✓ | TOUGH AS THE IRONWOOD (A.FORRESTER 2)

The Argument. Chapter Twenty Six.

After long hours that seemed to dwindle away into nothingness, Cynthia came to learn her backside had long since lost all feeling, and her feet were beginning to grow equally numb with her knees pressed so tightly against her chest. She hadn't eaten in a while either, or drank anything, and light seemed to be fading fast from the sky, which she had a clear view of from the corner in which she had been hurled up for what was apparently most of the day. Nobody had come to check on her, oddly, but then she'd have been glad of what lack of company. She didn't want to see anyone with a tear stained face and pale complexion. She didn't want to see anyone at all, not when she felt so rough and raw. She could have sworn her heart had literally shattered in her chest only hours ago, the thought of having to see someone after that made her feel sick. But now, as dusk settled in the crimson-stained sky, Cynthia thought maybe a little walk downstairs wouldn't do her much harm. 

Her legs creaked and cracked while she rose from the floor, her bones and joints had stiffened from being stuck in the same position for hours, and the release they were finally given was audible from any corner of the room. Her neck clicked too as she rolled it around on her shoulders, trying to straighten out the cramps that were tightening in her muscles. It seemed now that what had been a good idea at first, was now more painful then had been thought. 

She couldn't hear anyone on the other side of the door, and would have thought instantly that the kids were either downstairs or still outside with Gared and Royland - and by the sounds of it, the other kids had joined them wherever they were, as no noise at all could be heard from the surrounding area. So, with idle hands, Cynthia pried her bedroom door open and let the sweep of a cold breeze bustle past into her room from the empty space on the other side. A fire had been lit in her room all day, but in the hallways there was no heat at all, so the contrast was startling at first. She adjusted though, as the temperature around her didn't seem to phase her at all. She was numb to it all. 

She wondered down the stairs with little enthusiasm, and could only begin to hear the distant hum of talking when her foot collided with the bottom step. It was deep voices, conversing - presumably - in the Great Hall. Rodrik and Asher more than likely, but in all honesty Cynthia didn't want to face them right now. So she thought quickly, and headed to the kitchen rather than in the direction of the Forrester Lord and his brother. She'd make up some excuse of not feeling well or going to bed early, for the cook's sake, and she'd get food and go back upstairs. Plan sorted. 

Except, it wasn't sorted when Mira barrelled round the corner and came face to face with the ghost of Cynthia, who was ambling at a deadly pace down the hallway. 

"Where have you been?" She beamed, only losing the smile when she really focused on Cynthia's state, "By the gods, what's wrong with you?" She brushed a straying piece of hair out of the way from Cynthia's face, and examined the pale complexion of her friend. She could probably, very clearly, identify the bulging red eyes that were visibly inflated, and similarly the saddened flush in her cheeks, which probably gave Cynthia away immediately. "I'm fine." Cynthia lied anyway, not wanting to get into it. "Well you aren't going to be fine in a minute - Rodrik and Asher want to see you. They say it's important." Mira smiled softly, in a sympathetic way, but didn't look any closer at how horrible Cynthia probably looked. "Can it not wait?" Cynthia sighed, her head was beginning to pound since she'd stood up and all she wanted was to eat and sleep. "Apparently not. Come on, they're in the Great Hall." Mira led the way through the winding corridor that Cynthia knew far too well by now, and though Cynthia was glad for the company, Mira said nothing. She struggled to believe no one had thought to check her bedroom if they'd all been looking for her, but then it couldn't have been that important, or surely they would've come searching. 

Once they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, the sound of talking was far louder, still muffled, and more comprehensible than before; it was clear, from this range, that they were discussing something about Cynthia: "It's her own decision!" Asher was shouting, he sounded severely agitated, "She is 18; she is no longer a ward - Asher - I cannot protect her from her father anymore! That is how the law works!" Rodrik replied with just as much anger and irritation.