Chapter 28

The cottage felt too small for the silence it held. A hush crowded the air with the sense that the world had paused. Edmund lay on his side, careful with his breathing, as if drawing too much in might wake the wounded thing within him.

Agnes moved first. She pushed herself upright on unsteady legs, one hand braced against the table as the room seemed to tilt beneath her. Her face was colourless, sweat darkening the grey hair clinging to her temples. She was trembling.

Malcolm reached her in a few quick strides.

“Agnes. Sit before you fall.”

She waved him off but allowed herself to be guided into the chair. Her eyes, still sharp beneath the exhaustion, stayed fixed on Edmund.

“Tell me what you feel,” she said, her voice thin, but commanding.

Edmund thought for a moment, trying to put the results of his ordeal into words.

“I feel cold. Empty. It’s like something’s been pulled out the wrong way.”

“That’s because it has,” said Will, grimacing.

Agnes nodded.

“The Binding has been weakened again, but still not fully broken.”

Malcolm shot her a look.

“You’re not planning a fourth thread tonight, are you?”

“No,” she said firmly. “He wouldn’t survive it. Neither of us would.”

Will let out a steadying breath. It failed.

“Then what now?”

Agnes leaned back. She sighed, and shook her head, resigned.

“Now, we keep him alive until morning.”

Edmund closed his eyes. That should have brought relief. It did not.

The crevice inside him, left by what had been torn away, was no longer still. It shifted unevenly, weak but purposeful, injured and learning how to move again. Against its will, he forced himself upright, ignoring the tremor in his limbs.

“It’s still there, even though it’s… not.”

“We know,” Agnes said.

“No.” Edmund pressed his hand to his sternum. “I can feel its fury.”

The cottage responded. A low moan rolled through the floorboards, travelling up through their feet. Will cursed and edged toward the shuttered window.

“It shouldn’t be this close.”

“It isn’t,” Agnes said. “It’s inside him, and it’s hurt. That makes it unpredictable.”

Malcolm took up the poker again.

“As if it wasn’t before.”

Another moan followed, louder now. The lantern flame snapped sideways. A jar slipped from a shelf and smashed. Edmund flinched.

“It’s trying to orient itself. Testing what it can still reach,” said Agnes, lifting a hand. “Control your breathing,” she told them. “Panic gives it leverage.”

“I’m fine,” Edmund said, unconvincingly.

The cottage disagreed. A sharp crack echoed through the walls, sending dust down from the rafters.

Will turned to Agnes.

“Can it break through.”

“Not yet.” She pushed herself, unsteadily, to standing. “It’s taking stock. Seeing what parts of him still answer.”

The intrusion sharpened again. It lacked force, but was persistent, searching. Edmund folded forward with a quiet sound. Malcolm dropped beside him.

“Tell us what it’s doing.”

Edmund drew a careful breath, taking Agnes’ advice as much as he was able.

“It’s looking. Trying to recover what it lost. The piece I refused.”

“You wounded it,” Agnes said. “But wounds don’t frighten things like this. They provoke them.”

“How strong is it now?” Will asked, moving to the door.

“You tell us,” Agnes said, meeting Edmund’s gaze.

He steadied himself against the faint outline of the broken circle and turned his attention inward. He could feel it rolling through him, leaving an icy trail everywhere it touched.

“Strong enough,” he said quietly, “that if I stopped resisting for even a minute, it would reclaim… me.”

“We need time,” Agnes said. “Time until dawn, when the forest’s strength ebbs.”

Will let out a brittle sound.

“That’s hours away.”

“And we will hold him through all of it,” Agnes said, defiantly. “Whatever comes.”

Malcolm rested a hand on Edmund’s shoulder.

“You’re not facing this night alone.”

Edmund managed a nod. He knew they all meant well, and would try their best. He was just unsure how successful that might be.

Deep within, what remained continued to change. It felt no need to plead, nor was it triumphant or whispering.

It was growing.

Edmund understood, with a dull, settling certainty, that the forest was not waiting for the fourth thread.

It was preparing for war.