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

Chapter Two, Part 2

The Institute had been Asher’s and Finn’s childhood dream, and while Asher had left that dream behind, he couldn’t deny himself a moment of wonder. Tall statues lined the marble path inward, noble faces looking down on them. Massive tapestries draped the walls, depicting legendary Knights and battles of old. The boys tailed Galen, marveling at the grandeur.

The entryway broadened into a wide chamber that encircled and overlooked a green lawn, busy with armored figures engaged in various forms of combat. Before Asher could get a full view, his group was stopped short by a long, wooden desk. An elderly man bent behind it, hustling about. He was at war with the pile of parchment before him, flipping between papers, arranging them into neat stacks. Galen steered their prisoner forward by the neck and halted him at the desk. The old man jerked his head up, startled, and his long, white beard scattered the parchment back across the tabletop. Cursing, he shoved the beard into his blue robes and turned a calm, appraising expression onto the butchered face before him. He leaned to the side, finding Galen behind the prisoner.

“Ah, Master Galen!” the old man said. “Welcome back, welcome back, my boy.”

“Sir Clerk,” Galen said with a thin smile.

“Keeping the peace once again?” The Clerk peered at the sagging, crusted face and the half-open eye. He craned his head around and beckoned a pair of soldiers over. The prisoner swayed on his feet. “Is he alive?”

“Just. He must be kept so for questioning.”

“Take him under,” the Clerk ordered, and the soldiers took a nervous hold of the rabble-rouser’s bulky arms, leading him away.

Finn pressed forward to Galen’s side.

“Questioning?” the Clerk said.

“We’ve come from the South,” Galen said. “With news.”

“Oh?” The Clerk licked a fingertip and shuffled through papers. “South where?”

“Southwind.”

The Clerk raised his caterpillar eyebrows. “Dear boy. Is that where you disappeared to? Again?”

“The Southern Bulwark is dead,” Galen said. “Along with half the garrison. They need reinforcements.”

That was it, then. Galen had brought himself and the prisoner to Riverdale in order to plead for Southwind’s protection. Asher couldn’t fathom how any compassion for their village remained in the Healer’s heart.

Surprise filled the old man’s face. “The Southern Bulwark”—he pulled a sheet to the top and peered at it—“Sir Victor. Of course. What happened?”

Asher looked up at Galen’s impassive face, wondering which story he would tell. Finn watched expectantly.

“We went into the Dragoncliffs,” Galen said, and the Clerk’s head jerked. “Only the boy and I lived.”

The old man gave a skeptical look that asked for the rest of the tale. But he leaned over a piece of parchment and voiced no complaint. “I would not count on reinforcements. What of your prisoner?”

“That’s a matter for the Queen.”

“Is it now?” the Clerk said, scribbling away with his quill.

“Yes.”

“You do not yet know our Young Queen. She is not like dear Sylvia. This one is quite particular about how she spends her hours and by whom she is advised.”

Galen opened his mouth to argue, but Finn stepped forward.

“Hi,” he said. “I’ve come on a long journey, and I’d like to apply to the Institute.”

Bemused, the Clerk turned his gaze on Finn. “What is your name, young master?”

“Finn Hunter,” he lied.

“So you survived a dragon, Finn Hunter?” There was genuine interest in his eyes.

Finn hesitated, frowning. “No, Sir.”

“Ah,” the Clerk said. “Well.” He redirected his interest to Asher for a moment, and Asher looked away. “I appreciate your valor, but our program is not for just anyone.”

Galen cut back in, scowling at Finn. “There’s trouble in Southwind. The Queen—”

Excited voices echoed from the entry hall, and Finn slumped away as the Healer and Clerk dug into an argument. Asher followed his friend away from the desk and toward the fanfare. He was ready to go explore the city and begin his search.

A small procession passed through the main hall. At the front and rear marched two pairs of soldiers, plated and armed. In between them walked two young Ladies.

Finn stared. Asher stared.

The Ladies sported thin plates of ornate armor, silver and gold-etched over their chests and arms, with delicate mail skirts tinkling round their hips. Long, fair tresses were woven and wrapped in tight, elegant buns. Asher had never seen skin so clean. He was enchanted. The moment could only compare to that of first seeing the unicorn and hearing the joyful song inside his head. Even the appearance of the Knight Exemplar—the mighty, graying Sir Jerrold—could not distract from the two.

“Highnesses,” the Exemplar said, tucking his cape as he bowed low.

The Ladies and their procession followed him down a side-stair and out of sight.

Galen appeared behind the boys. “If you’re done worrying the Princesses’ guard,” he said, “we have an audience with the Queen.”

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