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

Sorrows glanced at Mig. She looked at him and smiled. Pushed herself up, kissed him briefly on the mouth, then settled back.

“I’m glad you did,” she said.

“I thought you two were done.”

Sorrows shrugged.

“It’s complicated,” Mig said.

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Fen said.

Sorrows took a deep breath. He and Fen had left the noise and crowd of the tavern and slow-footed the thirty minutes back to Fen’s place. Modest, open, clean, quiet. It smelled of resin and moss. Tangled walls of ash saplings stretched between columns of red cedar. Wisps floated near the ceiling, pale globes that filled the room with moonlight. Goblin magic. All elegance, no arrogance. One of the reasons he liked goblins.

He pressed his face into Mig’s hair, exhaled slowly, felt the warmth of his own breath reflected. She’d been there when they got back. Waiting for them. For him. She’d changed into a thin, lilac-colored dress that left her shoulders bare. After an evening of looking at Oray and Davrosh, she was an oasis for his eyes, and he drank in the sight of her. She leaned into him, soft and warm and real. She worked her hand under his shirt, slid her fingers over his chest. He looked at her, raised an eyebrow. She looked at him, feigned innocence. Another reason he liked goblins. Particularly this goblin.

Fen swirled his glass some more, brought it to his nose. Inhaled. Sighed.

“Why not get another bow, Sol?” Mig asked.

“It’s not just any bow. It’s for a job,” Sorrows said.

“The tricky one?”

“Yeah.”

Fen stopped swirling, stared at Sorrows. “That’s what you told her? It’s a tricky soul.”

Sorrows looked at the ceiling, said nothing.

“It’s Julia, Mig,” Fen said.

Mig pushed away. Expected. She stood, walked across the room. Stopped. Turned.

“Gods,” she said.

She bent over, grabbed Fen’s whiskey, drained the glass. Coughed, winced, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Gods,” she said again. “And they took her.”

“It’s my fault,” Fen said. “I let an elf get the better of me.”

“Stop it, Fen,” Mig said. She looked at Sorrows. “Do they know the bow holds Julia’s soul?”

“Yeah. They know that leaves me with no choice.”

“Why would they do that to you, Sol? To her?”

“Four gods-born dead,” Sorrows said. “That’s why. It’s expected. Vengeance of the gods-born is half threat, half reputation. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect the reputation, and that means the threat can’t fail. Not once or twice. Not ever.”

“Why?” Mig asked. “Why not once? Everyone fears the Mage Guard. Everyone knows what they’re capable of. If four murders go unsolved, what would it do?”

“It would ruin them. Undo centuries of work. A killer goes free. Maybe someone else finds out. Maybe he’s got an urge to kill, but the threat of inescapable vengeance keeps him from acting on it. He hears about a killer who beat the Mage Guard and he thinks, why not me? So, he gives in to the urge. Maybe they catch him, maybe they don’t. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s not the only one with the urge and not the only one to act on it. Suddenly they’re dealing with a rash of killings. They’re spread thin. Eventually another killer escapes. Now there are two that beat the Mage Guard. After that, all hells break loose.”

“What are you going to do?”

“They leave at daybreak. With or without me. I suspect it’ll be with.”

Mig paced from one side of the room to another, arms folded across her chest. Fen sloshed two fingers of whiskey into his glass. Returned to swirling.

“We could follow you, Sol,” Mig said. “Fen and I. The Walker will be spent, just like Fen. You’ll be slow-footing. We wait until you’ve snatched the bow, and we slip away.”

“That only buys us a week or two,” Sorrows said. “And it gives them plenty of reason to lock you away in the tower. I don’t want you a part of this. Not like that, anyway.”

Mig stopped pacing, sat on a cushion beside Fen. Pulled her feet back and to the side. Leaned onto an arm. Her hair fell past her shoulder, hung an inch below her elbow. Her skin shone with wisp light along the curves of her face, the length of her neck. She was easy to look at. She had an easy smile. An easy laugh. She had never called him an orchole, though he’d deserved it more than once. Running away with her was illogical. But tempting.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Sorrows said. “Eldrake all but spelled it out for me. Oray gave me ample opportunity to change my mind. It’s Davrosh. She sets me on edge with that elf smirk on a dwarf face. Gods, she drives me mad.”

“It’s not your fault, Sol. She’s half elf. She can’t help acting like an orchole,” Fen said. “Same goes for the rest of them. This is why—”

“No one likes elves,” Sorrows said. He shook his head. “I know. But I should’ve played along. Should’ve kept the bow safe. I backed them into a corner. Now I know what they’re willing to do. And worse, they know I know. Can’t call an arrow back to the string.”

“You can still get on the half-born’s good side,” Mig said. “If she’s their best, then gaining her trust could improve your standing with the others.”

“I’ve seen most sides of her. None good,” Sorrows said.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t like her, Mig.”

Mig rose from her cushion, crossed the room. Put her hands on his chest. Leaned close. Her breath was on his chin and neck. Warm, real.

“Do this for Julia and for me,” she said. “Bring Julia peace. No loose ends, Solomon.” Voice soft, but strong. Black eyes mesmerizing. Don’t make me the other woman, they said. She pursed her lips, pushed away, patted him on the chest with one hand as she turned.

Fen scoffed and shook his head. “Why in all hells would he do that? Soon as Sol’s found the killer, the elves will invent another reason to keep