Page 81 of Wolf's Bane
Solenne
Boxon Hill
Marechal House - The Undercroft
The unlocked doorcalled to her. Dim light flickered at the bottom of the stairwell. For days, Godwin had avoided Solenne, and she hadn’t sought his company.
“You’re being childish,” Luis said, before pushing her forward.
“He does not want to be disturbed.”
“Talk to him.”
“I cannot guarantee I will be civil.” She grabbed onto the door frame, refusing to be bullied into a conversation with her father.
“Oh no, my delicate sensibilities,” Luis said dryly. “Be an adult and talk to Papa. I’m worried. He hasn’t been eating and you know how he gets.”
She did indeed, and did not comment on the irony that Godwin’s child had to be the adult in the relationship to take care of him.
“Please. You know him better than me.”
“You know Papa.”
Luis ran a hand through his dark curls. “I mean, you’ve seen him day in, day out for years. I only ever saw him on holidays from school and then he was on his best behavior.”
“Holiday Papa,” Solenne said, repeating the moniker she and Luis gave Godwin’s jovial mood.
“Exactly. What I saw was upsetting. I’m worried about him.” Luis somehow made his eyes larger and silently pleaded with those enormous eyes.
It was unbearable.
“Fine. Stop pushing me or I’ll fall down the stairs.” She switched on the solar-powered lantern to navigate her way down the stairs. Shadows hid the steps, so she made her way down cautiously, one hand on the shaky rail and the other holding the lantern aloft. The light was just enough to illuminate the cobwebs but not much else.
The basement held many relics from an age of wonder, all broken. The most dangerous—weapons her ancestors brought with them from the old world—had been locked away in a vault. Presumably, they held enough power or ammunition to be dangerous because Solenne couldn’t see how the decrepit relics were dangerous now, unless she hurled them or used them as a bludgeon.
The bits of technology that worked were used until the very end, then patched together and pressed into service again. Hence, the flickering lights. The aging solar panels no longer captured enough energy to meet the needs of the house. Replacement panels were beyond the household budget. Solenne remembered scavenging panel parts with her mother. Too young to understand, she had thought it a grand adventure exploring empty buildings in abandoned villages.
The short corridor opened into a large workshop. To one side, the nexus batteries sat stacked on shelving units. Small readout screens glowed with violet light. Godwin perched on a stool by a workbench, bent over a device. Light pooled on the wooden surface around the lantern. The overhead lights flickered, casting strange shadows and illuminating little.
His hair was a tangled mess and his clothes dusty, but Godwin hardly looked emaciated and near death. Luis had drastically overstated the problem.
Solenne turned to leave, until Godwin spoke.
“Your mother had the patience for this.” He pushed away the device.
“What is it?”
Godwin held up an ancient tablet, the screen a blank gray, and the back removed. “It’s a reader, so my father claimed. It worked when he was a child. Contains hundreds of books in the memory banks, if we can get it to power on.” He set it down, looking sheepish. “I thought you might like it for a wedding gift.”
Solenne’s anger softened. Her father spoke with actions rather than words, but she needed to hear the words. “An apology would also do.”
He cleared his throat, voice gruff from disuse. “Yes, I suppose that’s in order. I worry about losing you. Amalie was everything to me, and you and Luis are all I have left of her.” He rubbed his chin, the bristles there more silver than Solenne remembered. “But you were correct. The tighter I hold on to you, the more you’ll slip away. I’m sorry for not listening. I apologize for keeping Alek’s true nature from you. I thought I was protecting you.”
To keep from looking directly at her father, she inspected a shelf cluttered with bits and bobs, old cardboard boxes stained with dust and damp, and tools set down to never be put away in their proper place. Bits of shattered glass littered the shelf, and she realized with a jolt that she was looking at the detritus of the explosion that killed her mother. No one ever cleaned the workshop. Would she find bits of shrapnel in the walls? Blood on the stone floor?
“Solenne,” Godwin said, grabbing her attention.
“Thank you,” she said, not ready to forgive. Godwin’s lack of an apology for his ugly words had not escaped her notice. If his actions changed, then yes. Her anger would dissolve.
