CHAPTER 11

Father waited for me in my room, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head buried in his hands. He looked up as the door clicked shut behind me. Dark rings hung beneath his eyes, which seemed dull and empty. His posture was hunched as though he carried the world on his shoulders.

"Robin," he murmured, deep voice hoarse. "I thought I'd lost you."

As he studied me from his perch, I could see some of his worry bleed away from his face. His forehead softened, and his russet eyes widened. He stood, the bed creaking in thanks for the lack of his weight, and crossed the space towards where I stood completely still.

"Are you alright?"

I hated feeling like this, but it was like looking at a stranger. Someone who kept answers from me, purposefully leaving me in the dark.

No wonder the dark was my fear.

"I suppose. Are you?" I asked back, allowing him to take me in his arms. In rare moments like this, when he held me close, I felt like a child again, protected by him entirely, as though nothing in the world could ever harm me; gryvern, Hunter or fey.

"Worried sick," he replied, pressing a breathy kiss to my forehead. Pulling away, he held me at arm's reach and searched me entirely. "When I got home and found you missing, I never imagined for a moment it was the fey who had you."

"They didn't take me," I added quickly. "Not in the way you may think."

"I know that, son. But I'm still uncomfortable knowing we must have a conversation on this side of the Wychwood border." He turned his back on me, not before I noticed the wetness in his aged eyes.

"Is Winston…" I asked, sickness twisting like waves of a rough sea within me.

"He's fine. It was Winston who got me out of work earlier. When he turned up at the tavern barking, I knew something was wrong. By the time we got home, it was too late."

Relief washed over me, and a weight I didn't realise I still held onto lifted from my shoulders. Winston, our golden-furred hound, was unharmed. I longed for his familiar, comforting lick to cover my face just so I could hold him.

"I tried to fight them." I felt the need to shed light that I had attempted to get away. "I was so close to getting away. If the Hunter was not waiting for me out of the front door, I would have made it to the tavern."

A strong hand gripped my shoulder and squeezed. "Don't explain yourself to me, my boy. I'm just thankful you are still – that you're okay."

He was going to say alive. I knew it.

I blinked away tears, swallowing a lump in my throat as hot, striking anger lit through me. "I know who it was that sold me off."

"I know who it was too." Father's lips were pulled tight in a line. I caught the tension in his expression before he turned his back on me as he carried on. "Silly pricks didn't know what to do with the payment but return to the pub and whisper what they'd done to the other patrons. I got wind of it." When he turned back around to face me, his hands were balled into fists at his sides. That was when I noticed his bruised and bloodied knuckles, and swollen skin that told the truth of a brawl he'd not yet revealed. "They'll need far more coin than what they got for you, to pay for any healer skilled enough with a needle and thread. Even then, I don't believe that there is enough coin in all of Durmain to replace bone in a nose. James can wear the damage I gifted him like a badge of dishonour for the rest of his life. He should be thankful I left him with a life at all."

His words told enough of what he'd done to James and his accomplice, and his bloodied fist only proved as much.

I spluttered a laugh through a nervous smile. "They deserved it. God willing, I'd like the chance to seek my own revenge."

"They deserved far more than what I did. But revenge isn't always the revealing thing you think it would be. I knew beating them into a pulp wouldn't bring you back. I panicked, believed you were lost because no one returns from the Hunters. I was preparing to find them myself when the fey arrived at our home and told me what'd occurred. I'd never felt more ready to enter a place I've fought hard for years to keep from my mind."

This was it. I could feel the walls Father had built around himself crumble as he looked at me.

"Did you know?" I asked. "That my mother was dead?"

He bowed his head, chin to his chest, and even his entire posture seemed to hunch forward. "I had my suspicions."

"Then why didn't you tell me about her? About the Icethorn Court and what it means for me?" I spoke quickly, getting my words out as though time was running out and Father would throw those damn walls back up around him.

"I was trying to protect you."

Resentment burned within me, only joined by the guilt of harbouring the emotion. "From what?"

"Responsibility." He looked at me, really looked at me, as though he searched for something deep within my soul. "And equal parts selfishness on my part. When she left us, I thought my world had come to an end. You were so young. And I was so pathetic. But then I watched you grow and change into a version of your mother. You've always been a vision of her, with your dark hair and eyes, that it sometimes caught me off guard. I didn't want to lose you, just as I'd lost her."

My heart felt as though it was made from glass, and Father's words were like stones that crashed into it. I wanted to comfort him, but I feared that I was only capable of sobbing if I gave myself the chance to open my mouth.

"This was never how I wished for this to happen," Father said. " But , in some strange sense, I'm relieved that you are now aware. I longed to talk to you about her and share stories of our time before you came along. But I knew the memories would be too painful to go through. After thinking I'd lost you, I knew that the pain I expected would be nothing compared to what I felt when I came back to our home and found you missing. Please, don't hate me for it."

