Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
Keldarion
W e rush down the stairs, Rosie at the forefront. Her every movement is frantic, nearly tripping over the briars that lace the stairway, pricking herself on a thorn as she pulls open the door. But as we run out to the mezzanine above the entrance hall, she slows. Tears shimmer in her eyes as she covers her mouth. “Papa!”
George stands in the hall below, looking around with his usual expression of wonder. It’s the same countenance he wore the first night I ever set eyes on an O’Connell. If only I knew how much throwing that old man in prison would change my life. Regardless of what Marigold thought of me in that moment, I can never regret it.
He wears a white nightrobe, and his feet are bare, but his face is shaved, evidence of the fine care he’s received in Autumn. His blue eyes are full of such life that one would never know he was previously bedridden.
A smile breaks across his face as he sets his sights on Rose, and his shoulders relax. “My girl.”
“Papa!” She takes the stairs two at a time, dashing across the hall and into his arms. Love and happiness wash over me through our bond, and I can’t help my own smile. Farron and I exchange contented looks, then head down the stairs toward them, Dayton trailing at our heels.
A strange shiver runs down my spine, and I look up to see a large cluster of briars by the bottom of the stairs. Caspian sits atop them, dangling one leg down, eating a plum. He watches Rosie’s reunion with a bemused expression.
“You’re all right?” Rosie asks, putting her palm to George’s forehead.
“I feel just fine,” he chuffs. “A bit groggy, I suppose. I opened my eyes, feeling like I’d been away for a hundred years.”
“You mean, been asleep,” Rosie says.
George shakes his head. “No, it didn’t feel like sleeping at all.”
Before he can say more, a few members of the staff rush over to greet him. Many of them have gathered in the doorways, delighted smiles on their faces. Though George only stayed at Castletree for a short time, he had the same effect as Rosalina on everyone who lives here, their open hearts making people instantly feel welcome in their presence.
Farron, Dayton, and I hang back, waiting for our own turns to say hello to the old man. I find myself straightening, checking my shirt for wrinkles—of which there are plenty—and attempting to smooth back my hair. Farron, always presentable, chuckles at me.
Something catches the corner of my eye. A sudden movement in the doorway leading to the dining room. The acolyte from Queen’s Reach Monastery pokes her head out from behind the corner. What was her name? Winnie? Wirley? No, Wrenley. That’s right. I suppose I should know it now that she’s Dayton’s mate.
I start to look away from her, but something in her gaze makes me pause. Her short brown hair falls over her blue eyes, but her stare remains transfixed on Rosalina and her father. There’s a sense of bewilderment to her, as if laying eyes on a gryphon or a winged horse or some other make-believe story from a children’s tale.
With hesitant steps, she creeps out from the doorway and enters the hall, staying behind all the staff waiting to greet George. Her movements are stiff, as if she’s in pain as she takes each step. But her eyes—those huge blue eyes—remain entirely focused, unblinking.
I nudge Dayton in the ribs. “Is your mate all right? She looks upset.”
Dayton glances her way for half a second, then shrugs. “She’s fine.”
Wrenley’s eyes grow bigger, now shining. Her hands form into fists. She starts to shoulder her way through the crowding staff.
Caspian jumps down from the briars above us, lithe as a cat. He says nothing to me but pushes past the staff and snags the acolyte’s wrist.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dayton lunges forward. He grabs Caspian by the back of his tunic and pulls him away from Wrenley. “Don’t touch my mate.”
Caspian yanks himself loose of Dayton’s grip and smooths the lining of his coat. Then he looks up at Dayton through his lashes with the smarmiest grin I’ve ever seen him muster. “Oh, Sunshine, I live to touch your mate.”
Dayton pulls back his fist.
“Wait!”
The cry halts Dayton an inch away from Caspian’s nose. It’s George, pushing through the crowd to get to the two of them. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Wrenley retreating and quickly dipping back into the dining room.
“What’s happening, Papa?” Rosalina asks.
George stands between Dayton and Caspian, then places a hand on Caspian’s face. Caspian sucks in a deep breath, body going rigid, expression … nervous? Is that possible for Caspian?
“These past few months, I’ve lived inside of dreams,” George says. “Watching moments play out that are so familiar, it’s as if I’ve lived them, yet when I search my memory, they’re like stories from a book I read about myself. Sometimes, I saw things that felt outside of my own being. Towering green crystals.”
“Go on,” Rosalina urges.
“I saw Anya’s reflection in those crystals.” George places his other hand on Caspian’s face. His brows lower. “And this boy was looking back at her.”