The Queen of Grass and Tree (Southwind Knights #2)

Chapter One, Part 2

Galen guided them through Southwind’s poplar woods, his dark eyes roving. A mess of stars scattered overhead, lighting the trio’s path as they sought the northern plains and one of the many earthen tributaries of the great Free Way road.

Galen’s mustang strode at his side, saddled with the Healer’s few possessions, black coat shining beneath the moon. Asher led his own mule by the reins. She walked with verve, seeming to want out of Southwind as badly as the rest of them.

When Asher and Galen had returned from their quest to the Dragoncliffs, they brought with them the dozen warhorses left over from their slaughtered company. The Marshal was so overjoyed at the sudden wealth of stock that he offered Asher his pick of the lot. To Finn’s wild disapproval, he chose the little pinto mule that had taken him on his journey and back. He named her Harriet. She was his family now, along with the Healer, the mustang, and Finn.

Finn lugged his own pack. After receiving the alicorn cure, he’d only needed the day to recover physically. Emotionally, however, he was still suffering. Before the salamander poison put him to sleep, he’d been an apprentice Tailor, the son of loving parents, and a poor but cared-for child. When he woke, his father was dead and his future uncertain. Asher found Finn at his door that night, cradling a hurt hand.

“We have to get out of here,” he’d said.

He explained how his mother had come to him after he woke. She’d already arranged for a new apprenticeship—with the Grocer. But when the Grocer visited Finn’s home and Finn saw how the man held his mother and how she returned the embrace, he snapped. The Grocer fled from their house with a bloodied mouth, and Finn decided never to forgive her.

Maggie had been like a mother to Asher as well, and her betrayal cleared the doubts that had clouded his mind. He could no longer stay in Southwind. Together, he and Finn went to Galen and begged him to take them along wherever he was going. To their surprise, he agreed, and the three plotted their escape.

So far, everything had gone according to plan. As the woods thinned and gave way to the open plains, every step was a relief to Asher.

Since returning from his journey, he’d felt like a stranger in his own town. A craze was spreading among the villagers, and their cynical eyes turned on him in the same way that they did the Healer. The only thing Asher would miss was his father, the Farmer. He wondered if the old man had woken up, if he’d found out that his son was gone. Asher hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Instead, he’d slipped out of their cottage in the dead of night.

The last image of his father played back in his head—the weathered, brown face, softer in sleep, a bit of spit dribbling from his mouth.

Farmer would be fine. He was strong as an ox, as Asher would be. The boy didn’t have his father’s face, but he had inherited the old man’s endurance, and he would need it where Galen was taking them: to Riverdale, capital city in the Queendom of Grass and Tree. There, they would seek new lives.

“The road,” Galen said.

Squinting through the night, Asher made out the faint shading of a dirt path. It led north, into an empty, dark horizon. He strained his eyes for a glimpse of what lay beyond. The great city was days away, but he was anxious to arrive. There was something he hoped to find there, something he didn’t dare mention to his companions.

Farmer might have guessed it and, if so, would have understood why Asher left. He had been born in Riverdale, and he hoped—foolishly, he knew—to find his mother there. Asher walked on, chasing the thought of her.

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