The Forestwalker

• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5

• Chapter 6
• Chapter 7
• Chapter 8
• Chapter 9
• Chapter 10

• Chapter 11
• Chapter 12
• Chapter 13
• Chapter 14
• Chapter 15

• Chapter 16
• Chapter 17
• Chapter 18
• Chapter 19
• Chapter 20

• Epilogue

Chapter 4

How long he remained wrapped in that peaceful darkness, Gareth did not know. Every once in a while, his consciousness would struggle to return, but those moments were always accompanied by pain, which his mind fled from as quickly as possible. Eventually, though, those moments of pain lessened and became bearable and he began his slow, halting journey back to reality.

Consciousness and awareness came in fits and starts. During his first few minutes of awareness, all he could tell was that he was lying, immobilized, on his side on something soft. He could not open his eyes – they seemed to be swollen shut – and breathing was difficult, but he was in surprisingly little pain. He drifted back into darkness after only a moment, but he took comfort in the fact that he was alive and getting better.

When awareness returned again, someone was dripping water onto his lips and wiping his face with a wet cloth. He tried to ask who was there, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the right words, and all that came out was a whimpering groan.

“Hush, boy, don't move or try to talk,” an unknown male voice said. “You're in good hands. Rest now, that's a good boy.” Gareth didn't have the strength or the desire to disobey the strange voice, and it did seem to have his best interests at heart, so he allowed it and the feel of cool water on his face lull him back into oblivion.

He dreamed about his home and his family, about being reunited with them only to have them dissolve before his eyes and blow away like dust on the wind. He woke disoriented and still unable to open his eyes, but his breathing seemed easier now, despite his nightmare.

“... called away on an emergency and can't return until tomorrow. Will he be alright until then?” That was Master Teskar's voice.

“I believe so, sir. He is semi-conscious now, and seems to be breathing easier.” That was Celise, the cook. They were both standing a short distance away from him, talking in low voices. “The doctor left good instructions and plenty of pain medicine, so he should be fine.”

“I came in to check on him just a little while ago and thought he was calling out for someone. Does he know where he is? Does his mind seem to be recovering?”

“I'm not sure how aware he is of his surroundings yet, sir, but the doctor doesn't seem to think he's suffered any permanent damage. He's been having dreams, I think. He calls out for his mother and father sometimes. That's probably what you heard.”

“His... but I thought... What happened to his parents?” Teskar seemed genuinely stunned by the thought that Gareth had once had a family.

“I'm sure I don't know, sir,” Celise said, and Gareth was extremely grateful to her for not telling his master how he had become a slave, “but I do know that not every slave is born a slave, sir.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course,” Master Teskar replied distractedly. “Do you mind giving me a moment alone with him?”

“Not at all, sir,” the cook said.

“Thank you.”

Gareth heard a door close, then footsteps moved towards him and Master Teskar sat down in a chair near the head of Gareth's bed – it must be a bed, because he was hearing sounds from too high up to be lying on the floor – with a heavy sigh. There was the sound of dripping water, then a cool cloth was laid on his forehead.

“I am so sorry for all of this,” his master said. Gareth was learning not to be surprised by Master Teskar's apologies any more. “I should have realized how badly my son had hurt you. If I had thought... if I hadn't been so distracted and angry at Kastor...”

Had he been hurt worse than he thought? Now that Gareth considered his physical condition, he realized that he was pretty badly hurt, and he supposed it couldn't all be from the beating he'd received. Those ten lashes had been brutal, and he knew he would carry those scars forever, but it should not have been severe enough to bring him this close to death. What had happened? He didn't have much time to dwell on it, though. Master Teskar was still talking, but his voice was fading in and out as darkness stole over Gareth's mind again, and he sank willingly into it with a grateful sigh.

Unfortunately, when Gareth woke again, it was to the sound of Kastor's voice. “Where is the lazy swine? How long does it take to recover from a measly whipping? He's got a job to do!”

“Kindly keep your voice down, Master Kastor,” Celise said. “He is still very badly injured and needs rest.”

“It can't be that bad! The groom said he only got ten lashes. Field slaves get worse than that and are back to work the next day, but he's been in here being coddled by you and Father for over a week! I want my slave back!”

“Well, young master, under normal circumstances, he would have recovered quickly and he would be back by your side already. In case you forgot, though, before he received those ten lashes, you beat him rather severely and threw him down a flight of stairs. He cracked three ribs, one of which broke and punctured his lung during the whipping. He also suffered a severe concussion and oxygen deprivation. His mind and body have been severely damaged, and he may not recover completely no matter how long we 'coddle' him. So I suggest you consider that, young master, when you find yourself missing your slave.”

