Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1 by Dan Fish (no david read aloud TXT) 📕

slide out of bed and drop into her slippers, walk across her room toward the window with its views. She might open the door to the left—the door set near the corner, perpendicular to the window and her bed. She might open that door and walk onto the balcony, which wraps the exterior wall for four or five paces along the corner of the manor.

She might. But if she did, she would be obscured from the view of anyone in the room. Hidden.

Sorrows opened the balcony door, closed it, turned to face Davrosh.

“That’s a problem,” he said.

“There are two of us,” Davrosh said.

“Four with Caruvi and Yindenna. Caruvi will guard the door into the house. We’ll need Yindenna outside on the balcony. Which leaves no patrols and no runner. We need more mage guards.”

“Then we get more mage guards.”

“What’s the problem?” Nisha Davrosh asked.

Sorrows turned to face her. Nisha stood a head shorter than her stepsister. Average height for a dwarf. She was thick and broad and had enough bosom to stretch her pale, green dress tight across a healthy valley of cleavage. Her hair was long, black, and tied in a loose ponytail that she draped forward over her left shoulder. She had her father’s eyes. The same eyes as her stepsister. Green emeralds, sharp and bright and large. And, though she was a fresh twenty-seven years old, her chin, jaw, and upper lip had a shadow of black stubble. She was a striking dwarf. One who would have her choice of suitors. An ideal daughter to entrust with the future of House Davrosh. A daughter bright and beautiful enough to compensate for the half-born reminder of a husband’s dalliance.

“Nothing,” Davrosh said.

“The door to your balcony,” Sorrows said.

Nisha frowned, glanced at the door.

“It’s fine, Nish,” Davrosh said. “We’ll both be here. With blades. One at each door and with the Mage Guard outside. With blades. You’ll be safe.”

“I heard she was a Walker,” Nisha said. “Blades don’t work against a Walker. Everyone knows that.”

Davrosh glanced at Sorrows, kept her eyes on him. “That’s… true.”

“She’ll kill all three of us. All five of us, if she has to. Slipping the gods-stream befuddles the senses, we won’t stand a chance.”

Davrosh sighed. Nisha looked at Sorrows. Sorrows shrugged.

“We don’t know that she’ll come at all,” he said. “We keep the doors locked and guarded, and hope she makes a mistake.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good plan,” Nisha said.

Because it’s not much of a plan, Sorrows thought. “No plan is a very good plan until it works.”

“You’re a real comfort, Master Sorrows.”

“Call me Solomon.”

“Or orchole,” Davrosh said.

“Remma,” Nisha said. She frowned, gave a small shake of the head, and patted her step-sister’s arm. “Language.”

Sorrows coughed, hiding a small smile behind his hand. Davrosh rolled her eyes.

“Right, of course,” she said.

She offered Nisha a brief grin. A quick stretch of her chin, nothing gloating, and nothing that touched her eyes. She nodded toward a half vanity set against the wall. More dark-stained oak; drawers on either side of a chair resting underneath. A mirror in the center, oval to match the back of the chair. A polished top that held scattered bottles and brushes, a bundle of dried wildflowers, a quill and inkpot beside a thin book bound in red leather. A tray with brushes of various sizes, small jars, a palette.

“We should get started, Nish,” she said.

Nisha nodded, walked past her stepsister, pulled out the chair, and sat down. She stared at Sorrows from the mirror.

“Why’s she doing this?” she asked. “What did the dwarves ever do to anyone?”

The dwarves have done plenty in the past, Sorrows thought. “I don’t know,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter why,” Davrosh said. She stepped behind Nisha, pulled her hair back, studied her face. “What matters is what we’ve learned since Zvilna. We know the killer’s name. We know she’s a Walker. We think we can trap her.”

“That’s not much,” Nisha said.

“It’s all we’ve got. Like he said, she might not come. There’s no reason to think she would choose you over anyone else.”

“But if she did, I’d die, wouldn’t I? You said you would trap her. She’d already be in the room. She might be here right now.”

“Ga’Shel is coming by to check later this afternoon,” Sorrows said. “He’ll do a check, then shut the door. After that, the Mage Guard will make sure no one opens the door until you go to bed.”

“I think I’d prefer to have Master Ga’Shel here,” Nisha said. “No offense, Master Solomon.”

“There’s only offense in that statement,” Sorrows said. “No way around it. I’ve met sunshine. I’d be less offended if you preferred a troll.”

Nisha frowned, glanced at Davrosh. “Sunshine?”

“It’s his pet name for Ostev. It’s splitting adorable. They’re quite a pair.”

Nisha spun around. “You and Master Ga’Shel?”

“Gods, no,” Sorrows said.

“You’d make a handsome couple.”

Davrosh bit back a smile. She turned Nisha around, took the palette from the tray.

Sorrows sighed, turned to the door on the far wall. “I’m going to walk the house again.”

“Touchy, isn’t he?” Nisha asked.

“You have no idea,” Davrosh said. “No idea at all.”

✽✽✽

THE HUMAN IS there. And the half-born. No matter, they can’t see you. You slip in through the front door with a goblin carrying an armful of bread. It’s so easy. Everything moves so slowly. The goblin takes measured, plodding steps. You watch his balance shift from one foot to the next. You watch the strands of his black and silver hair flow in the wind of his passing. You imagine killing him. You think about how you might do it. There are so many ways to choose from. Some are quick, some cause pain. It is a morbid fascination, but it is what you do. Your mastery. You study and consider. Like a painter might study a flower or a landscape. Like a sculptor might study a hand or the lines and curves of a nude. You see the goblin and you imagine his death at your hands. You learn what