Charlotte spun—nothing.She strained her eyes, searching the shadows between the hedges and trees, but it was far too dark.
Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs. ‘Who’s there?’ she whispered, ridiculously, as though any lurking assassin would courteously answer.
Too frightened to remain in the dark, she forged on. Whether squirrel or stalker, she could not turn back now. At least the stables had a few lanterns—so if she were murdered tonight, she preferred to at least see her killer, she thought, macabrely.
She pushed against the stable door, and it opened a crack. She slipped to one side, peering in, listening. Hoofbeats. Neighing. The rustle of hay. No voices.
She crept into the nearest stall. Its sole occupant, a dapple-grey horse, snorted and stamped, its flank brushing the stall wall; he eyed Charlotte wearily. She tried to steady her trembling hands by gripping the edge of the wooden beam as she extended her other hand towards his forelock. After a moment’s assessment, he pressed his forehead onto her palm, and some of her nerves settled. If anyone entered now, she would be trapped—a foolish move on her part.
‘At least you have this dapple-grey to mount if things turn awry,’ she muttered soundlessly to herself.
The smell of horse and hay tickled her nose. She sneezed—then slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with terror.
The sound echoed faintly off the wooden walls. She froze, pressing her back against the stall, every muscle taut. The horses shifted restlessly, their soft snorts loud as thunder to her ears.
Then she heard them—voices she could never forget, coming from the far end of the stable.
‘Foolish boy. You could not even complete such a simple task,’ said the Wolf, his voice so devoid of feeling it sent a chill down Charlotte’s spine.
‘You don’t understand,’ said Stag, pleading. ‘A girl in a yellow dress fell on top of him out of nowhere. There was nothing I could do. She must have seen me tip the poison into his coffee—she must have—’
Wolf gave a humourless laugh. ‘So you were seen poisoning his drink.’
‘I—I don’t know if she saw anything... it could have been a coincidence. She might have tripped—’ he stammered, trying to retract his earlier words.
‘Enough.’The Wolf’s tone sharpened. ‘Where is the vial? Give it to me.’
‘Here.’ Stag’s voice faltered, like a schoolboy awaiting punishment.
Then Wolf’s voice flattened until it seemed stripped of all humanity.
‘Do you know,’ he said, almost conversationally, ‘there were three Grand Fellows at last year’s house party. They observed you and were... impressed.’
Stag’s breath caught. ‘Three? Among the guests? Who were they?’
‘I told them you were not ready,’ Wolf drawled. ‘And tonight, you have proved me right.’
‘No—wait—please—I can mend it. Tell them—I can do it. Give me another chance. Please... Wolf—’
He was cut off by a sound that did not sound human—a low, raw groan.
Perplexed by it, Charlotte crouched and peered beneath the stall wall.
At the sight that met her, she gasped and stumbled back, nearly upsetting a bucket. The horses stamped and snorted, mercifully masking the sound. She clapped a hand over her mouth, willing herself to silence.
At the far end of the stable lay the poor Stag, slumped against the wall with a knife protruding from his chest. His mask had fallen away, revealing a face barely out of the schoolroom—pale, bloodless, and stunned.
It had happened so quickly, there was little she could have done to prevent it.
His eyes—wide, desperate—locked onto hers.
‘Such a shame,’ Wolf continued, almost idly. ‘You had so much potential. The Grand Fellows had marked you to lead operations at Alderley. Now we must begin the recruitment process anew.’
His tone was matter-of-fact, as though he had not just murdered his “friend.”
At that moment, voices rose from outside—loud, laughing and jeering, likely grooms making their rounds and checking the horses. Alerted to their presence, the Wolf hissed a curse and strode swiftly out the other side of the building, leading a silver-coated horse by the reins. His shadow stretched long and monstrous across the lantern light before disappearing into the night.
Charlotte sagged with relief—for all of two seconds. Then she got up and slowly approached the young man who lay dying.
