Beckstead / Shadowed by Death / 52 I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth and hated that I cared, even the tiniest little bit. Finally I looked at her again and forced myself to speak. “Tell me what happened to him.”
She shook her head. “I wish I knew. Somehow he fell off the balcony on the inn’s upper floor.”
I huffed out a disgusted breath. “Don't tell me. He was drunk at the time, right?”
“What do you think?”
We both knew that Papa was seldom sober, so of course he’d been drunk at the time. I nodded and took a step back. “Yes. Somehow I already knew that.”
Yvette stepped closer to me. “Look Avery, you're a nice girl, or at least you used to be, so take some advice. How he got injured doesn't really matter, does it? He's your father. Blood is thick and water is thin, or so they say.”
“He doesn't deserve anything but contempt from me,” I said, but then remembered Mama's words in that dream last winter.
But it was just a dream.
Or was it?
I hated this. I really, really did.
“Maybe that's so,” Yvette said, “but don't you—”
I held up a hand. “Fine. I'll come. Just to look in on him. That's all.”
Her face, lined with worry, relaxed into a small smile. Her face, lined with worry, relaxed into a small smile.Beckstead / Shadowed by Death / 53
“Thank you,” she said, putting a hand on my arm once again. “Thank you, Avery. I knew you were a good daughter.” She continued up the stairs and, left with little choice, I followed.
In the highest and smallest attic of The Bows, we found Papa. It was more of a closet. Who was paying for this place? Certainly not Papa, unless he'd come into some money. When I lived at home and things were normal, his only income had come from thieving. And I was pretty sure he'd given that up since I left. It was more of a two-man job, the work we did.
A small lump filled the bed, unmoving and quiet. I stepped closer to get a look and at last recognized Papa’s face, peaceful in sleep but grayer and more lined than I remembered. A bandage circled his head, and purplish yellow and green bruises lined one side of his face.
“Best anyone can tell, we think he tripped and fell off the second story balcony out back of the inn. Hit his head bad and broke his leg. Joe Beasley found him the next morning, all still and unconscious.”
I noted Papa’s leg now, heavily bandaged and lying on top of the bedclothes.
Darkness filled the corners of the room, and I wished I could cast a fire or light spell so I could see Papa better, but of course magic wasn't an option right now. I leaned closer and peered into his face. “He seems pale.” My eyes flicked to her, peered into his face. “He seems pale.” My eyes flicked to her,Beckstead / Shadowed by Death / 54
and she nodded.
“The doctor says he won’t recover. That we should just make
him comfortable and wait for death. I thought that was why you
came.” She tilted her head and stared at me. “Why are you here,
then?”
My mouth opened while I searched for an explanation. “I—I
just wanted to see some old friends.” I sat down beside my
father and took his hand. “I am, of course, devastated to hear
such news about Papa.” My voice sounded wooden to my ears. After a moment I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes
were on Papa, not me.
A quick scan of the room showed no pitcher. “I wonder if
he's thirsty. Would you get him some water?” I said, because I
needed her to leave so I could think what to do. Wasn’t there
something to be done? I wasn’t sure what, but something. She looked around the room and, discovering no water
pitcher, moved toward the door. “I'll fetch some,” she said, and
whisked away.
I was left looking at Papa. I dropped his hand, but
continued to stare at him. He lay still and pale and deceptively
innocent-looking.
Friar's bones. I never expected to be faced with this. #
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time Yvette returned with the water, I had yet to By the time Yvette returned with the water, I had yet toBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 55
work out any solutions to the situation.
“Here you go,” she said, setting the water down on the
table. “Get some into him, if you can. I’d best be going.” “You’re leaving?” I asked with surprise. I heard the dismay
in my voice, but I couldn’t call it back. What was I supposed to
do with Papa? I wasn’t about to look after him. “I mean…you’re
leaving me alone?”
“Hans’ll have my hide if I don’t get back.”
Hans. I needed to find him next. But at least now I knew he
was at the inn today.
“Besides,” she continued cheerfully, “you know what you’re
doing. Looked after your mother and brother during their
illnesses, as I recall. I’ll check back in on you later.” And
with a wave, she was gone.
Oh, blast it all. I couldn’t stay here all day with Papa. Maybe I’d leave a note. With money. Tell Yvette to see Papa
was comfortable when the end came. And that I supposed she’d
better bury him out on the hill next to Mama, since that was
what she would have wanted.
But thoughts of Mama brought shame. Could I really desert
Papa during such a precarious illness? During what may be his
final hours? Could I let him die alone?
Then again, he’d done the same to Gavin. He deserved it. Time passed, where I couldn’t bring myself to leave, but
also couldn’t bring myself to help my father. The sun moved also couldn’t bring myself to help my father. The sun movedBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 56
across the sky and time bled away. In the late afternoon my eyes rested on Papa’s relaxed features, on the familiar strong nose, the brown hair peppered here and there with gray, the splotchy beard grown in on his chin, the mouth relaxed in the innocence of sleep. All at once I knew I couldn’t abandon him now. I wasn’t like he was.