“I... I wasn't... Just let me know when he can get back to work!” Kastor initially seemed lost for words, but he recovered quickly and stormed out.

Gareth was stunned and suddenly terrified. So that was what had happened to him? Broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a concussion, and possible brain damage? His head felt alright – he was still thinking – but what if it wasn't? What if he never recovered? What if he couldn't work any more? What good was a useless, crippled slave? And, if he was useless, what would they do with him?

He slowly and painfully forced his eyes open, desperate to find some evidence that his condition wasn't as bad as the cook had made it sound. It took time for his eyes to focus, but when they did he found that he was lying on his side on a narrow bed in a small, bare room – one of the unused servant's rooms at the back of the house. He tried to move, to turn over, but found that he couldn't; soft straps across his legs and torso were keeping him still. He could feel bandages wrapped around his head and chest, and there was a needle in one of his arms that led by way of a tube to a bag of liquid hanging on a metal pole over his head.

“Gareth?”

Gareth glanced upward to see Celise coming towards him, a relieved smile on her face. “Oh, it's good to see you're awake, dear.”

“Please, miss,” Gareth croaked, his voice hoarse and his speech slurred. “Am I gonna die?”

Her eyes widened at that and she shook her head vigorously as she sat down next to the bed. “No, dear, you're not going to die. You're getting better every day.”

“But... you told Master Kastor... I might not get better...”

Celise glanced back at the door with a scowl. “That callous, inconsiderate child,” she said with a disgusted snort. She turned back to Gareth and used a damp cloth to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I said those things to make him feel bad, dear, so he'd think twice before treating you – or anyone else – so cruelly again. You're actually doing very well, and the doctor says you'll make a full recovery as long as you let yourself rest and follow his every instruction to the letter.”

“Yes, miss,” Gareth said. Following orders would not be a problem; it was all he did, after all. But she hadn't said he couldn't ask questions, and he had to ask, “The other stuff you said, miss... about what happened to me... was that true?”

She nodded sadly. “Yes, dear, and you have no idea how sorry Master Teskar is that he let this happen. He didn't realize how badly Kastor had hurt you; he never would have ordered you beaten if he'd known.”

“Yes, I know, miss. He told me.”

“Have you been awake before this?” she asked, surprised.

“A few times. Couldn't open my eyes, though.” He was having trouble keeping them open now. His eyelids fluttered, and he fought against the darkness that was threatening to take him under again. Breathing was getting difficult as well as an ache began to spread through his chest.

“Well, that's wonderful news, Gareth. That means that you are doing much better than even the doctor thought.” She seemed to notice that he was in pain and fighting unconsciousness, though. “It's alright, dear, don't fight it. I'll give you some more medicine for the pain. You need rest until your ribs and the hole the doctor had to sew shut in your lung heal. I'll be looking after you, though, so you have nothing to worry about.” Gareth nodded slightly, then smiled wearily for a moment before letting his eyes close again.

Over the next few days, he found consciousness easier to return to, his periods of pain-free lucidity lasted longer, and his blurred vision and slurred speech gradually returned to normal. The physical evidence of his injuries slowly faded as well, with the exception of the lash marks on his back and the stitches along the left side of his chest where the doctor had had to cut into him to fix his broken ribs and punctured lung. After a few more days, and he was able to start eating real food again – weak broth and porridge and water – and a few days after that the doctor examined him and decided that his ribs had healed enough to let him sit up and begin moving around. He still spent a lot of his time sleeping, though, because he had very few visitors and nothing to do to pass the time but think, which usually led to thinking about his past... and nothing good ever came from that.

He mentioned this to Celise one morning when she asked him how he was doing over breakfast. He hadn't meant to, but he hadn't slept well that night as a result of some unfortunate nightmares and she noticed that he looked worse than usual, so she wouldn't let up until he told her what was wrong. It was for the best, though, because she had the perfect solution to his loneliness, and that afternoon she brought by the most welcome visitor of all. She left him alone while he ate his lunch, and when she came back she was leading Shanna by the hand.

On instinct, Gareth froze and dropped his eyes when he saw her, which made her pull away from Celise's hand and run over to his bed. “It's okay,” she said as she put a hand up to his face. “You can look at me. I don't mind.”

So he did, fighting instinct off easily as he glanced down at her. Her face broke into a smile that lit up the room like the sun, which made him smile too. But her smile faded when she saw his bandages. “Does it hurt?” she asked as she reached out and touched the gauze covering the stitches in his chest.

