CHAPTER 25

Father's back was to the assailant, blissfully unaware of the weapon outstretched inches from him. I pushed at his frame with as much force as I could muster, trying to get him out of the way. There was no time to regret the clatter of his knees as they smacked into the floor. I preferred his pain over his death.

Then it was only me and the attacker, who I quickly realised was not here for my father but for me. But this was different to all the attempts before. This time I was prepared to face them.

Their dark eyes, shrouded in shadow, stayed on me, caring little for the older man gasping on the floor to our side. A knife, dark and ominous, jabbed towards me with lightning precision, its tip catching the dull light, revealing the layering of liquid across it. More poison, no doubt.

I threw myself backwards, blindly, back slamming into the corner of unmoving furniture. Pain lanced my side as the wind in my lungs was knocked out of me.

"Robin!" Father shouted, pushing himself to stand. I recognised the faint noise of a struggle on the other side of the door. There was no time to focus on that when a fist gripped a hold of my tunic and lifted me from the ground.

The assailant was on me, arm pulled back and ready to stab. Then we both clattered to the floor as my father's hulking body tackled the attacker off me. We were a mess of limbs and panic as the three of us wrestled for control. Father had a hold of the attacker, arm wrapped around their throat as he pulled them off.

"Get out of here," Father shouted. "Now."

There was no fucking chance I was leaving.

I crawled out of harm's way, watching as the attacker raised a curved hand and sliced the dagger across Father's arm. Blood blossomed, dark ruby. Father called out in agonised anger, arms loosening in response. It was exactly what the attacker needed to get free from the hold.

Father tried to reach out again, but his hands were slick with his own gore. Out of his reach, the assailant was upright once again, racing on soundless feet for me. Cold, frigid tendrils of power escaped from my chest and filled my consciousness. A cloud of silver breath fogged beyond the attacker's face covering. The dark swathe of material that rested perfectly across the bridge of their nose did little to keep my power out. I threw my hands out, willing the magic within to assist me.

The attacker halted before a jagged slicing of ice burst a step before them. Another moment later, and they would've been impaled. My attempt didn't end them as intended, giving me little time to ready myself for my next move.

I was quick, but the attacker was quicker – skilled and clearly trained.

Father was up again, swinging a wooden chair with a mighty roar. That was his grave mistake. It warned the attacker of his attempt to save me. The attacker turned on light feet, dodging the attack. The unbalanced momentum sent father pinwheeling straight into the attacker's embrace. Time stilled. I locked eyes with my father, hearing the light gasp he released as if I stood an inch from his mouth, not a room apart.

The chair clattered to the ground; wood splitting terrifyingly loud.

I could no longer see the attacker's blade because it was buried deep in my father's chest. I screamed in denial as I watched the realisation dawn in my father's eyes. Then the attacker peeled back, drawing the blade with him, a spurt of blood pumping out of the wound it left behind.

Father fell to the ground, clutching at himself. Gasping for breath.

The attacker turned on me, ready to complete their task. But the moment was brief, interrupted by an explosion of pure, white light which blinded me. I saw nothing but the halo of sunlight, even in the darks of my eyes as I scrunched them shut. The light seemed to drown all noise, all reality of what happened in the room beyond my closed eyes. I wanted to see – to help – to rip the attacker from Father's body with my own hands and unleash a swarm of pain that built within me.

But I could do nothing but shy from the brightness.

It could have gone on for an eternity, but as the welcome gloom returned, I threw my eyes open to inspect the scene before me.

Tarron Oakstorm held the attacker by the neck, their feet kicking wildly in the air. His hands seemed to glow from the inside, a star trapped within flesh. But it was the long blade of golden light that buzzed in his spare hand that entrapped my attention. A shard of light. A blade of sun.

The cold air – my cold air – fizzed around it as though it recoiled in agony.

Tarron was saying something, but it was hard to hear over the screaming of the man at his feet. Father. Pain ruled his body, limbs spasming as he thrashed in a puddle of his own blood.

Wasting not another moment, I crashed through the spears of conjured ice, throwing myself towards him.