At least, I hoped I wasn’t.
Perhaps Master Wendyn was right. Maybe I did have the ability to change.
To think that I would have given anything for a master wizard to heal Gavin. And now Papa was dying, and I, a practiced underwizard, sat mere feet away from him with the ability to perform at least a few of the healing spells that might save his life.
I sighed and rose, hands lifted for spellwork.
Healing the bruises or broken bones would be a bad idea, since they were obvious injuries and I didn’t want anyone getting suspicious. Yvette said he hadn’t woken in days, so clearly he had internal injuries. They were likely out of my range of abilities, but I had to do something.
A spell for swelling might do some good. I cast it and then followed it up with a spell to stop bleeding, should he have any of that internally. Then, at a loss for what other spells might help, I sat back. Master Wendyn had often told me that one shouldn’t become solely dependent on healing spells, anyway. It shouldn’t become solely dependent on healing spells, anyway. ItBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 57
was good to make the body heal itself, he said. It often made one stronger. Maybe that would be the case here. I stood. No point in staying now I'd done my good deed. Nor would I cast the gilded tongue spell, since Papa wasn’t awake enough to speak to anyone and spread its message on.
It was only three steps to the door, but before I could turn the handle, a scratchy voice spoke behind me.
“Wha—what happened?”
I jumped, feeling somehow like a thief caught red-handed. I hadn’t expected my spells to work so quickly, if at all, considering how near death he was supposed to be. For a moment I stood facing the door and considered lea
ving. Then, slowly, I turned to face him. “So. You’re awake. Hello, Papa.”
He squinted at me, eyes half open, his expression groggy and confused. After a moment he cleared his throat and ran hands over his face, feeling at the shaggy growth of beard on his chin and cheeks and scrubbing at his eyes. “Impossible. Must be dreaming,” he muttered. “Avery’s gone.”
I lowered myself into the chair I’d been sitting in all morning. “Yes. And now she’s back.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes, then opened them, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“It’s really me. Avery. Your daughter.” His silence persisted, and I began to grow self-conscious. “This is the part where you act delighted to see me.”
His hand grasped the air in my general direction, almost as though he wanted to touch me. I stayed firmly in my chair.
“Delighted?” he finally said, dropping his hand. “That my only daughter has deigned to visit me?” He moved his head side to side, as if trying to clear it, then noticed his bandaged leg and tried to maneuver it around to get a look at it—without much success. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
He shook his head again. “No. But I have an awful taste in my mouth.” He pinned me with an accusing look. “Did you feed me something horrible? One of your nasty homemade teas?”
A dig at the rosemary tea I made for Gavin throughout his illness. I frowned. “You would have been lucky if I had. But no, I only do that for people I like.”
“Now I remember why I didn’t miss you.” He struggled to sit up in bed, and I made no move to help him. He didn’t make it very far before he slumped back in exhaustion. “What are you doing here, anyway? You’re supposed to be in Montaine.”
Yvette had said that too. “Why in the three kingdoms would I be in Montaine?”
He scratched the side of his beard. “You had to be somewhere. It’s what I got used to telling people.”
“Oh. A lie you made up. How unlike you.” Sarcasm had crept into my words. I was turning back into the worst version of myself, pulled out of me by Papa’s personality.
“What are you talking about?” He didn’t seem to understand my meaning. “It’s very like me. All of Waltney thinks you’re a housemaid for a prominent family there.”
I crossed my arms and looked down my nose at him. “What prominent family?”
“The Highbrows. Landed gentry with a flair for business. They have three sons who flirt with you quite outrageously but also appreciate your ability to scrub linens white as snow.”
“The Highbrows?” I repeated. “What a unique name.”
“Nobody here has questioned my story once. The word of Jasper Mullins is sacred in Waltney.”
“They’re probably all laughing behind your back,” I informed him, “at what a fool you are.”
He frowned. “The Highbrows are a very patient and tolerant people. They never would have been able to put up with you so long otherwise.”
I closed my eyes. This was getting us nowhere fast.
“I’m parched,” Papa said, and I opened my eyes to see him lick his lips. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to drink around here?”
Though I tried to come up with a reason not to help him, excuses evaded me. I reached for the pitcher of water and poured him a drink. “Here.” But he was too weak to drink it himself, and I had to help him, supporting the back of his head and tilting the cup to his lips, as I used to do for Mama and Gavin. tilting the cup to his lips, as I used to do for Mama and Gavin.Beckstead / Shadowed by Death / 60
When he’d drunk his fill, I set the cup aside and leaned back in the chair. Papa wiped the back of his hand across his chin. “What, no mead? No grog? No ale?”
I frowned and folded my arms. “I'm not sorry I left, you know.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, a smile tugging at his mouth. It seemed wildly out of place under the circumstances. “You always were so easy to get a rise out of.”
My frown deepened. He was trying to anger me. And I was falling for it.
“Where have you been really?” he asked, opening his eyes and pinning me with a curious look.
“You’re the last person I would ever tell,” I informed him. “All you need to know is that I left to get away from you, and I’m back to make sure I never have to see you again.”
