that his blood isn’t just buried beneath layers of the white powder and that he’s simply wandered off for shelter. Any helpful footprints have already been covered up, so we can’t use that to track him.
The snow explodes like dust off the bag as I grab it, bringing it to Chance’s nose. He already knows what Papa smells like, but I’m not taking any chances. He might need a refresher.
“Good job, Chance. This is where you left him. Now you must take me to where he is,” I say, hooking the bag on the backside of the saddle and gripping the reins with tingling fingers, before throwing myself over Chance’s back. I’m trying to grip on tightly to the reins with one hand and the lantern with the other, but I can’t feel anything, so I don’t know if my hold is effective. My nerves are on fire, and my skin is ghostly white, a far cry from my usually olive-toned skin.
Chance moves forward, and my lantern slips from my fingers. Shaking my head, I leave it behind. We need to leave here before I freeze to death. Chance’s nose will lead the way. My body won’t stop shaking. My fingers are useless at this point. They won’t be useful until they’re warmed, so I hook my hand into the rope, wrapping it around my wrists as I lose consciousness. Not completely. I can feel my body jerking up and down as Chance gallops. I can feel my brain shaking about in my head. But my mind seems detached from my body, asleep. I think I’ve entered survival mode, and I’m hoping that some good samaritans rescued Papa. That they have an active fire with which I can warm my body and collect him, so we can be off in the morning. But the further and further we ride away, my slight consciousness grows less hopeful.
We’re far from Colderidge. I don’t have any idea where we are. We’ve been riding from midnight, till dawn, and now the glorious sun warms my body. My fingers have regained feeling, but I’m worried that we might be lost when Chance stops outside of a mansion with gates so tall, I wonder how they manage to open it. My eyes are heavy, and they hurt from the brightness of the sun shining into them.
I’m about to knock and call out to someone to ask if by some strange stroke of luck, they’d seen my father, when Chance neighs. As I turn to look at a distressed Chance running back into the woods and away from me, my teeth smash against each other; there’s an echo against my skull and then darkness.
When my eyes open again, I must strain them. Clutching the side of my head and blinking, I reach down to feel a soft blanket around my body. And when I gain clarity of sight, I scream at the man sitting before me in a chair. It’s a red-padded chair with gold legs and framing around the back of it.
The man has a long scar going down the left side of his face, and his green eyes are cold.
“Wh-h-ho are you? And wh-wh-why…” I start, but the words won’t leave my mouth fast enough.
“Who amI? Who areyou? What are you doing here?” he asks, leaning forward.
“I-I-I-…” Bloody hell. I can’t speak.
“Are you a spy?” he asks.
The question pauses me. “A what?”
“You heard me. Are you a spy? What’re you doing hanging round here?” he asks. I only just notice that there’s a pistol on his lap.
My words become even more hurried as my exhausted brain struggles to move my tongue and lips, so I can set him straight. “No… no. I’m not a spy. I’m just looking for my father.”
“Your father?” he asks, wrinkling his forehead and brows before leaning back into his seat.
“Yes. Yes! I promise you. I’m not a spy. Please don’t hurt me,” I sob.
He waves me off. “I believe you. Although, I’m not the one you’ll need to convince,” he mutters.
“Who do I have to convince?” I ask, still shaking.