"I've got you," I said, hands shaking, hesitant to touch him in case it caused him more pain. "I'm here."

Father's eyes were bloodshot and wide, lips paling as they trembled as though he was encased in a blanket of winter. Colour drained from his expression, only making the deep red of his blood stand out more.

"Silly… bastard nipped me," he managed to say, all while he was breathless and imprisoned by pain.

He tried to sit up, but I kept him in place. "Stop moving, Dad. You're going to bleed out. I need to staunch the bleeding."

Should I have cared about what was occurring between the attacker and Tarron? Not once did I believe he would find his way free again to wreak more havoc. With Tarron here, there was a certainty that settled over me; the attacker would not get close enough to us again.

"It is just a scratch, son. I will be fine–" Father's words of dismissal soon stopped as I pressed both hands down upon the wound. I felt the tickling of warm blood but didn't care, not as I tried everything to stop the flow.

"What should I do!?" The question was not for Father, or anyone really. It was more to myself as I went through my memory, trying to find some fragment that would aid in helping Father.

A scream broke the moment. I turned in time to see the blade of golden light thrust through the base of the attacker's skull. Blood and skin sizzled as the shard of light cut through with ease. The scream soon stopped, swapped for the gargling of blood as death welcomed the attacker.

Tarron discarded the body with a careless gesture of his arm. For someone of his size and build, he had kept the attacker from the floor with ease, helped by his clear yet hidden strength.

The shard of light recoiled, melting into the skin of his closed fist. One moment his face was lit by the conjured golden glow, the next only the shadows of the room graced the angles of his enraged expression.

"Take his shirt off," Tarron commanded, snapping his furious gaze towards me.

"I can't – he'll bleed out."

Tarron's intense stare burned holes through me. "I can heal him, but for that, I need to see the wound. Now take his shirt off."

There was no room to argue. To refuse. Reluctantly, I lifted my hands from the wound, watching as the force of blood pumped freely without my pressure. The weight of Erix's dagger made itself known at my waist. I pulled it free quickly, slicing the material of Father's bloodied shirt from the bottom to the collar until his skin was exposed, or what little I could see beyond the coating of dark blood.

Tarron leaned over Father, hands splayed inches above the leaking slice. I rocked backwards, wrapping my arms around my legs as I watched, helpless to do anything but hope that Tarron's confidence was not wasted.

A splintering of light glowed from the pale tips of his fingers. Much like the blade he had held, it was golden and bright, but not sharp and cold, it was warm, like melted butter, or a glow of firelight.

Concentration silenced Tarron. He leaned his head backwards, eyes closed as he urged his strange power to slay across my father's body. It encased him in the glow shared between both men.

Tarron was healing him.

The blood didn't retreat, not that I expected it to. I had no clue of what to expect as the scene played out before me. Only the calming of Father's breathing suggested that he was brought some form of comfort. Even the lines across his tense face had smoothed.

Time dragged until it was unbearable. Watching and not helping made discomfort itch at my very soul. But soon enough, Tarron pulled back, breathless, his glow retreating to darkness.

"He will be fine," Tarron announced, relief flooded me. "The wound has healed. Without further inspection, I can't sense the internal damage, but I trust that I have stilled the bleeding both inside and out."

I couldn't ignore how exhausted Tarron sounded as he spoke, how his words slurred and seemed heavy.

"Thank you," I said, blinking. Unable to truly believe what I had just witnessed. I had a hand on Father, and the other reached out for Tarron as though to prop him up.

Father seemed to be sleeping peacefully, his breathing shallow and slow but regular.

Tarron winced as he opened his eyes, his skin paled to a dull grey. "The guard at the door was in on the attack. As soon as I heard the struggle, he lunged for me. He fought hard but failed. I am sorry I did not get in sooner."

My eyes drifted to the door, noticing two booted feet lying on the ground beyond. Then my gaze drifted to the body of the attacker. Even from a distance, I could smell the tang of burned flesh.

"We should get someone." My voice shook, hands reaching for Father's bloodied torso. "What if someone else attempts it? Lady Kelsey has been locked away. How did this happen?"

