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

Eldrake closed her eyes, shook her head.

“Ga’Shel is dead, as well?”

Sorrows shook his head. “No.”

“No? Why is he not here?”

Sorrows described the killings. Described a killer who slipped past guards. Described the wounds on wrists, ankles, faces. Described the arrows in foreheads, the arrow at Ga’Shel’s feet. Described Ga’Shel’s capture and escape. Still didn’t describe the dagger. When he finished, Shen swore. Davrosh sighed. Mig continued to sit quietly.

“Ga’Shel was the killer?” Shen asked.

“Yes.”

Eldrake held up a hand. “We don’t know that.”

“You might not,” Sorrows said. “But I know what I saw.”

“I don’t doubt you saw Oray restraining Ga’Shel—”

“He wasn’t restraining anyone,” Davrosh said, firm, sharp. “He’d looped wire around Ostev’s throat, and he’d have taken his head off in another minute.”

“Rash actions, I’ll concede, but perhaps Oray was overcome by emotion when he came across Ga’Shel preparing another victim.”

Davrosh shook her head. Described the coil of wire they’d found beneath the bed. Described her stepsister’s lack of wounds. Explained the lack of binding. But also didn’t describe the dagger. Shen nodded, shook her head, nodded again.

“Oray wasn’t a Walker,” she said. “He would’ve needed Ga’Shel to go unseen. They would’ve been working together from the start. But the partnership soured.”

“It would’ve soured from Oray’s perspective, not Ga’Shel’s,” Sorrows said. “Ga’Shel wouldn’t have suspected Oray. No way Oray catches Ga’Shel unaware otherwise. Ga’Shel should’ve just pushed Oray back into the gods-stream.”

“Oray could wakewalk.”

“Right,” Davrosh said. “Then Ostev must’ve panicked. He was always skittish around blood. Remember Zvilna Gorsham?”

“That was a lie. He was probably hiding evidence.”

“Shun it,” Davrosh said. She slapped the table. “I bet you’re right. He slipped at every crime scene.”

Eldrake frowned, stared at Sorrows. “Something’s missing in your story. There’s something you’re not telling me. Some reason why you’re not searching for Master Ga’Shel instead of talking to me. What is it?”

“There was someone else in the room with us,” Sorrows said. “An elf. Mage guard.”

“Who was it? Why isn’t he here?”

“She.”

“Was she killed?”

“No.”

“Injured?”

“No.”

“You’re still hiding something. What?”

The room fell silent again. Shen traced a finger back and forth across the table. Davrosh leaned back, glanced at Sorrows. Leaned back further, glanced at Mig. Eldrake tapped a finger and waited. Like she wanted someone else to start speaking so she could reassert who was in charge. But she didn’t expect Mig to be that someone else. So she was caught off guard when Mig spoke. And she didn’t expect Mig to ask her a question, so she was caught off guard again. And since Archmage Tu’Ell Eldrake didn’t like being caught off guard at all, let alone twice with one question, her frown grew and her tapping stopped.

“Your predecessor was also named Tu’Ell Eldrake, was she not?” Mig asked.

She sat with her hands folded in her lap. The points of her ears poked through her long raven hair, which cascaded over her shoulders. She stared at Eldrake with wide black eyes nestled in moss-green skin, soft and smooth. Her eyebrows arched innocently. She was saying, I’m just a simple goblin of humble upbringing. I don’t know the things you know. You’re so wise and generous for humoring me. It was a demure look that caused Sorrows to breathe a bit faster; caused his heart to beat a bit harder. It was a deceptive look, and Sorrows watched, interested.

“Yes.”

“Because you give up your name when you become Archmage.”

“Yes, but this is irrelevant. I want to know—”

“You knew the Archmage of Hammerfell Tower.”

Eldrake pressed her lips together. The lines in her face darkened. She looked old, angry. She was saying, I am the Archmage of Godscry Tower and I am not interrupted. She sighed through her nose, loudly, slowly.

“Yes.” She emphasized the word.

“But she passed away several months ago.”

“Yes.”

Mig nodded, her forehead wrinkled, and pursed her lips. A sympathetic look. Still deceptive.

“You two were sisters.”

Shen’s fingers stopped tracing the table. Davrosh straightened. Mig continued to sit with her hands folded in her lap. Eldrake turned toward her, spoke slowly.

“Yes.”

“Twins, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Where are you going with this, Mig Costennati?”

Mig shrugged. “I wanted to be sure of the details before I told you her name.”

“Who?”

“The one in the room with us.”

“The elf? Who was it?”

An arrow moves fast along its arc. If you’re paying attention and know what to look for, you might catch the hint of its passing. Sorrows was paying attention. Knew Mig well enough to know when she was drawing her bow. He waited, listened for the snap of the string.

“Her name was Ivra Jace.”

But for the target, the arrow is near invisible. Eldrake didn’t see it coming. Couldn’t react. Her mouth hung open. She rocked back in her seat. Her hands slid off the table onto her lap.

“Who told you that name?”

“She did.”

“Impossible.”

“It’s true, Archmage,” Davrosh said.

Eldrake didn’t hear her or didn’t care. Her eyes never left Mig. She shook her head.

“I don’t believe you.”

Mig flickered. A brief thing. Like the flash of sunlight on water. But the bow disappeared and in its place was a long, ornate box. Mig nodded toward the box.

“She said you’d recognize this.”

Eldrake said nothing. The lines on her face went slack. Her skin grew pale. She swallowed, stared at the box. Mig leaned forward until the edge of the table touched her below her shoulders. She was a goblin sitting at a table built for elves. She looked small. But Eldrake leaned away from her. Like Mig was a wolf baring its teeth. Mig offered a small smile that went nowhere near her eyes.

“She told me to tell you she knows what you did.”

Eldrake stared, said nothing. She pressed her hands onto the table to stop their trembling. Mig leaned closer, lowered her voice.

“She knows everything.”

✽✽✽

SORROWS STOOD IN the entrance hall, bow on his back, cloak like a shadow hanging on his shoulders. He’d kept the Mage Guard jerkin and boots. Liked the feel of them. Mig leaned against him, her fingers threaded through his. They stood and waited and didn’t speak. Had too much to say. Neither