It still did, but not very badly, so he just smiled and shook his head. Then, he reached for his shirt where it lay folded on the chair by the bed and slowly pulled it on as Shanna climbed up to sit next to him on the bed. “I brought you something,” she said shyly, “because Cook said you were all alone down here.” For the first time, Gareth noticed that she was clutching something besides her doll. “She made it, but I helped.” Then, she handed Gareth what she had been holding.

It was a handmade rag doll, like hers, only this one had short, black yarn hair and green button eyes and was wearing a shirt and pants instead of a dress. Gareth blushed furiously, recognizing it for what it was well before Shanna burst out, “It's you!”

“Do you like it?” she asked, then, without waiting for an answer, raced on. “I made Cook put real clothes on it so I could pretend it was Dolly's brother. I hope you don't mind. And I know boys don't like dolls, but I thought you could use a friend when I can't come to visit, and maybe you could play with me sometimes if Papa says it's okay.” Suddenly, she moved very close to him and lay her head on his arm with a very grown-up sigh. “I wish you really were my brother, instead of that meanie Kas.”

That made Gareth blush even more, though he had to swallow a lump in his throat too. Shanna was such a sweet little girl; Gareth wished he could give her the unlimited amount of love and affection that she deserved from her family but that they were unable to give her. Her father was too busy, her mother was too sick, and her brother was too self-centered to care about the needs of one little girl. Gareth remembered what Shanna had said to her father when she was trying to protect him, how she wanted him to be her slave instead of Kastor's, and, not for the first time, he wished he could be. Shanna would let him be the friend and companion that Master Teskar had bought him to be for Kastor but that Kastor had never let him be. He could be good for Shanna, and he would be good to her, and he would be happy to serve her and take care of her for the rest of his life. But a male slave serving as a woman's body-servant was socially unacceptable and inappropriate, even for children, so, no matter how much either of them wanted it, he could never be her slave. But that wouldn't stop him from being her friend, or for caring about her and protecting her.

Shanna was looking up at him, studying his face as if she knew what he was thinking. Then, she looked around at the sound of the door closing, and Gareth looked up as well to find that Celise had left. She turned back and grinned up at him. “It's okay, you can talk to me now if you want to,” she said when she saw him looking at the door.

“Thank you for the doll, miss,” Gareth said softly.

“You're my hero, you know, for stopping Kas like you did. I know Papa didn't mean to hurt you as bad as he did, but I wish he hadn't punished you at all.”

“It's alright, miss. I broke the rules, and I didn't expect to get away without punishment just because I did it for a good reason. But I would do it again in a heartbeat to protect you, miss, no matter the consequences.”

She sniffed loudly at that and hugged him cautiously. He put a tentative arm around her, ready to take it away if she objected to his boldness, but she didn't seem to mind. “Don't cry, miss,” he said, trying to comfort her. “I'm going to be fine.”

“I know,” she said, still sniffling. “I just... you're so nice to me, and I want you to be my friend, and... I don't want you to go back to Kas and get hurt any more!” A few of the tears that had been threatening to fall from her brimming eyes did so then, and she buried her face in her hands to stop the rest.

“I'm sorry, miss, but I don't have any choice. Your brother is my master.” Gareth held her close and gently stroked her hair to comfort her, awkwardly imitating the way his mother had comforted him when he was a little boy.

“I know,” Shanna said after a moment, wiping her eyes as she brought her tears under control. “I asked Papa if I could have you instead, but he said girls can't have boy slaves. I'd take you away from Kas if I could, though, and I'd never hurt you and I'd always be nice to you.”

“I know, miss. Thank you, miss.”

She was quiet for a moment, content to sit there with her head leaning against his chest, comforting and being comforted by him. Then, she sat up, smiled, and picked up the doll sitting on his lap. “I didn't know what to call him,” she said, looking up at Gareth with burning curiosity. “What's his name?”

“Gareth, miss,” Gareth said, a little self-consciously. It was strange to talk as if he and the doll were the same, but he supposed that doing so made her feel more comfortable about wanting to be friends with a slave, so he decided to just go along with it.

“Hello, Gareth,” she said as she picked up her own doll. “I am Shanna, and this is Dolly. We are very pleased to meet you.” She shook Gareth's doll's hand solemnly, and made her doll curtsy to him, then she burst into a fit of giggles that almost made Gareth laugh. “Since you're going to be Dolly's brother,” she said, still addressing the doll, “I want to know everything about you. Is that okay?”

