Page 16 of Wolf's Bane
“Don’t stand this way. Don’t shoot the ground,” she said, voice teasing.
“You are very good at hitting the ground.”
They retrieved the spent arrows and cleared the evidence of their practice. The upper fields were host to the flock of sheep, leaving the lower field empty and far enough away from the house that no one, namely Godwin, could spot them. Of course, that would require Godwin leaving his bedchamber, a feat he had not done since his injury.
Solenne didn’t like the way her father sulked. A fever had kept him in bed, but the illness had passed. It had been weeks since the accident. He should be up and about, especially with the next full moon only days away.
“It will grow easier,” Luis said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Will it?”
“Repetition. Build your strength. Get calluses on those soft, ladylike hands.”
She huffed with amusement and held up her hands. The pads were red, and she knew she needed to ice her wrist. While her hands weren’t as rough as they had been before Godwin ended her training, they were far from soft and ladylike. She worked. It showed.
Luis set the equipment in a disused cottage near the edge of the forest. Once, the estate manager had lived there, back when the house had a larger staff and people were not too frightened of living near the forest. Empty except for dusty furniture, it provided a dry spot to wait out a rainstorm or hide away from her responsibilities for an afternoon. Solenne had not enjoyed that luxury in some time, but she remembered sneaking books away from the library and reading in the old chair by the window.
As they approached the house, she carried her basket as if she had been gathering herbs in the forest. No one questioned her.
Travers cornered her as she left her workroom, a jar of liniment in her pocket. “The master asks to speak with you, Miss Solenne,” he said.
The scent of sickness hung in the room. Godwin sat in a chair by the bedside, brooding in the dark. A quarterstaff rested against his legs, as if he had used the weapon as a walking stick. He probably did, rather than ask for help.
Solenne set down a pitcher of fresh water on the bureau. She then drew back the curtains and opened the window to air out the room.
“Can’t you let a dying man sleep?” Godwin grumbled.
“You’re not dying, and you stink.”
He gave a tired chuckle. “Ah, the sweetness of your gentle ministrations.”
She regarded the pale figure of her father. He seemed thin, swallowed up by days spent in bed. A brief fever had burned through him. The doctor confirmed that infection had not set in, but Godwin would never regain his sight.
“You’re hiding,” she said.
Godwin made disgruntled noises, none of which expressed denial.
“But it is good to see you out of bed. I can send up hot water.” The house had a heated bathing chamber on the ground level. However, traversing the several stairs that lay between Godwin and a hot bath would be difficult.
“I’ll go downstairs. I know you’re itching to clean in here,” he said.
“True.” The bed desperately needed fresh sheets after fever sweats and fitful sleeping.
“I received a letter,” he said.
“Oh.” Anticipation zipped through her. Solenne focused on keeping her voice light and unworried as she poured water into a clean glass. Her smile was pure artifice as she handed it to her father, along with a pill left by the doctor.
“It seems Aleksandar will return to us in our hour of need.”
Solenne turned her head to hide her genuine smile. Aleksandar’s return meant nothing. She meant nothing to him. He had said as much. It was unwarranted, unreasonable, and unforgivable how excited she felt thinking about his return.
Ten years had passed. She was not that girl. He was not that man.
She knew that.
Sheknew, yet her heart clung onto the delusion to the point of pain. Aleksandar would be married by now, possibly with a child—children—and she was practically an old maid with few prospects. Well, Colonel Chambers seemed interested, but the notion of an alliance with the retired military man left her cold, like a staring down a plate of sprouts that had to be eaten. Ultimately good for her, but dreaded.
Godwin thumped the quarterstaff against the floor, snagging her attention. “It seems I wrote to him,” he grumbled.
