He stopped in his tracks, frozen. He could not believe it. Walking towards him, head down, mumbling to himself, was none other than his brother: Gareth.
Dressed in their father’s finest robes, still wearing his father’s crown and carrying his scepter, Gareth marched towards him, alone, emerging from Dark Wood. What was he doing here?
A moment later Gareth looked up and let out a little cry, just feet away, startled to see anyone there in the wood-let alone his brother.
“Godfrey!” Gareth exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I should ask the same of you,” Godfrey responded darkly.
Gareth scowled and Godfrey could sense their old sibling rivalry rekindled.
“You ask nothing of me,” Gareth hissed. “You are my younger brother. And I am your King now, unless you have forgotten,” he said in his sternest voice.
Godfrey let out a short, derisive laugh, raspy from years of drink and tobacco.
“You are king of nothing,” Godfrey shot back. “You are just a pig. The same person you always were. You can fool the others, but not me. I never deferred to father’s command-do you really think I would defer to yours?”
Gareth reddened, turning a shade of purple, but Godfrey could see that he’d caught him. Gareth knew his own brother, and knew that Godfrey would never bow down to him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Gareth said. “What brings you here?”
Godfrey smiled, seeing how nervous Gareth was, and realizing he had him.
“Well, funny you should ask,” Godfrey answered. “I remembered my walk the other day, bumping into you, and your evil sidekick, Firth. At the time, I thought nothing of it, of what you’d be doing out here, in Dark Wood. I must have assumed the two of you were taking a lover’s walk.”
Godfrey took a deep breath.
“But as I thought back on our father’s murder, I remembered that day. And as I thought of the vial of poison used in the attempt to kill him, it occurred to me that maybe you came all the way out here for something more. Maybe it was not just an innocent stroll. Maybe you came here for something more ominous. Something potent enough to kill our father. Maybe a witch’s brew. Maybe the same poison supposedly found in our brother Kendrick’s chamber,” Godfrey said, proud of himself for piecing it all together, and feeling more sure of it now than ever.
Godfrey watched Gareth’s eyes closely as he pronounced each word, and he could see them shifting, could see how well Gareth tried to hide his reaction; but in those eyes, he could see that he had caught him. Everything he had said was true.
“You are a paranoid, wasteful drunk,” Gareth scolded. “You always have been. You have no purpose for your life, so you imagine fancies for others. I can see that you try to make yourself important with these fanciful plots, try to be the hero of our dead father-but you are not. You are as low as the masses. In fact, you are even lower, because you had the potential to be more. Father hated you, and no one in this kingdom takes you seriously. How dare you try to implicate me in our father’s murder? The rightful assassin is sitting in the dungeon, and the entire kingdom knows it. And babbling words from a drunk will change no one’s mind.”
Godfrey could hear, from the over-eagerness of Gareth’s tone, that he was nervous. That he knew he was caught.
Godfrey smiled back.
“It’s funny what a kingdom can believe from a drunk,” he said, “when one speaks the truth.”
Gareth scowled back.
“If you slander your King,” Gareth threatened, “you better be prepared to prove it. If not, I shall have you executed with Kendrick.”
“And who else shall you imprison?” Godfrey asked. “How many souls can you quash until our kingdom realizes that I am right?”
Gareth reddened, then suddenly brushed past Godfrey, bumping his shoulder roughly, and hurrying off down the trail.
Godfrey turned and watched him go, until he disappeared in the dark forest. He was convinced now. And more determined than ever.
He turned and looked down the trail leading towards a clearing in the distance. He knew that’s where the witch’s cottage was. He was just feet away from finding the proof he needed.
Godfrey turned and hurried down the trail, nearly running, stumbling over roots, going as fast as he could as the sky turned dark, the wind howling.
Finally, he burst through the trees, and entered the clearing. He sprinted into it, prepared to knock down the witch’s door, to confront her, to get the proof he needed.
But as he entered the clearing, he stood there, frozen in his tracks. He didn’t understand. He had been to this clearing before, had seen her cottage. But as he stood there now, the clearing was completely empty. There was no cottage, no building-nothing but grass. It was empty, surrounded by gnarled trees, three red trees. Had it disappeared?
The sky flashed and lightning struck the clearing, and Godfrey stood there and watched, baffled, wondering what dark forces were at play, what evil was sheltering his brother.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gwendolyn stood before her mother’s chamber, her arm raised before the large, oak door, hesitating as she grabbed the iron knocker. She remembered the last time she had seen her mother, how badly it had went, the threats from both sides. She recalled her mother’s forbidding her to see Thor again and her vowing to never see her again. They had both wanted what they wanted, at whatever cost. That was how it had always been between them. Gwen had always been her daddy’s girl, and that had provoked her mother’s wrath and jealousy.
Gwen was sure when she walked out on her that day that she would never see her again. Gwen considered herself a tolerant, forgiving person, but she also had her pride. She was like her father that way. And once someone wounded her pride, she would never talk to them again, under any circumstance.
And yet here she was, holding the cold, iron knocker, preparing to slam it, to ask her mother permission to speak with her and to plead for her help in freeing Kendrick from prison. It shamed her to find herself in this position, having to humble herself to approach her mother, to speak to her again-and no less, doing so in the context of needing her help. It was like conceding to her mother that she had won. Gwen felt torn to bits, and wished that she were anywhere but here. If it weren’t for Kendrick, she would never give her the time of day again.
No matter what her mother said, Gwen would never change her mind when it came to Thor. And she knew her mother would never let that go.
But then again, since the death of her father, her mother had truly been a different person. Something had happened within her. Perhaps it had been a stroke-or perhaps it was something psychological. She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone since that fateful day, had been in a nearly catatonic state, and Gwen didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps her mother would not even be able to speak with her. Perhaps this was all a waste of time.
Gwen knew she should pity her-but despite herself, she was unable to. Her mother’s new condition had been convenient for her-she was finally out of her hair, finally did not need to live in fear of all her vindictiveness. Before this happened, Gwen felt certain that she would begin to feel pressure from all sides to never see Thor again, to find herself married off to some cretin. She wondered if her father’s death had truly changed her. Maybe it had humbled her, too.
Gwen took a deep breath and raised the knocker and slammed it, trying to think only of Kendrick, her brother who she loved so much, wallowing away in the dungeon.
She slammed the iron knocker again and again, and it resounded loudly in the empty corridors. She waited what felt like forever, until finally a servant opened the door and stared back cautiously. It was Hafold, the old nurse who had been her mother’s attendant as long as she could remember. She was older than the Ring itself, and she stared back at Gwen disapprovingly. She was more loyal to her mother than anyone she knew; they were like the same person.
“What do you want?” she asked, curt.