She handed the doll back to Gareth. Gareth took it, thought hard for a second about what she was asking of him, then made the doll's head nod in agreement. “Anything you wish to know, miss,” he said, which for some reason made her giggle again.

She was just about to ask her first question when the door opened again and the cook came in. “Miss Shanna, it's time for you to return to your lessons.”

Shanna's face fell, and she turned with her mouth open, preparing to protest. Gareth put a hand on hers, causing her to look back at him, and shook his head almost imperceptibly. There was no need to be difficult. She had responsibilities, just like he did, and she should respect that. That wasn't the easiest thing to convey with a twitch of the head, but she seemed to understand what he was trying to tell her all the same. She sighed, then nodded. “Alright.” She picked up her doll and was about to get off the bed when she hesitated and turned back again. She gestured for Gareth to bend down so she could whisper in his ear, and he did so, a bit stiffly. “It was nice to meet you too, Gareth,” she said softly, then, to his great surprise, she kissed him on the cheek. He felt fire spread across his face as she jumped off the bed with a big grin and ran for the door. “I'll come back soon! Feel better!” she said, turning back to him with a wave and another smile that lit up the room, and then she was gone.

Gareth lay back down on his bed and studied the doll that he still held in his hands. For the first time, he really noticed the details about it that Shanna had changed. It was wearing a dark green shirt and black pants made of cotton instead of the brown burlap that he was forced to wear, and there was no sign of his slave collar or shackles either. This doll was an idealized version of him, he realized, and it was that version of himself that he wanted Shanna to know. He was suddenly much more comfortable with thinking of the doll as a way of communicating with his young mistress. He was deeply touched by the fact that she wanted to know him, and see him, as who he truly was, as a person and not just as a slave.

But Shanna's feelings for him just served to throw the way her brother treated him into even sharper contrast. Gareth had never expected to be treated as Kastor's equal – he knew that was impossible – but Kastor treated him even worse than he treated other slaves. When Teskar had brought Gareth here, he thought he was providing his son with a friend and companion, but what he had given Kastor was a punching bag: someone he could take all his anger and frustration out on. His attitude was somewhat understandable; he was angry at his father for being absent, he was scared of losing his mother, and he was resentful of his little sister who was doted on by the household staff because she was such a sweet, kind, and happy child. But that didn't make it any easier for Gareth to accept the fact that, after five years in Kastor's service, Kastor had never once asked Gareth his name or allowed him to speak, that he went out of his way to abuse and punish Gareth or get others to punish him, and that the severity of that abuse was escalating dramatically. And Gareth was afraid that it may be too late for Master Teskar to change the way that Kastor treated him, if Kastor's attitude when he had come in here while he thought Gareth was still unconscious was any indication. Gareth was not looking forward to what Kastor would do in order to punish him for getting him in trouble with his father. He had risked everything to protect Shanna from Kastor, but who would protect him?

Gareth curled up on his side and pulled the blanket up to his chin so no one coming into the room would see that he was clutching the doll to his chest. He hadn't considered his life here to be too bad, and he would rather be here than anywhere else he could have been sent as a slave, but right now he was desperately wishing he could escape, be free, find his village and his family, and live his own life again. But that would never happen: the collar and shackles permanently welded around his neck, wrists, and ankles meant that, even if he did escape this place, he would never escape the fact that he was a slave. The best he could hope for now was that his time with Shanna would give him an opportunity to forget that fact every once in a while. Maybe she could help him and protect him after all.

The next day, the cook brought Shanna with her when she brought Gareth his lunch, and as he ate, she sat on the floor in front of his bed with her crayons and her pad of drawing paper and drew beautiful and fanciful pictures of the two of them together - of Gareth protecting her as a knight in shining armor from a dragon that looked suspiciously like Kastor, of Gareth rescuing her from a high tower where Kastor was holding her prisoner, of the two of them riding horses across a filed in front of a castle, wearing crowns. She blushed and tried to hide them when she saw him looking at them, but when he told her that she was an amazing artist – which she was, especially given her age – she relented and climbed up next to him to show him what she'd drawn.

As he flipped through her pad of drawings, all of which were bright and colorful fantasy representations of her life, she picked up the doll lying on his pillow. “Can you tell me a story about where Gareth lives?” she asked.