Maybe it was never her at all.

"I can assure you nothing will happen again. My judgement lapsed for a moment, but that moment has passed. I dare someone else to enter this room unwelcomed."

"I don't," I replied. "It is only a matter of time until they succeed."

I couldn't help but feel… defeated.

Every time an attempt on my life was made, another was taken as payment. This time, thanks to Tarron, he might've just spared my father from death.

"Then we must find out who they are." Tarron rocked forward, leaning over his knees as he caught his breath. "You should not live in fear of being attacked at every turn."

"Queen Lyra will–"

"Is taking too long of a time in locating those behind the attempts on your life. In my court, this would have been resolved before the second attempt was even made. I am not satisfied your hosts are acting in your best interest."

My mouth dried. There was a part of me that wanted to disagree, to stand up for the Cedarfall family and all they had done for me. But then I sat back, rocking on my heels as I pondered that very thing.

What had they done for me?

"I should clear the blood from him." I was thankful for Tarron changing the subject, as though my prolonged response begged for a reprieve. "It is close to impossible to fully heal a wound that I cannot see. I would feel far better knowing not a scratch has been missed."

I reached for the bedsheet that was half fitted, and half dragged across the ground. Wasting no time, I bunched the material up in my hands and gently ran it over Father's slow-rising chest. If Tarron had missed any wound with his healing abilities, I didn't want to cause him discomfort.

It took a few sweeps to catch the deep ruby gore until skin could be seen.

It was strange seeing Father so vulnerable. He winced with almost every inhale, brows pinched and lips pale, and there was nothing I could do to help give him ease. Only Tarron beheld such power.

"He will be okay, won't he?" I asked, eyes almost filling with tears. I blinked them away, not wanting to show this side of me to Tarron, a vulnerability that would make me look weak.

"I would like to hope so," Tarron replied. "It has been many years since my powers have failed me. Although he is the first human I have had to aid."

There was a strange, tugging discomfort as he spoke it aloud, as though it pained him to admit what he had done.

"You hate them," I added. "And yet you healed him without thought."

"I did what I felt was right in the moment."

I paused, pulling the now bloodied sheet from Father as I studied Tarron. "Am I supposed to ignore the clear underlying message in your words?"

"Take from it what you will, Robin. My presence is not to be a teacher for you, someone to make you see what I wish you to see. I simply desire for you to learn how to see the world and make your decision based on your own knowledge of it. I do not wish to see the humans – people like your father – killed. But I believe a time has come for our kind to stop playing by the rules. The years the humans have come into our lands, taken our people for their own twisted and unimaginable needs, not once have we done the same." He sighed, looking back to my father beneath us. "Perhaps now is not the time to discuss matters."

I followed his stare. "Perhaps not."

My eyes caught on a dark marking on Father's side. Smears of blood still covered it, but the symbol inked on his skin was obvious. I reached for it, feeling his warmth beneath my thumb as I cleared away the blood.

"What is the matter?" Tarron asked, concern rumbling in his voice.

I couldn't answer. There were no words to say what tore my heart into ribbons of flesh. With great force, I backed away. Tarron pushed himself up, watching my reaction with furrowed brows.

"Robin, if I have missed a wound, I will–"

"Hunter." It was all I could say. My hand slapped to my mouth a moment too late to stop me from admitting it. Deep down, I knew what this would mean, but the horror before me couldn't be ignored.

Across the side of Father's ribs, inches away from being hidden and covered by his resting arm, was a marking. A permeant staining of ink that I'd seen branded on the neck of the Hunter who killed Orion.

Not on Father. But it was not the fact that he had the marking but what it was that cleaved my world in two.

The outline of a palm, fingers pointing north with a thumb pressed tightly into its side. The same hand outline that covered the Hunters' cloaks and wagons. A symbol I'd seen up close when the executioner lifted his rusted, blood-covered axe above my head. And that mark was now etched into the darks of my eyes, neatly drawn across my own father's skin.

