A Clash of Honor Read Free Page B

shed no tears for Firth. She could feel her father’s spirit with her now, stronger than ever, and felt a sense of peace from him.
    “And one more thing,” she added, stopping the executioner. “Take down the body now.”
    “Now, my lady?” the executioner asked. “But the king gave orders for it to hang indefinitely.”
    Gwen shook her head.
    “Now,” she repeated. “Those are his new orders,” she lied.
    The executioner bowed and hurried off to cut down the corpse.
    Gwen felt another small sense of vindication. She had no doubt that Gareth was checking on Firth’s body out his window throughout the day—its removal would vex him, would serve as a reminder that things would not always go as he planned.
    Gwen was about to go when she heard a distinctive screech; she stopped and turned, and up high, perched on the beam, she saw Estopheles. She raised her hand to her eye to shield the sun, trying to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Estopheles screeched again and opened her wings, then closed them.
    Gwen could feel the bird bore the spirit of her father. His soul, so restless, was one step closer to peace.
    Gwen suddenly had an idea; she whistled and held out one arm, and Estopheles swooped down off her perch and landed on Gwen’s wrist. The weight of the bird was heavy, and her claws dug into Gwen’s skin.
    “Go to Thor,” she whispered to the bird. “Find him on the battlefield. Protect him. GO!” she screamed, lifting her arm.
    She watched as Estopheles flapped her wings and soared, higher and higher into the sky. She prayed it would work. There was something mysterious about that bird, especially its connection to Thor, and Gwen knew that anything was possible.
    Gwen continued on, hurrying through the winding streets towards the healer’s cottage. They passed through one of several arched gates heading out of the city, and she moved as fast as she could, praying that Godfrey hung in there long enough for them to get help.
    The second sun dipped lower in the sky by the time they climbed a small hill on the outskirts of King’s Court and the healer’s cottage came into view. It was a simple, one-room cottage, its white walls made of clay, with one small window on each side and a small, arched oak door in front. Hanging from its roof were plants of every color and variety, framing the cottage—which was also surrounded by a sprawling herb garden, flowers of every color and size making the cottage look as if it were dropped into the midst of a greenhouse.
    Gwen ran to the door, slammed the knocker several times. The door opened, and before her appeared the startled face of the healer.
    Illepra. She had been healer to the royal family her entire life, and had been a presence in Gwen’s life ever since she could walk. Yet still, Illepra managed to look young—in fact, she barely looked older than Gwen. Her skin positively glowed, radiant, framing her kind, green eyes and making her seem to be hardly more than 18 years. Gwen knew she was a good deal older than that, knew that her appearance was deceiving, and she also knew that Illepra was one of the smartest and most talented people she had ever met.
    Illepra’s eyes shifted to Godfrey as she took in the scene at once. She did away with pleasantries as her eyes opened wide with concern, realizing the urgency. She brushed past Gwen and hurried to Godfrey’s side, laying a palm of his forehead. She frowned.
    “Bring him in,” she ordered the two men, hastily, “and be quick about it.”
    Illepra went back inside, opening the door further, and they followed on her heels as they rushed into the cottage. Gwen followed them in, ducking at the low entrance, and closed the door behind them.
    It was dim in here, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust; when they did, she saw the cottage exactly as she had remembered it as a young girl: small, light, clean, and overflowing with plants, herbs and potions of every variety.
    “Set him down