Free Bound by Roses (The Bound Series Book 1) by Jonathan Lazar Page B

raced in circles that not even she could comprehend fully.
    There she immediately sat upon a large chair positioned near her tallest arched window. The light of the day beamed. It warmed wherever it touched. The velvet curtains held off to the sides by thick bronze robes.
    Marguerite dismissed Kaniz, “Return in several hours please.”
    Her handmaiden bowed low, “as you wish, Marguerite.”
    Marguerite sighed. She did not watch Kaniz leave. Her gaze was to the open blue sky. There she watched a crow fly off to the horizon. It seemed to almost disappear in a blink of an eye. Her eyes wandered away from the bright sky. Upon her windowsill, she believed she saw a snowflake fall, though it was too early for such things to appear.
    From the side of her chair, a needlework that was started years ago, by whom her father called, her mother’s handmaiden. Something she never questioned, as her own Kaniz had needlework she would work on when time allowed. This one lay unfinished. Marguerite, in her alone time and needing to just think, would pick it up and work. She hoped that one day she would be able to finish it. She knew that it would eventually be the sigil that was the House of White.
    She stared down at it. She wanted to work, but did not have the energy. Instead, Marguerite’s mind wandered to her mother, Lady Astra White, the Witch that would eventually become known as the Queen.
    Her thoughts did not linger there long, but soon wandered to her father, Lord White. Her thoughts moved to the advice he would bestow upon those that asked. Out of the window she stared. Her thoughts lingered to the darkness that was the catacombs. Marguerite let her thick red robe drop as she rose. She dressed quickly in a gown of violet, and she scuttled away to the catacombs to speak to her father.
    She slowly descended the damp stairs with white rose in hand. Free hand kept her gown from getting too dirty. Down past bronze wall plagues, marking individuals noteworthy enough to be buried in the Ashok Orai catacombs. It was not until the bottom of the stairs that three passages existed closed by a heavy metal grate. The bars of which were intricately formed, and shaped into roses, thorns, and vines. All three passages semi lit by torches that extended down into unending darkness.
    A single guard in his bright white armor stood watch over the three halls. Standing tall, sword was out and vertical upon his arm. Marguerite stopped before him, “You are dismissed. Please wait at the entrance until I am finished.”
    “Yes, Lady White,” his armored boots clicked together. He sheathed his sword, bowed, and made his exit upwards.
    Down the middle passage, Marguerite passed. The gate opened with a squeal that would have woken the dead. The ethereal scream sent chills through Marguerite. She stood still until the chills past.
    Through the torch lit darkness, Marguerite passed row after row of lifeless bronze statues each a depiction of her ancestors. Lords of Ashok Orai she passed were all dressed in armor of the Age with swords unsheathed. While the Ladies of the House were all in long flowing robes and gowns that melted into the floor. Their hands folded before them in prayers to the Gods. Each statue guarded a dark hollow in the damp rock and in that a marble tomb. Marguerite looked at each one, for she always knew this to be her ultimate fate in life. To be entombed under the city, in eternal darkness, with only a flame, and her own statue as company.
    It had been many seasons since she traveled this far below the city, as well as the first time since her father’s passing, nearly three years prior. So distraught was Marguerite, that she only attended half the ceremony. For to this day, none of the Court learned how her father came into contact with the poison that killed him so rapidly. Her heart beat quickly and loudly in her ears as she thought of it. Her breaths were heavy, and quivered. She wanted to turn back, but she knew she