My eyes snapped back to Tarron. I was ready to stop him, magic poised and coiled like a spring, waiting patiently for my command. Even though the truth of what this meant horrified me, I also understood what this meant to Tarron. To every fey within Wychwood.

"I didn't know." I kept my voice as flat and unwavering as I could muster, all whilst watching Tarron, expecting him to conjure yet another blade of light to end the man on the floor between us.

"He is one of them." Tarron's lip lifted, flashing teeth as he battled to keep a snarl hidden. "A Hunter."

"You're wrong," I said, cowering over his body, ready to do anything to protect it. "If my father has been branded, it could've been against his will."

I grappled for excuses, but the only one who could prove otherwise was dying in my arms.

"Tarron, I will not let you hurt him." I was no match for Tarron's control over his magic, but deep down, I knew the power within me was far greater than his. As it had been explained, magic was diluted by the members of the ruling court. He may be the prince, but he had other family.

Whereas I was one of a kind.

"If they find out, they will kill him. Not put him on trial. Kill him. Right where he lies."

"I know." I bit down on my lip, trying to stop it from shaking.

Tarron looked back down at Father, and I wanted to scream at him to stop, to look at me and never even think of my father again. But I asked the question that coursed through me, the one that made making a plan impossible, a plan to get Father out of here, far before anyone else found out. "What will you do to him?"

My breathing rattled in my head, my heart thumping painfully in my chest. I felt my ribs, like a weakening cage, scream to shatter and release the anxiety within.

Tarron focused in on me, bright eyes glinting with a light that I did not expect to see. "Nothing that you are imagining. Robin, I am not going to hurt him."

"Why?" I snapped. From relief or shock, I was not certain.

"Because… I do not know."

Trust was a hard concept to grasp, especially since I looked upon a boy whose family had been torn apart by Hunters.

"Tell me what it is that you are going to do with this secret, Robin?" Tarron asked in return.

I lowered my hands, feeling the tickling of cold recoiling. What was I going to do? I felt the need to run. Get as far away from Wychwood as possible. But they would find me. This side of the Wychwood border, or the other when the barrier was destroyed by the unclaimed power of the Icethorn Court. The only feeling I had was the burning, overwhelming urge to get my father out of here. Even if he was a monster. Even if he likely deserved all that was waiting for him.

I couldn't let it happen.

"I want to get him as far away from here as possible. It is not safe…"

"Safe for who?" Tarron added. "Him? Or the fey around him which his very presence threatens?"

His expression was calm and warm, even though his question stung.

"Both," I answered.

I waited for him to refuse, to tell me what I already knew about Father having to be handed over for his crimes. Even though I'd never seen, nor could believe, he was linked to the Hunters. The inking on his ribs suggested otherwise. Until I could ask him myself, I would choose not to question it.

And I had to trust Tarron would do the same.

"Then we do just that." I could've dropped to my knees as Tarron spoke, his voice commanding in tone but gentle in nature. "We will help get him away from the Cedarfall Court, but I cannot promise his secret would be safer where I can take him."

"Why? Why would you help me?"

Tarron shook his head, dark locks of hair swaying over his shoulder. All I could do was listen, completely still, as he revealed his plan. "Because I feel as though it is the right decision. For now, time is on our side. No one will know of the attack until we tell them, so we act whilst we can. I shall tell them your father was harmed, but my healing can only do so much. He will need to be sent to my family's court where he can complete the necessary treatment."

"When?" I gasped.

Tarron mused my short question for a moment. "As soon as you convince them that is what you want."

"How do I know I can trust you?" I asked above the crashing of my heart in my chest.

"You are the son of a man who hunts fey. It is I who should be asking that question of you." My lips parted, ready to scream the tower down that I had no idea of Father's ties to the Hunters. It felt like the truth was a lie in disguise for all this time.

Then Tarron spoke, closing the space between us where he reached for my hands. "Trust is earned, so allow me to do just that."

I stared at him, allowing my hands to squeeze onto his as his did to mine. A twisting of a frozen storm built within me. I harnessed the emotion and forced it into my words, making my tone as serious as I could muster. "Then earn it."