Shadow Touched (Editing)

34. FINCH

I should be getting ready for bed; after all, I'll need to be well-rested if I'm to babysit Naima all day. Welland claims it is a great honour to escort the daughter—the only child of our fallen General and my mentor—for the day's activities. Of course, this claim comes with a smirk on his thin lips and eyes that narrow at me just enough to tell me his words don't match his true feelings.

No, escorting Naima is a punishment. Punishment for speaking out against the Jubilee. Punishment for trying to make the King see reason when it comes to Grey, to Solditch, to the godsdamn Gloaming. I wouldn't be surprised if Welland's in his room now getting off to my suffering. If the rumours about him are true, then no doubt he's solicited the attention of some poor young girl with a family in need of gold. I shudder at the thought.

Regardless, I'm heading out to investigate a strange occurrence rather than sliding into my bed for a good night's rest.

Earlier this week, Brinks, the head gardener, approached me with a disturbed look.

"Captain Stewart," he said, his soft voice barely registering as I worked at my desk. I didn't notice the man until he stepped fully into my office, and his looming shadow disturbed my light.

"Forgive me, Captain; I don't mean to be a bother; it's only—" he stammered.

Though the man has tended Mirrador's gardens for as long as I've lived here, I can count the number of times we've spoken on one hand. Shyer than a bat-eared wolf, Brinks tends to do his work when no one's around, which means mostly at night. Unorthodox as it is, the castle's gardens bloom beautifully, making me wonder if Brinks may have a touch of fey in him.

"Brinks," I said by way of acknowledgment, gesturing for him to take a seat.

He ignored the gesture and remained standing. Kneading his hat between his hands, he looked around uncomfortably as if to check that we were alone.

"Captain," he began again, stepping closer to me. "There's an issue I must bring to your attention. I-I didn't know who to speak to, but as you are quite close to His Royal Highness, I thought perhaps you would be the best person to address."

When Grey was mentioned, I felt my back stiffen. "Close the door, please, Brinks."

He did so swiftly, and then, continuing to knead his hat, he stammered through a disturbing story.

"This past year, I began to notice disturbances in the soil along the perimeter of Winter's Forest. I worried perhaps an infestation of Ash Moles had found its way onto the grounds. The forest is large, and it's hard to control the creatures—that's why I keep the trained foxes, you see. After weeks of stumbling upon the upturned soil, I investigated further and dug it up myself."

He paused, his eyes shifting back and forth as if pleading with me to understand what I didn't know.

"Well, you see, Captain, it can't be Ash Moles. They're too small to have—they don't generally—"

"Go on," I encouraged, finding his hesitance unnerving.

"Corpses. It were corpses that I found, Sir. Animal skeletons. Foals, foxes, and bigger."

"Skeletons," I repeated.

"Aye, sir."

"How many skeletons are we talking?" I asked, the hair on my neck and my arms standing up. My pulse had begun to throb, my system on high alert.

"Hundreds."

"And what does this have to do with His Royal Highness?" I enquired. I worked hard to keep my voice low and calm, my tone casual, though I worried I already knew the answer.