Page 121 of Into the Heartless Wood
Aled rolls his eyes and unlocks the door, waving us through.
I recognize the utter futility of ever imagining I could break my father out of this place.
Drystan takes me to the cell at the very end of a long, dim corridor. There’s a dead torch in a bracket on the wall—Drystan touches it with his, and it flares to life.
I am hot and cold all over, dizzy with horror and pain and fear.
I hardly recognize my father.
He’s curled up on the floor of the cell, his skin dirty and bruised and scabbed, his clothes scraps of rags that hardly cover him. There are threads of silver in his hair that weren’t there two months ago, and he’s alarmingly thin, his shoulder blades bony knobs in his back.
Drystan unlocks the door and pushes it open. It doesn’t make a noise either, the hinges well oiled. He squeezes my arm. “I can only give you ten minutes. I’m sorry.”
He retreats down the corridor, and I step into the cell, sinking to my knees. “Father?” I whisper.
He lifts his head, and pushes himself up on his hands, offering me a full view of his chest: It’s riddled with holes that leak dark blood onto the floor. “Owen.” The word is raspy-rough, as if he hasn’t spoken in days. Or as if his throat is raw from screaming.
I wrap my arm around him, trying not to shudder at the slick warmth that seeps through my shirt.
He leans against me, little more than skin and bones.
A sob pulls out of me. “Father. Father, I’m so sorry.”
Tears dribble from his eyes. “Forgive me, Owen.”
“I should have been at the house when the soldiers came for you,” I babble. “I should have told you not to send the telegram. I should have—”
“That doesn’t matter,” he says. “You have to listen to me, Owen. There is a way to save her. There is a way to stop all of this.”
“I’ll look after Awela,” I promise, thinking of Bedwyn waiting for me outside the city gates until dawn. “We’ll be safe.”
“Not Awela.” Father tightens his grip on my hands. “The Gwydden.”
Anger sparks hot. “The wood witch doesn’t need saving.”
“You must only give back what he stole,” he says, “and what she sacrificed. Then her curse will be broken, and all will be as it was.”
Fear closes up my throat. “What curse? I don’t know what you mean, Father.”
“It’s what the stars have been telling us, all this time.” Father lifts one hand to touch my face. “What he stole, and what she sacrificed. You must remember. Promise me.”
“I love you, Father.” Tears choke me, but I push through them. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
He smooths his thumb across my cheek. “I love you too, my boy. But you must promise me you’ll remember. What he stole. What she sacrificed.”
I squeeze Father’s free hand as my heart breaks. “I promise.”
He sags against me, his eyes drifting shut. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Owen. To say goodbye.”
“I’m getting you out of here.”
“My body is broken. The king has carved every ounce of my supposed treason out of me. But that doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it does! I’ll get you to a physician—”
“A physician can’t help me. It’s enough that God sent you to me. At the end. I only wish Awela were here, too. And that I could have seen Eira, one last time.”
Grief chokes me. “There’s something else I have to tell you. I saw—I saw Mother, in the wood. She wasn’t dead. All this time she wasn’t dead. The Gwydden bound her to a strange tree in the heart of the forest. The Gwydden took her soul. But Mother was so strong. She used the magic of the tree to look out for us. To protect you and me and Awela. It’s why the wood shut you out when Awela and I went missing. That washer. Protecting you.”
