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

Chapter Six, Part 1

Chapter VI: The Ghost

Galen supported Asher around the waist, pulling him through a black corridor. Ahead of them, the Keller burned a torch overhead. She was followed by the Queen and a pair of footmen. As they descended into darker tunnels, the mob’s roar faded and Asher’s pain vanished. He took back his weight, pulling away from the Healer and twisting his head around.

Finn was there, shadows dancing across his face. He still bore the bloodied sword and stared ahead with dead eyes. Asher recognized the look; he’d felt it after watching the massacre of Sir Victor and his company. It was the sickly expression of a man acquainted with death. Except this time Finn had been the killer.

Behind him, Hannah was herded forward by a soldier. Sputtering, she strained to look back. A group of men at the rear bore Miriam’s convulsing body across their outstretched arms.

Deep underground, they filed into a black stone chamber. The Keller hugged the wall, passing her flame on to lamp after lamp until an orange glow filled the space. Cobwebs clung in the corners. A rack of weapons leaned against an empty hearth. As the rear guard followed in and laid Miriam at the hard floor’s center, Hannah wailed and fell down at Miriam’s side, clutching her limp hand, holding it to her lips as she sobbed. Miriam’s cream dress had turned crimson. Her body was still.

Asher tested his legs and pulled away from Galen. He bent at the waist, the back, and rotated his shoulders. He felt fine, untouched. His breath came easy.

“Sit,” Galen whispered.

Asher said, “I’m not—”

“Quiet. Sit.”

The Healer eased him to the floor, and he rested back against the dusty wall. Galen tore a strip from the hem of his cloak and wrapped it around Asher’s torso like a bandage. He meant to make it look like Asher was still hurt.

Finn stood by them, his eyes on the Princesses.

Hannah was calling Miriam’s name. The Queen stepped over to her, her face a mixture of rage and regret. Galen left Asher to examine Miriam’s body.

After a moment of held breaths, he shook his head. “She didn’t have a chance.”

Asher saw it again in his mind: the dagger shooting into Miriam’s stomach. He wondered if he would have survived such a wound. A heavy guilt draped over his shoulders. Miriam had been kind. He didn’t deserve to live while she died.

Lilian took the Keller’s torch. Sweat gathered on her brow as she turned to her soldiers, who stood uncertainly about the room. “You two: take word to Sir Jerrold. Secure the castle. You: find a Taker for our dead. You, and you: sweep this passage and guard the door.”

The footmen went forth to carry out their orders, and before the door was shut, in slipped the Wraith, resuming her position behind the Queen.

“Hannah,” the Queen said. “Stand up.” Hannah stood, her eyes streaming. The Queen took her hand. “Miriam is gone. Be strong for her.” The Princess bit her lip and scrunched her face, fighting for control.

A low voice spoke, muffled behind the Wraith’s cloth facemask. “I found the stone-thrower in the mob, already dead.”

“An organized attack,” Galen said, standing. “By an organized rebellion.”

“I don’t believe it,” the Keller said. “Few even knew who we had taken prisoner. There would have been no way to plan this.”

“There was a man,” Galen said. “An odd sort in my master’s home. He may have heard this one”—Galen gestured to Finn—“speak of the prisoner.”