He was dead.
I felt Sapt's hand on my shoulder.

Looking up, I saw his other hand stretched out towards the ground.

I turned my eyes where he pointed.
There, in the king's hand, stained with the king'sblood, was the box that I had carried to Wintenberg and Rupert of Hentzau had brought to the lodge that night.

It was not rest, but the box that the dying king had sought in his last moment.

I bent, and lifting his hand unclasped the fingers, still limp and warm.
Sapt bent down with sudden eagerness.