It wasn’t until I lay sandwiched between my sisters, warmed by their bodies and the heavy quilts they’d pulled around us, that Gareth began to scream. The sound broke through my stupor and stabbed me between the ribs. I drew in a shuddering breath and squeezed my eyes shut and buried my face in Gemma’s neck. She held me to her, and Farrin scooted closer to my back, singing softly into my hair.
But not even Farrin’s power could drive the sound of Gareth’s screams from my mind. I burrowed between my sisters, counting my breaths—three beats in, six beats out—and hoping that whatever horrible godly thing my mother was doing downstairs would be enough to save him.
Chapter 25
I clung to Gemma and Farrin until everything downstairs fell quiet. The light outside had dimmed, and so had the fire; soft shadows painted the room.
I listened to my sisters breathing in the dark. Both of them were still awake. Other than Farrin singing her song, neither of them had said a word. I was glad; I wouldn’t have been able to respond.
“Why are you all here?” I said at last. My voice was hoarse, as if I’d not used it for days.
“Philippa summoned us,” Farrin replied quietly. “She hasn’t yet told us why. She said she wouldn’t until you arrived.”
“Summoned? How did she summon you?”
“Do you remember when we first found Wardwell? We heard that voice in the forest calling to us through the snow, but we didn’t yet know that the voice was hers, and none of the others could hear it.”
The others. Talan, Ryder.
Gareth.
I swallowed hard. “I remember.”
“It was like that,” Gemma said, “except an image instead of a sound. One moment, I was kissing Talan. The next, I opened my eyesand saw Mother shimmering just beyond him.” Her voice turned wry. “I nearly jumped out of my skin, which made her laugh. For a moment, until he realized what was happening, I think Talan was terrified I’d lost my mind. To him, it was like I was talking to the air. But I could see her as clearly as I see you now.”
I pulled back from her in alarm. “Where were you when this happened? Was anyone else nearby?”
She shook her head. “We’d just returned to Gallinor after two weeks in Vauzanne and were in our room at Ramble House, that inn near Brightbell Vale?”
“And I was in my office at the Citadel,” Farrin added. “Not even Ryder was with me.”
“She said she needed to speak with all of us urgently, and then she was gone.”
I cursed under my breath. “And then she went looking for me at Rosewarren. If anyone besides us could somehow manage to see her, it would be the Warden. We’ll have to hope Mother’s visit was as covert as she claims.” I sat up and pushed gently past Gemma to climb out of bed. “I’ve got to go see Gareth.”
“You need rest,” Farrin protested. “Your feet—”
“Have already begun to heal, thanks to your excellent care.” It was true. Even though they were tender to walk on, I could feel all of my toes.
I gripped the banisters hard with both hands as I hobbled downstairs in my socked feet, but when I reached the kitchen, Gareth wasn’t there. Only my parents sat at the table, talking quietly. A plate of sandwiches sat between them. Once I would have marveled at the sight of them together like this, looking just like any other husband and wife.
But now a fist of panic grabbed my throat. I strode toward them unsteadily, forcing my wobbly legs to move faster. “Where is he?”
Mother looked up at me. “He’s in the back room next to mine, resting and recovering.” She raised an eyebrow. “As you should be.”
“He’ll live?” I clutched the back of an empty chair. The wood creaked in my grip. “He’ll be all right?”
“Indeed he will be. He’s stronger than he looks, that one.”
Before she’d even finished speaking, I was hurrying down the hallway toward the back of the house. It was obvious which bedroom was my mother’s—ivy vines framed the door—and just past it was another smaller room with a bed, a fireplace, a curtained window, a thick rug. And in the bed was Gareth.
He was sleeping, so I sank quietly into the chair at his bedside, drinking in the sight of his mussed blond hair, the slight flush of color in his cheeks, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was in fresh clothes, his face held no pain, and his throat was smooth. Only a faint silver scar marked where Errik had slashed him.
I longed to bury my face in that precious curve of his neck and breathe him in, feel the pulse of his heartbeat against my cheek. But something rooted me to my chair, and I sat there stiffly, my muscles aching with tension, until at last Gareth’s eyelids fluttered open and he looked at me.
Tears sprang to my eyes. There was so much to say to him—how good it was to see the bright green of his eyes instead of that glassy film of death; how sorry I was for how I’d behaved after our night together.
How awful it had felt to hold him in my arms as he bled and wonder if I’d ever again hear him say my name.