I reached for my father, holding him up by his elbows as if the weight of his words was far too great to bear alone. "I… understand what you had to do. It's hard, but I understand. I could never hate you, Father, not ever."

He didn't seem to believe me, from the way he winced. But that emotion faded, and Father forced a smile whilst a single tear raced down his aged face. "They told me what you did. How you used your mother's magic against the Hunters."

Mother's magic. My chest warmed, and that box filled with untapped energy didn't seem so frightening. Having something else that belonged to Mother first, like the bracelet, felt like a gift more than a curse.

There was comfort in the knowledge.

"They were as shocked as I was," I admitted, conjuring the image of the executioner and the frozen stumps of legs.

"I often wondered if you'd share in her gifts, or if your human side would become more dominant. Then again, she explained that magic is in blood, and hers was far more potent than mine would ever be."

I hugged Father again, clasping my hands together behind his back. "I feel as though I should apologise for being such a painful reminder all these years."

"Never apologise for being you, my son. No matter how others make you feel. That was a lesson your mother taught me, and I feel as though you should take heed of it."

"Thank you for being honest with me, finally anyway," I murmured, pulling away from him as a fresh warmth spread from my chest and across my entire being. "Although I've so many things I want to ask you. I hope you will be willing to tell me."

He smiled, looking at me as though I was his most prized possession. "And we can discuss everything it is that you wish to know. But perhaps later? It has been a long… couple of days, and I feel as though I will be able to sleep soundly knowing you are in safe hands. And you have duties now, ones you can't hide from. Let me rest whilst you go and learn to be you. I've been informed that the evening festivities are important and shouldn't be missed by their guest of honour."

"Come with me," I said, unaware of how much time had passed since Erix had left me at the door. "Did your invitation not extend to cover tonight's events?"

Father shook his head. "Even if it had, I wouldn't go. The interactions between fey do not involve humans, and I care little to see you being paraded around. I loved your mother more than words can explain. But even she had stories to tell of her kind, and I care little to involve myself with them now. What I care about, Robin, is you . I'm here for you ."

I wanted to correct him by reminding him that I, too, was fey, but it was not the time to spoil the atmosphere.

A knock sounded at the door to the room, and it was Althea who popped her head around as it opened.

At least they were knocking now.

"I do hope I am interrupting," Althea said.

It took me a moment to understand what she said.

"You are," I confirmed dryly.

"Good," Althea said through a grin. "Because I, unfortunately, must whisk Robin away to prepare for the evening. There is much to do and even more to prepare for. We are quickly running out of time. Robin, if you would follow me."

There was no room to do anything but agree.

"I will see you soon after," Father said, patting me twice on the back. "Tomorrow. Bright and early."

I beamed at him, feeling more confident to deal with the evening's events knowing he was nearby if I required. "What do you say to sharing stories over breakfast? There is one, in particular, I have always longed to know."

How they met. Countless versions of that story had played out in my head, and now, with Father's willingness to be open, I'd finally discover how it came to be.

"Tomorrow," Father promised with a nod of agreement. "Now, don't keep them waiting. Have I not brought you up understanding the importance of haste?" He knocked a fist playfully into my shoulder.

"Listen to the human," Althea called, souring the mood. "It is high time we get you ready for the feast. There are many expecting to see you, Robin Icethorn. Judgement time awaits."

That name, my name, repeated over and over as I was scrubbed, measured and dressed by the army of staff who had flooded my rooms. Even though there wasn't any ignoring the way they seemed to flinch as they touched me.

Their discomfort and fear didn't bother me much as it should have.

I paid them no mind because I finally had something I had longed for.

A name. One that linked me to my mother, whoever she would have been.

I felt a little lighter after my conversation with Father, so much that I believed if I jumped high enough, I would've floated back down to the ground slowly.

For a while, I was poked and pulled in some other grand room, only adding to the many I'd seen. Like the first apartment quarters I'd been taken to before the gryvern and my uncontrolled magic ruined it, this was made from many interconnecting chambers; like pockets in honeycomb, it was expansive and never-ending.

I'd been bathed in warmed water soaked with so much lavender that even after I'd climbed out of the tub, my skin still sang with the remnants of the scent. Then members of the serving staff had cut my hair, mainly trimming the sides and back as Althea described that a fey never hid their ears behind anything. Especially not hair. Still, the length of slight waves fell across my forehead, yet I couldn't help but notice the chill where the rest of my hair had been cut short. I felt the wisps fall around me as the snip of sharp shears nipped close to my ears, but the noise was drowned out as my name continued its loop in my mind.

Robin Icethorn. Robin Icethorn.

Once the friendly-faced woman finished, she gave way to another wave of servants to take over. It was a game of give and take, one group completing a task, whether it be bathing, or cutting my hair, then giving way for others to do what was required of them.

