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“It’s not that, exactly,” she said in a rush. “You know his anger—how he hates the Academy and the nobility.” Her fearful eyes searched mine. “You know what he’d do to anyone who hurts his daughter, don’t you?”
“I . . .” My breathing became erratic and I couldn’t get it back in order. “He may be a liar, but he’s not reckless.”
Her silence told me she didn’t agree.
“Elin,” I said, “he likes himself far too much. He wouldn’t do anything like that.”
The cold waves rolled over my feet, one after the other, as she stayed quiet.
“Elin!”
“I hope not.” She gave me a weak smile. “I really hope not.”
Chapter
Four
When the sunshone between the wooden planks of the cottage wall the next morning, I wasn’t glad to see it. Elin and Oliver had already left the tiny home, so I was alone. I didn’t know how to face this day, and Elin’s warning had wormed its way into my head, and even into the muscles of my body. As I climbed from my grass mattress, I stretched to relieve the ache.
I’d been so desperate to get here, so consumed by worry for Graham, that I now had to admit I hadn’t considered all that could go wrong in Cambria. I never truly asked myself how my father would feel or how he’d react. I’d been too angry to care.
I would have to make it back before anything could happen.
I just had to change Graham’s mind first.
I pulled on my dusty pants and left the cottage. After shoving down a hasty breakfast of mussels and bitter foraged greens, I steeled myself. From the far side of the village came the echoing blows of axes and hammers. I headed toward it. In my short time back, I’d learned that Graham had the habit of stepping in wherever help was needed.
I walked until I arrived at the edge of the village where a wooden cottage was being constructed in a clearing beside the forest.
Sure enough, Graham was there. He worked with an axe, chopping wood into strips.
I paused at the sight of him.
He swung the axe in a wide arc, splitting a branch down the middle. After several blows, he set the axe down, wiped his brow, and pulled his shirt over his head. Hardly pausing to breathe, he picked the tool back up and took another heavy swing.
Now that I saw him in broad daylight, it was even more apparent how much he’d changed. The skin of his back and arms was browned and his figure had broadened. He was no longer the weak scholar I’d met in the library.
I stepped forward. At least I had no delusions this time. Whatever he said couldn’t hurt me, not if I was prepared, armored against his words.
“Graham,” I stated his name firmly, “I need to talk to you.”
His breath caught and he glanced at me with narrowed eyes before raising his axe again and slicing it into the upright log on the ground in front of him.
Don’t let him hurt you, I told myself. “After you left, your mother was blamed for your . . . disappearance.”
His axe missed its mark and he turned to face me. “How convenient for you. That was part of your plan, I presume?”
I was sure my face revealed my guilt, so I didn’t try to hide it. “Yes, but?—”
“But what?” His eyes darkened. “I expect you must’ve defended her and come clean, correct?”
I covered my face with my hands.
“No?” He dropped the axe and stepped closer. “Has she stood trial?”
My gaze landed on the bluish discoloration on his stomach and chest—the bruises from Cael’s attack that hadn’t yet healed. “I left too soon to know. I had to come back for you. I couldn’t just step in and implicate myself.”
“Obviously.” His mouth tightened in a line. “Mara Stroud, I’m seeing a pattern.”
