“Wearetrying to help you,” he said to the trees more than once, with increasing annoyance. The forest didn’t respond, except to keep subtly shifting. The cat wound underfoot, mewling uneasily.
Wind clawed through the branches around them. Jonas shivered, drawing their coat tighter. Arthur squeezed their hand. He didn’t feel half as hopeless as he had that morning. As long as he had the children, he could believe everything would be all right. They’d work their way north again. The forest had to let them through eventually, as it had let him into the vale, as it had regrown the bridge once it had understood what he was about.
Maurice didn’t like the wind. His ears twitched at everysound, but he didn’t run off. He seemed to have taken a liking to Sasha. The day’s journey had worn her out; she fell asleep on his broad back, her fingers tangled in his mane. Whenever she seemed in danger of slipping off, the gelding twisted around to nudge her back into place with his nose, whickering.
Arthur smiled fondly, but his smile faded as he thought, again, of Ira. He hoped Ira was safe back in the vale, that Calyx was comforting him if it could. He sighed.
Jonas spoke for the first time in hours. “What really happened, Uncle Arthur?”
Their thin face was creased with concern, although admittedly their expression had been such all day. While Sasha was intrigued and delighted by the forest—even its dangers, like the stormwings—Jonas couldn’t wait until they were free of it.
“What do you mean, duck?” Arthur asked.
With a glance at their sleeping sister, Jonas lowered their voice. “You didn’t answer Sasha’s questions about the Lord of the Wood. You always answer her questions. Even the bad ones.”
“There are no bad questions,” Arthur said automatically, because his father had always said the same.
“Maybe not,” Jonas said solemnly, “but Sasha has them sometimes.”
Arthur chuckled.
“What happened?” Jonas repeated. “Didn’t you really meet the Lord of the Wood?”
Arthur gazed straight ahead, considering how much to say. Before, he’d spun the children a tale of a fairy prince like the one he’d always dreamed of. He’d told them about the greenery sprouting at Ira’s feet without mentioning it dying a moment later; a sentient plant creature without mentioning it had tried to kill him; a magical pool that healed wounds without mentioning he’d seen his father’s spirit or that his hand and neck still throbbed periodically.
He’d told them stories, in short, like those Charlotte had worried about him telling: ones that glossed over unpleasant realities in favor of a dream and a wish.
“I met him. He wasn’t what I expected.”
“What was he like?”
“He was dreadfully grim, at first. He was... a person, not the figure Granddad always made him out to be. And he didn’t wear flowers and leaves like in the story, but I don’t suppose they’d be very warm at this time of year.” Arthur gave a small smile without meaning to. “He was kind to me, mostly. He didn’t think I was odd. He...”
He thought of Ira drawing him, over and over. Ira so earnestly telling Arthur he wasn’t useless like he—like everyone—thought. Ira worrying that nothing he did would make a difference, the same way Arthur worried.
Ira touching Arthur’s face. His claws tangled in Arthur’s hair. His lips on Arthur’s.
Arthur flushed, deciding not to share any of that. “He knew Granddad better than I thought.”
Jonas’s brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”
“They were good friends.” Arthur ran a hand over his face. “Granddad never told us that.”
Jonas’s lips twisted. They picked at their lower lip thoughtfully. Arthur bent to grab a leaf and handed that to them to shred instead.
“You and Mama don’t always tell us the whole truth about things.”
Arthur looked at them in surprise, then chuckled ruefully. “I suppose that’s true. We do try, you know. Lottie doesn’t like to hide things from you if she doesn’t have to, and neither do I.”
Jonas considered this. “Maybe Granddad thought he had to.”
Arthur cracked a smile he wasn’t feeling. “Why’s that, do you think?”
“You’re too much like Sasha,” Jonas said, to his utter shock. No one, least of all himself, would ever have said he was anything like Sasha. “Probably Granddad thought you’d walk into the wood for fun if you knew more about it.”
“I might have. If I’d known... Well, I might have. He did promise to take me one day, but I was never old enough before he vanished.” Arthur glanced at Jonas. “You really think I’m like Sasha?”
Jonas gave one of their small rare smiles. “Less annoying, though.”