This time the floor was given to three men, each reedy and slim. It was hard to sit and do nothing as they stepped into the ample-spaced room, hauling in a closed trunk between them. They struggled to carry it between themselves but waved me off with scoffs and huffs when I offered to help. The tallest, who had similar dark hair to my own and bright emerald eyes, ordered me to stay on my chair. He tutted, clapping as the other two dropped the trunk before me, as though he was the one who had lugged it all by himself.

"Tiresome work," he announced, voice light and full of song. "But the real work is only about to begin. Let me see you… ah, thinner than I thought. I may need to tailor some material, but it is workable. It's not like I was given measurements nor time to prepare. I can only do the best with what I am given, which isn't a lot."

I forced a grin towards him, sensing how very familiar his persona was. He was older than me, evident from the peppering of silver strands that shimmered among his obsidian hair. He was also the first to speak to me directly, enough to snatch me from the continuous loop of my name that I repeated internally.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to keep in the sarcastic tone that longed to lace my words. "It's not like I was given much time to prepare for all of this either."

"Never mind that!" He waved it off, closing his eyes and scrunching his face. "This is a miracle. Never did I think to see the day when the Icethorn bloodline returned, let alone have one of them offer me an apology. If only my mam and dad would see me now. Oh, how it may have made them proud." He put a hand on his narrow hip and leaned on one leg. "Suppose they would never have believed me if I told them."

He looked at me, really looked at me, as though I was a lump of clay and he was the sculptor, searching for the statue that he'd soon carve out. Then his sharp gaze softened, and a cloud of sadness passed behind his stare. I was getting tired of seeing that emotion in everyone.

He clutched at his chest, legs giving way dramatically as he plonked himself on the lid of the trunk at his feet.

"Are you alright?" I asked as he began to sob. He flung a hand to his head, holding it there as he cried a tearless cry.

"Altar, I am more than alright. Weak in the knees, but fine."

"Eroan thinks the world is his stage," one of the other men said, his voice equally soft around the edges but full of annoyance. "One for the dramatics, he is."

"Hush now," the crying man – Eroan – snapped, eyes wide with shock as though he had been slapped across the face. "I pay you to pick materials, not question my emotions."

"You do not pay me."

Eroan forced a laugh, eyes flicking between me and his helpers. There was nothing malicious about Eroan, that was clear. But there was everything dramatic and explosive, which made me like him.

"We do not have the time to waste. Chop, chop." Eroan leaned forward as though his emotions had been disconnected in a heartbeat. "The last time I dressed someone from Icethorn was so many years ago… and before you say it, I know I have aged well. When Lady Kelsey sent word that a garment was required for the heir of the lost court, I swear my heart nearly imploded that moment. I almost refused, believing the letter to be a cruel joke. But now, looking upon you, there is no denying that you are Julianne's son. Her very bloodline."

Julianne, a name I'd heard Father murmur a number of times. I'd guessed it was my mother's, but hearing it from Eroan only added to the confirmation of it as truth.

"Julianne," I said it aloud, feeling how it rolled off my tongue so naturally. "You saw her?"

"Darling, I dressed her. Clothed her in the luxury gowns and costumes that impressed most and blossomed jealously for others. She was my finest model, my most daring and honest muse." He reached for me, clasping my hands in his and holding them tight. "And it is an honour to do so again, for you."

Gone was his flamboyant flair as he spoke his final words. They were honest and real.

He reached out a thumb and cleared a tear from my cheek before I'd even realised it was there. Whispering, he said, "Do not ruin my hard work with tears, dear boy."

I spluttered a laugh and a cry, smiling as Eroan pulled back and stood abruptly from the chest.

"If Princess Cedarfall sees you with red cheeks, she would have my fingers chopped off."

I wiped the tears with the back of my hand. "I wouldn't let her."

"I believe that. Now, shall we unveil what I have crafted just for you?"

"We," the third man added, rolling his eyes, which only made me laugh more.

"What we made for you, yes, thank you, Davern."

I nodded, clearing my throat, and reining my emotions in. It was unspoken, but Eroan must have been from the Icethorn Court. I wanted to ask him why he'd left, but swallowed my curiosity. Because somehow, I knew the answer would lead to Mother's death, and that was a topic so raw that I was willing to leave the reasoning in the dark.

For now, anyway.

"I'd love to see what you have made," I announced, straightening my back as my focus shifted to the trunk.

"It is rushed and sincerely not my best work. But I believe it will make a statement, and that is the most important rule which you should follow. Davern and Jaymie will be here to nip and cut, stitch and tighten the garments, so by the time they call for you, you shall be ready."

I nodded, warmth spreading across my chest as I looked upon three grinning faces. "I trust you. If my… my mother did, I do too."

Eroan clapped again, springing to action by unlatching the trunk and throwing the lid open with a bang. "Sweet Julianne had a saying whenever we prepared for events, no matter how large or small they seemed."

"What was that?" I asked, overwhelmed with this insight into the stranger who still kept my heart.

"Doors of possibility open when one commands attention, but it is the confidence you wear that demands for those very doors to close again."