“Certainly, miss,” he said, handing her back the pad of paper, and as he launched into a detailed description of the forest he had lived in and the village he had called his home, she drew surprisingly detailed pictures of everything he told her. This was to become a daily routine as he told her all about 'Gareth's' life and home, and when he finished telling her everything, she ran off and begged pins from the cook, then proceeded to put the pictures she had drawn up on the bare walls of Gareth's sickroom. When she was done, there was barely a square of bare plaster visible. Surrounded by beautiful pictures of his home, Gareth felt both more homesick than ever and strangely comforted at the same time. Shanna seemed to sense this; she climbed up next to him on the bed and gave him a comforting hug. “Don't you like it?” she asked, concerned.

“Oh, yes, miss. Very much.”

“This room was so bare; it's no wonder you've been so sad. Colors are better, I think.” She studied all the pictures closely, then said. “The forest you talked about sounds so beautiful. I wish it was real.”

Had she really thought he was just telling her a story, that he had made it all up? “But it is real, miss,” he replied.

“It is?” She turned to stare at him in disbelief. “Where is it?”

“In the north, miss, very far away from here.”

“Wow! Do you think I could go and see it some day?”

“Maybe some day, miss,” Gareth said, looking down at the floor. Would he ever see it again? It hurt too much to think that was even a possibility. To see his old homeland again while still a slave would hurt worse than never seeing it again. But he managed to smile for Shanna, and thank her for decorating his room, and answer her every question about his former life without ever letting on how badly those memories hurt him.

It took Gareth almost a month to completely recover from his injuries, but finally Master Teskar decided that he was strong enough to be safely sent back to Kastor. “He has been severely lectured about the future consequences of hurting or punishing you without cause,” Teskar explained, “and I believe a month of having to do everything for himself will have given him a greater appreciation of what you do for him. But if he hurts or punishes you without reason, I want you to let me know. I have ignored Kastor's behavior for far too long. I am doing everything in my power to rectify my mistakes, but you know my son better than I do, so I will need your help.”

Gareth nodded understandingly. The earnest sincerity in his master's voice made him feel considerably safer as he slowly climbed the back stairs to the second floor, shuffled silently down the hallway, and knocked softly on Kastor's bedroom door.

“What?” came an annoyed shout, and a moment later Kastor jerked the door open. “Oh, it's you. About time. Get in here and get busy.” Gareth gave his young master a dutiful bow and breathed a silent sigh of relief as Kastor simply turned away and went back to his desk, leaving Gareth alone to clean up the room, which had become a pigsty in his absence.

That day went by without incident, fortunately. Gareth cleaned Kastor's room until it was spotless and he did not hear a single complaint or receive a single cuff or slap all day. After waiting on Kastor at dinnertime, he took his own meal in the kitchen with the other servants and slaves, where he was warmly welcomed back by the household staff, who all told him that they were glad to see him looking so well. And once he had helped Kastor get ready for bed, he retreated to his tiny room in the back of the closet to find a wonderful surprise: a beautifully carved wooden box was sitting on his thin pallet bed. He opened it to find all of the pictures that Shanna had drawn him folded neatly inside, and underneath them lay the rag doll made to look like him. With a fond smile, Gareth traced the features of the doll's face, then reached under one corner of his pallet and pulled out a tiny folded scrap of cloth. It was dull and threadbare and most of the stitching on it had worn away, but it was still recognizable as the corner of the collar of the shirt that his mother had made him all those years ago... the only tangible proof of who he was and where he had come from. He laid it carefully next to the doll, then pulled out one of the drawings from the box before setting it aside. He lay down on his narrow bed and stared hard at the picture in the darkness, memorizing its every line until his eyes drooped closed, allowing sleep to bring him dreams of fresh air and rustling leaves and all the comforts of home.

It took a week before Kastor decided he'd 'coddled' his slave enough. According to Master Teskar and Celise, Kastor had been doing very well in his studies ever since Gareth had been injured, which had pretty much proved to everyone that he really was getting things wrong just to see Gareth punished. Since returning to Kastor's side, Gareth entered his young master's classroom every day with a sense of apprehension, and he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the lessons the way he had once done because he was always listening for the first mistake, the one that would signal his return to the status of whipping boy. He needn't have been so alert, though, because the nasty gleam in Kastor's eye was all the warning he needed.

By the end of that day's lessons, Kastor had received five demerits, which translated into five lashes from the tutor's switch for Gareth. “I am very disappointed, Master Crane,” the tutor said sternly. “Your work during the past few weeks has been exemplary. I hope that today was only a temporary lapse.”

“Yes, sir, I'm sure it was,” Kastor said with a smirk in Gareth's direction.

