Rose, Wilted: Book 1

Chapter 21 - Stone Cold

 I lay gasping on the ground when I came back to myself. My whole body trembled and the knife slipped from my fingers. There were no leaves to obscure the sky anymore, no enchantresses hissing in my ear. There was nothing but a grey, dead, winter sky.

To my right I heard the snort of a horse. I turned my head to see the blue roan standing on shaking legs, with all his trappings still intact. But the woods were behind us now. She'd transported me-

I sucked in a sharp breath. It was the cottage.

Father.

I glanced back at the forest and the distant castle spires.

The Beast was in danger, but so was my father. And I was already home...

I got to my feet and in a moment I was standing before the door to the cottage, attempting to muster up enough courage to go inside.

What did she do to him? What would I find inside?

Or was she bluffing? What if this whole thing was only a ploy to keep me away from the castle?

But I had to know.

I shoved down the knot in my stomach, reminded myself of my promise to the Beast, and turned the doorknob.

The house was snow-cold, spilling over with grey light, and dead as ice. The fireplace was nothing but flakes of snowy ash and charred, brittle-black logs without a single red ember. My old harpsichord stood beneath the window, covered in a dusty white sheet like a burial cloth. The dishes were unwashed and the frigid water around them was still lingering in the basin.

A chill crawled up the back of my neck like a spider and I took a tentative step into the house. The stiff wood creaked.

"Father?" I whispered. "Father? Are you there?"

I received no answer. The silence spurred me farther into the house quicker than before. I walked down the hall a short ways towards my father's bedroom.

"Father? Father, where are you?"

Again, no answer. I grabbed the handle of his bedroom door. It was stone cold. I wrenched the door open and was met by silence. The room was cluttered, and covered in dust. A cold draft from an open window fluttered the curtains and made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I could see my breath condensing in the air before me. It was because of the ice pulsing through my veins. Lying on the bed was a prostrate figure. Unmoving.

"Father!" I shouted, running over to him. He just lay there. I took his hand. His fingers were stiff and icy. His eyes were closed and this mouth was half open. He was pale even now. I felt his cheek. Cold.

"No, Father, no. Not you too. You're not- You can't be- you just can't. Please! Please wake up Father. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left you. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have goaded her, I shouldn't have-," I choked. There were tears blurring my vision now and I clenched his cold hand in mine, trying to warm it.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "Please don't. Please don't be gone. I love you too much to let you go without even saying goodbye."

I squeezed my eyes shut to try to stop the tears but it didn't work.

And under my fingers I felt a small twitch.

I opened my eyes.

"Father?"

No response.

I pressed my cheek to his chest.

I heard a small thump. A second or two later there was another. Then another. A heartbeat. I'd spent so long listening to the Beast's thundering one that I'd forgotten what a human's heart sounded like. But this wasn't my own beat...

A thrill of hope ran through me quicker than I could think. I ran out of his room and up to mine, grabbed two quilts off my bed, ran back downstairs and layered them over my father. Then I ran back out to the sitting room and outdoors to the wood pile up against the side of the house, heedless of getting my shoes muddy in the wet dirt from the melted snow. I quickly ran back inside with a load of the dryest of the wood and a handful of kindling and grabbed the flint and steel off the mantle above the fireplace and tried in vain to start a fire. Grabbing the kindling, I set it up in a cone and struck the flint and steel together. Sparks flew, but nothing caught fire. I tried ten more times, each attempt growing more desperate than the last. Finally I threw down the fire starters in frustration, grabbed a pair of shears from somewhere in the kitchen. I honestly couldn't remember where and didn't have time to care.

With only a few seconds hesitation, I took the hem of my red dress and snipped away a choppy piece. I winced as I did so, not wanting to do this to something the Beast had given me, but it had to be done. Father had to get warm and if this is what it took, so be it.

I scrapped the flint and steel together.

Sparks flew.

And it lit.

I quickly and carefully stacked larger pieces of wood around the fire, which lit quickly, and then larger log pieces. Soon I had a blazing fire, not as hot as the fires in the castle, but it would have to be enough. I whispered my thanks, then returned as fast as possible to my father's bedroom. One headstone behind this house was already too many.

I tried to lift him or at least drag him out of bed, but my strength failed me. I could get him to budge a little, but just barely. Suddenly a thought came to me. If I couldn't even pull my father out of bed, how on earth could I get him down the hall and up to the fireplace? Casting my eyes about the room in desperation, my eyes caught on Father's rocking chair, which had curved runners. If I could get him into that, it would be only be a matter of pushing the rocking chair down the hallway and in front of the fireplace. Without further hesitation I pulled the chair over to the bedside; it seemed light as a feather. I carefully angled my arms underneath Father's and gave a great heave. We ended up with his feet still on the bed and me supporting half his weight. He was far heavier than the chair. I panted a little and felt my spine groaning. With a bit more struggle, I hauled him, blankets and all, into the chair.

I had to stop and catch my breath for a moment. I was sure this looked ridiculous. A woman in a red velvet dress hauling a limp, sleeping man into a chair. But no one could see us, and if it looked silly, well, I didn't care all that much.

Father groaned a little and I immediately snapped upright. I got behind the rocking chair and pushed it out the doorway and into the short hall. I had to use my shoulder to get it through the hall and then maneuver it in front of the fire, which had already made the house at least five degrees warmer. Once it was as close to the fire as I dared, I sat down and took another few moments to catch my breath. My father stirred again.

I panted a bit, watching him, willing him to wake up. But what if Jayla had cast some curse on him? What if this was a magical ailment? He needed a doctor, or maybe a magician.

Luckily in town we had both, but could I leave him alone for that long? What if he woke up while I was gone? Or something happened? What if Jayla came calling? Or Avoln? I'd forgotten about him entirely. What if I went into town and he recognized me? What did everyone in town think? Probably that I was dead. And what would I tell them? Any explanation would hold me up.

But Father needed help. I didn't have a choice.  

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Bit of a change in material from what we're used to by now in this chapter. This is one that will be undergoing some more editing once the story is published, but probably won't be put up on the Wattpad draft.

But yeah, I figured I should put this up since I hadn't posted in a while and had been pretty absent from writing in general. Next chapter we get some characters we haven't seen in a while and I have to say I am really excited about how Anna interacts with her past... (Hint: Which two characters really should have been present in the house that weren't?)

Also, that's it for the "Under Revision" chapters, but more will be coming! So glad to be out of those. Ug. I am going to try to plow ahead in the next few weeks and get lots of this done. Once I get into the final stretch we will see how much I can actually get done.