I loosely tied the sack closed with shaking fingers and carried it to the others. At least now they would be able to blink and breathe more freely. Dominic and Sebastian leaned on their shovels, chests heaving, in front of a grave that yawned open, ready to swallow anything we put inside.
“Done already?” I said coolly.
Dominic spat to the side. “Don’t see the point of burying them at all. I say we leave them and let the wolves take them.”
Sebastian stiffened. “We’re better than that,” he said firmly. “Whether they were outlaws or not, we don’t leave bodies out for vultures. We have more honor than that.”
“Well said,” I replied, clapping him once on the shoulder before turning a sharp grin on Dominic. “Though if wolves find them later, we can still say we did our part.”
Dominic chuckled darkly.
“It’s more important that our own men are returned quickly,” I added. “Leave this grave unmarked. Common criminals don’t deserve remembrance.”
One by one and as carefully as I could, I lowered the sacks into the pit. Little John barely fit and I was forced to drag him to the pit. He landed with a dull thud that made my jaw clench. He was already injured. I told myself he’d forgive me if the ruse worked.
Laurel went in last, and I placed her down gently. The moment the sack left my hands, I grabbed a shovel and began throwing dirt back into the grave in a frenzy. The soil thudded down, each impact sounding far too final. My palms burned andmy arms shook. Every instinct I had screamed that this was wrong. Whatever Robin Hood had said, this didn’t feel like a game.
I was burying Laurel alive.
LAUREL
Imarveled at how easily Baron could lie and the realization unsettled me far more than being buried alive had.
He had always seemed so honest—painfully so, at times. I hadn’t trusted him when I’d first met him, but then I’d begun to take it for granted that I could trust anything that he said. Yet here he was, spinning a convincing tale with righteous indignation, his every word landing exactly where it needed to. If I hadn’t known better, I might have believed him myself.
Did I really know him as well as I thought?
The notion slithered uncomfortably through my mind. I had always considered myself the manipulator, the trickster, the one who blurred truth and lies until even I could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. Baron had felt like my opposite, always solid, dependable, and immovable. And yet I was suddenly aware that he could be just as manipulative and deceitful as I was when the situation demanded it.
The realization both thrilled and frightened me.
As he berated the two soldiers, his voice sharp with authority, I felt an insect crawl slowly up my arm. Its tiny legs sent pinpricks across my skin, and every instinct screamed at meto swat it away or at least raise my head to look and see if it was dangerous or not. But I didn’t dare. I forced myself to remain utterly still, even as it traced a leisurely path toward my shoulder. I had no idea who might be watching, or how closely. If everyone else could pretend to be dead, so could I.
The most terrifying moment came when one of the men approached and nudged my boot.
My heart lurched. I was certain he would kick at my ribs, roll me over, or try to determine for himself that I was dead. I braced myself for it, terrified that my body would betray me with a gasp or a flinch. I was honestly shocked they hadn’t done more, given how difficult a prisoner I had been for them. Perhaps Baron’s performance had truly convinced them. Or perhaps they were simply eager to be done with the whole miserable affair.
Either way, I remained still.
Baron slipped all of us into bags, one by one, then placed us in a shallow hollow in the ground. The burlap scraped against my skin as he maneuvered me, and I caught the faint scent of earth and old grain woven into the fabric. When the first shovelful of dirt landed on my bag, I nearly sucked in a sharp breath. With each load of earth that followed, fine particles sifted down through the weave and dusted my face and hair.
It took every shred of self-restraint not to cough as the dirt tickled my nose and tried to edge into my mouth.
As we were buried, the sounds began to fade. Voices dulled and footsteps became muffled. Finally, all noise was cut off entirely, as though the world above had ceased to exist. I raised my hands in front of my face and pressed the bag outward just enough to create a small pocket of air against the cool, crushing weight of the soil.
The dirt was heavier than I had expected. It pressed in from all sides, firm and unyielding, making it difficult to move even an inch. My air was limited, and I needed to conserve every breath.It was a blessing that the graves were shallow; any more weight and I would have been crushed. How were the others faring?
Pitch-black darkness surrounded me, thick and absolute. Claustrophobia began to creep in, curling tight around my chest. I closed my eyes, though it made little difference, and pictured myself back in Sherwood Forest. I pictured myself bundled in thick blankets during winter, the crackle of a fire nearby, and the scent of pine hanging in the air. I clung to that image fiercely, refusing to think about the pressing mound of earth above me.
I drew air in slow, measured breaths.
This was just a waiting game, that was all. It was just a game.
I could wait.
I counted slowly to two thousand, then back down again, letting the numbers anchor me. Baron and his two companions had to be gone by now, along with the cart carrying the other bodies. When I judged enough time had passed, I drew a deep breath, reached down with trembling fingers, and struggled to pull the knife from my boot where the blade snagged for a moment before sliding free.
I took one last deep breath of air, then slit open the bag.
