Page 22 of Bittersweet & Strange

I continue toward the stairs.

“He’s a good boy.”

His voice falters.

“He has his whole life ahead of him.”

The words follow me from one floor to the next as I pull him down the winding staircase. He fights me the entire way, but winter and illness have stolen too much of his strength for him to accomplish much.

Behind us, I can still hear Boone.

“Please! Wait!”

I don’t look back.

The entrance hall seems strangely quiet after the chaos of the tower. Candlelight flickers inside crystal candelabras positioned along the walls. Massive pendulum clocks continue marking the passage of time with complete indifference. The castle itself remains unchanged despite the bargain just made inside it.

I throw open the front doors. Cold mountain air rushes inside. Boone’s horse stands where he left him near the edge of the garden, head lowered, sides still heaving from the difficult climb.

He won’t make the return trip.

Not today.

I whistle.

The sound cuts through the afternoon air. Several moments pass before my mare appears from behind the stables, her dark coat nearly black against the snow.

Étoile.

She crosses the courtyard with the easy confidence of an animal that has spent her entire life navigating these mountains.

I stop beside her and turn toward the old man.

“Your son’s life belongs to me now.”

The words drain what little color remains from his face. I guide him toward the horse.

“Étoile will take you back to the village. Send her home when you arrive.”

He grips the reins but doesn’t climb into the saddle.

His eyes remain fixed on me.

“And if you return to this mountain, or if you bring anyone else to my doorstep, I’ll kill your son.”

His throat moves as he struggles to swallow. Fear has stripped away the determination he carried out of the tower. His shoulders sag inside his heavy coat. For several seconds, he says nothing.

The cold wind moves through the courtyard, carrying the scent of snow and pine between us. Étoile shifts impatiently beside him. He lifts his eyes to mine. Whatever he finds there must convince him that arguing is pointless.

“Please.”

The single word settles between us.

“Be kind to him.”

I stare at him.

Kind.