Gareth slowly got to his feet and walked up to the tutor's desk, anger and anxiety gnawing at his stomach. The tutor's face held a worried frown as he turned to retrieve his switch. As Gareth removed his shirt, he heard sharp, surprised intakes of breath from both the tutor and, surprisingly, from Kastor. He knew what they were reacting to; he felt the same way whenever he caught his reflection in the mirror after getting out of the bath. The lashes on his back were no longer deep, open wounds, but they were still healing. Each scar was a bright red, deep indentation in his back covered by tender new skin. As Gareth bent over the tutor's desk and gripped it tightly, he closed his eyes and tried to brace himself. This was really going to hurt.

As Gareth knelt near Kastor's chair during dinner that night, he tried to push the shame he was feeling away, but his cheeks still burned, as did his back, which was covered with five new bloody welts. With the exception of the beating he had received from the overseer – the most painful experience of his life – he had never cried out during a whipping before. But his stoicism and ability to hold his silence despite the pain seemed to have left him. When the tutor's first blow had landed, he had been unable to hold back the cry of pain that had escaped his throat. He had bit his tongue to stop himself from screaming, but he could not stop the groans and whimpers of agony that had forced themselves through his teeth at every blow. The pain had been excruciating, and his back was once again a bloody mess despite the fact that the tutor had held back and hadn't beaten him as severely as he usually did. The only small comfort he could take was the fact that Kastor seemed stricken by Gareth's reaction to the beating. He had never really seen Gareth suffering and in pain before because Gareth had been trained to hide it so well, and he didn't seem to know how to deal with it. He was silent during dinner, he kept casting worried looks down at Gareth while he ate, and when his father finally spoke to him, he flinched and wouldn't look up.

“Kastor, would you mind explaining to me why your slave's clothes are covered with blood?” Master Teskar asked, his voice cold.

“Um... well... I received five demerits during my lessons today, Father,” Kastor said guiltily.

“I see,” Teskar said, sounding skeptical. “Your tutor told me just the other day that your work had been excellent recently. I hope this is only a temporary relapse.”

“Yes, sir,” Kastor said, glancing down at Gareth. “I'll do my best, sir.”

“See that you do,” Teskar said. “Now, I want you to escort your slave to the kitchen so the cook can take care of his back and get him some new clothes.”

“Yes, sir,” Kastor said sullenly. As he got up, Gareth tensed, expecting to be kicked, but Kastor just clicked his fingers, indicating that it was okay for Gareth to stand. He led Gareth to the kitchen where the cook was preparing the servants' dinner.

“Father says you're to give my slave medical attention and new clothes,” he said shortly. As Celise turned and fixed them both with a critical stare, he fidgeted nervously for a minute, then said, “Send him back to my room when you're done with him.” With a sneer at Gareth, he turned and stomped hastily out of the room.

“What happened, dear?” the cook said, her sternness melting to worry as soon as Kastor was gone. Gareth sagged and let her help him to a chair. His whole body was in pain again.

“Kastor got five demerits from his tutor today, he said weakly as he pulled up his shirt to show her the new welts covering his back. She gasped, then hurried to get bandages. Then she took him down the hallway to the servants' baths, where she set him on a stool near the sinks, helped him take off his shirt, then began to wet clean rags with warm water to wash the blood off his back.

“He did it on purpose, I'm sure,” Gareth said, wincing despite the gentleness of her touch, “but I don't think he realized just how badly I had been hurt before, or that I'm not completely healed yet. I couldn't hide how badly it hurt like I usually do, and I don't think he was prepared to see me in real pain.”

“I noticed,” Celise said. “He looked decidedly off-kilter. He also seemed unsure about whether he was supposed to stay or go. I think his father's new tactic – of forcing him to justify and take personal responsibility for his treatment of you – may work after all.”

“I hope so,” Gareth said, gritting his teeth as she applied antiseptic cream to the welts on his back and covered them with gauze. “This is the first time since I went back to him that he's done anything to hurt me, but I doubt it will be the last, no matter how seeing me in pain affected him.”

“Don't worry, Gareth,” Celise said comfortingly. “Change is coming. I can feel it. I don't know when or how, but I know it's just around the corner. Trust to time, and things will all work out; I'm sure of it.”

Gareth returned the warm, reassuring smile that she gave him as he pulled on a new shirt. He appreciated her optimism, and though he didn't set too much store by her prediction, he supposed it couldn't hurt to hope. In the darkness that was his present and his foreseeable future, that was really the only thing he had. He only hoped that it would be enough.