His eyes closed again, as though he didn’t have the strength to keep them open any longer. “You know, for a while I considered digging a third grave out on the hill and telling people you died. But I thought there was a chance you'd show up again. A slim chance. Good thing I didn't, because here you are.” He heaved a heavy sigh and went on speaking, eyes still closed. “I’d dig one now, but I have a feeling you’ll be back again, no matter what you say.”
I gritted my teeth. “It’s more likely that the grave we’ll I gritted my teeth. “It’s more likely that the grave we’llBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 61
be digging out on the hill will be your own, old man. If this injury doesn’t kill you, the drinking will, sooner or later.” Papa rubbed at his eyes and opened them again. “Sometimes I imagined this reunion with you. It had more exclamations of affection than it did quarreling.”
“Then you’re delusional. Anyway, you seem much better. I don’t suppose there’s any point in my staying longer.” I came to my feet.
“Where have you been all this time, really?” Papa blinked slowly, his eyelids clearly getting heavier. “I really did think you might be dead. Or worse.”
“What's worse than dead?”
“You know. Living in one of those big mansions we used to steal things from.” He shuddered. “Indentured to some rich snob. A fate worse than death, stuck in one of those prisons.”
Ryker Hall was definitely larger than any of those mansions. I shook my head. “Why in the three kingdoms would I be living in a place like that? I'm nobody.”
“Yeah,” Papa said. “A poor foolish nobody. You don't think things through. What was it your mother used to call you? Headstrong.”
“I've been working for an apothecary. In Panashire,” I said, picking a town down south, one far enough away that Papa couldn't check on me, but also close enough to make sense. “I take care of his plants.”
He opened his eyes again. “You had no interest in keeping your mother’s garden when she was alive.”
“I wasn’t being paid for it, was I? You obviously don’t know me very well.”
He blinked drowsily. “I suppose that's possible. Although you don't climb in and out of dozens of mansions with a person and not get to know them at least a little bit.”
I shook my head. “Can we please not talk about that?” I took a step toward the door. “In fact, let's not talk about anything else at all. I need to go.”
Papa cleared his throat. “Where are you staying?”
“Nowhere.”
“I'd like to know.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” I left, closing the door behind me with a loud bang.
*****
Blast it all. He’d gotten me so worked up and angry that I’d forgotten about the gilded tongue spell. Out in the street, the sun hung low in the sky, and darkness would be upon the city soon. Quinn and Hans would both be home with their families by now. As it was, I would be lucky if I made it back to the cottage before dark.
I had yet to spell a single person using the gilded tongue spell. To make up for it, I uttered the spell, then turned and shouted to everyone within earshot, “Avery Mullins is a boy!”
The half dozen or so people in the street slowed and stared at me, their expressions blank.
By the time I arrived back at Ryker Hall, full dark had fallen and hunger snarled in my belly. There in Papa's room, I had completely forgotten to eat. My wizard robes still lay over the cask against the wall in the room of doors. I collected them and secured the buttons over my dress before heading up to the main floor.
Today had been a complete an
d utter failure. I hadn’t spelled a single one of my swearers, instead getting pulled into another silly confrontation with my ridiculous father.
Bones. I’d just have to go back again and take care of the situation tomorrow.
I met Ivan in the main hallway. You back! he gestured at me one-handed, carrying something in the other. The greeting came with a gust of air that lifted my hair and rippled the fabric of the robes against my skin. Ivan had recently become preoccupied with learning weather spells. Last week had been rainstorms, the week before snow. Clearly this week was wind.
“Yes. And I'm very tired, so…” I trailed off and turned to the stairs, then caught a whiff of what he carried. Food.
What happen? he gestured. He’d come from the direction of the kitchens, and held a chicken leg and a spice cake in one hand, probably filched from the larder.
“Nothing. I don’t suppose you’d mind sharing?”
He shrugged and offered me the chicken leg. I accepted it gratefully.
“Ah, Mullins. You’re back,” Master Wendyn’s voice said behind me.
I swiveled, teeth already sinking into the chicken. “Erm, yes,” I said around the mouthful. “And hungry.”
“I can see that. Come along, then.” He passed me, heading toward the entrance hall.
“Where are we going?” I called after him.
“To the kitchens,” he said over his shoulder. “We need to talk and you need to eat. Let’s do both at the same time.”
“But—can’t we talk tomorrow?” Talking about what had happened in Waltney—or more accurately, didn’t happen—sounded like as much fun as falling from a second story balcony at The Bows. “I’m exhausted.” I hated the whine I heard in my own voice.
“Then you need to toughen up,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “Come along. We’re talking tonight. I have news.”
“News?” My stomach dropped, and I followed.
The kitchens were dark and quiet, Cat apparently having retired to bed already. The master spelled burning lights and a privacy spell before moving toward the larder. “What went wrong?” he asked, as soon as I was settled at the table with a dish of potato stew, slice of bread, another chicken leg, and three spice cakes. He pulled out a chair opposite me. “Something three spice cakes. He pulled out a chair opposite me. “SomethingBeckstead / Shadowed by Death / 65
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