continually asked for. The night had seemed endless; many times Godfrey had screamed out, and she’d been sure he was dying. More than once he had called out for their father, and it had given Gwen a chill. She felt her father’s presence, hovering over them strongly. She did not know whether her father would want his son to live or to die- their relationship had always been so fraught with tension.
Gwen had also slept in the cottage because she did not know where else to go. She felt unsafe returning to the castle, to be under the same roof with her brother, and she felt safe here, in Illepra’s care, with Akorth and Fulton standing guard outside the door. She felt nobody knew where she was, and she wanted it that way. Besides, she had grown fond of Godfrey these last few days, had discovered the brother she had never known, and it pained her to think of his dying.
Gwen scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to Godfrey’s side, her heart pounding, wondering if he was still alive. A part of her sensed that if he woke in the morning, he would make it, and if he did not, it would be over. Illepra roused and hurried over, too. She must have fallen asleep at some point in the night; Gwen could hardly blame her.
The two of them knelt there, by Godfrey’s side, as the small cottage filled with light. Gwen placed a hand on his wrist and shook him, as Illepra reached up and placed a hand on his forehead. She closed her eyes and breathed-and suddenly, Godfrey’s eyes opened wide. Illepra pulled her hand back in surprise.
Gwen was surprised, too. She did not expect to see Godfrey open his eyes. He turned and looked right at her.
“Godfrey?” she asked.
He squinted, closed his eyes, and opened them again; then, to her amazement, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked at them.
“What time is it?” he asked. “Where am I?”
His voice sounded alert, healthy, and Gwen had never felt so relieved. She broke into a huge smile, along with Illepra.
Gwen lunged forward and embraced him, giving him a big hug, then pulled back.
“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.
“Of course I am,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be? Who is this?” he asked, turning towards Illepra.
“The woman who saved your life,” Gwen answered.
“Saved my life?”
Illepra looked down to the floor.
“I only helped a small bit,” she said, humbly.
“What happened to me?” he asked Gwen, frantic. “The last I remember, I was drinking in the tavern and then…”
“You were poisoned,” Illepra said. “A very rare and strong poison. I’ve not encountered it in years. You’re lucky to be alive. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve ever seen survive it. Someone must have been looking down on you.”
At her words, Gwen knew that she was right, and she immediately thought of her father. The sun streaked into the windows, stronger, and she felt her father’s presence with them. He had wanted Godfrey to live.
“It serves you right,” Gwen said with a smile. “You had promised to forsake ale. Now look at what happened.”
He turned and smiled at her, and she saw the life back in his cheeks, and she felt flooded with relief. Godfrey was back.
“You saved my life,” he said to her, earnestly.
He turned to Illepra.
“Both of you did,” he added. “I don’t know how I shall ever repay you.”
As he looked at Illepra Gwen noticed something-it was something in his look, something more than gratitude. She turned and looked at Illepra, and noticed her blushing, looking down to the floor-and Gwen realized that they liked each other.
Illepra quickly turned and crossed the room, turning her back to them, busying herself with a potion.
Godfrey looked back to Gwen.
“Gareth?” he asked, suddenly solemn.
Gwen nodded back, understanding what he was asking.
“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” she said. “Firth is.”
“Firth?” Godfrey’s voice rose in surprise. “Dead? But how?”
“He hung him from the gallows,” she said. “You were supposed to be next.”
“And you?” Godfrey asked.
Gwen shrugged.
“He has plans to marry me off. He sold me to the Nevaruns. Apparently they’re on their way to take me away.”
Godfrey sat up, outraged.
“I shall never allow it!” he exclaimed.
“Neither shall I,” she answered. “I will find a way.”
“But without Firth, we have no evidence,” he said. “We have no way to bring him down. Gareth will be free.”
“We will find a way,” she responded. “We will find-”
Suddenly the cottage filled with light as the door opened and in marched Akorth and Fulton.
“My lady-” Akorth began, then turned at the site of Godfrey.
“You son of a bitch!” Akorth cried out in joy to Godfrey. “I knew it! You cheated just about everything in life-I knew you’d cheat death, too!”
“I knew no mug of ale would take you to your grave!” Fulton added.
Akorth and Fulton ran over, and as Godfrey jumped up from bed, and they all embraced.
Then Akorth turned to Gwen, serious.
“My lady, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we spotted a contingent of soldiers on the horizon. They are rushing for us even now.”
Gwen looked at him with alarm, then ran outside, all of them on her heels, ducking her head, and squinting in the strong sunlight.
The group stood outside, and Gwen looked out at the horizon and watched a small group of Silver riding for the cottage. A half dozen men charged at full speed, and there was no doubt they were racing for them.
Godfrey reached down to draw his sword, but Gwen lay a reassuring hand on his wrist.
“These are not Gareth’s men-they are Kendrick’s. I am sure they come in peace.”
The soldiers reached them and without pausing dismounted from their horses and knelt before Gwendolyn.
“My lady,” the lead soldier said. “We bring you great news. We have pushed back the McClouds! Your brother Kendrick is safe, and he has asked me to send you a message: Thor is well.”
Gwen burst into tears at the news, overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, stepping forward and embracing Godfrey, who embraced her back. She felt as if her life had been restored within her.
“They shall all return today,” the messenger continued, “and there will be a great celebration in King’s Court!”
“Great news indeed!” Gwen exclaimed.
“My lady,” came another, deep voice, and Gwen looked over to see a lord, a renowned warrior, Srog, dressed in the distinctive red of the west, a man she had known since youth. He had been close to her father. He knelt before her, and she felt ashamed.
“Please, sir,” she said, “do not kneel before me.”
He was a famous man, a powerful lord who had thousands of soldiers answering to him, and who ruled his own city, Silesia, the stronghold of the West, an unusual city, built right into a cliff on the edge of the Canyon. It was nearly impenetrable. He was one of the few that her father ever trusted.
“I have ridden here with these men because I hear that great changes are astir in King’s Court,” he said knowingly. “The throne is unsteady. A new ruler-a firm ruler, a true ruler-must be placed in his stead. Word has reached me of your father’s desire that you should reign. Your father was like a brother to me, and his word is my
