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

hand to his side, signaled. Only for show. Hunting Seph. Join us. He waited, but she didn’t reappear. He sighed, walked to his table and sat down. Tested the arrow before putting it back in the quiver. Every shaft had a breaking point. You couldn’t keep shooting the same arrow over and over again. Eventually it would break. And when it did, it would splinter, shatter, lashing out at the bow, the string, the hunter. Anything close. A year, Solomon.

“Are you inviting me to bed?” Jace asked.

She had moved her chair against the wall and was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, boot tapping the air. She was leaning back with one arm on the table and the other twirling a strand of her hair. She stared at Sorrows.

“What?” Sorrows asked.

“You said I’d warm your bed.”

“What?” Sorrows asked again. He shook his head. “No. That was to keep us from being bothered all night.”

A goblin approached carrying a tray with two tankards, a loaf of bread, two bowls of stew. He set it on the table, flashed Jace a brief smile, then turned to Sorrows. Waited.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Sorrows said.

“Can’t sit for free,” the goblin said. “You want something else?”

Sorrows sighed, threw a silver on the tray.

“For the damage to the table.”

The goblin scooped the coin before it stopped rolling. Turned and walked away. Jace leaned closer, lowered her voice.

“Would it be so bad?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I was your elf.”

Sorrows gave a short laugh. “I told you, it was for show.”

He shouted over his shoulder. “For show, Mig.”

“Why for show? I can take care of myself, Solomon. I don’t need protection.”

“Was for my protection, not yours. And button up your jerkin before you get me stabbed. I’ve seen elf breasts before. You’re not doing me any favors.”

Jace blushed, buttoned the bottom half of her jerkin.

“I heard you were immortal,” she said.

“A knife in the back still feels like a knife in the back,” Sorrows said. “Who assigned you to me?”

“Not Oray.”

“I gathered that. Who?”

Jace shook her head. Her cheeks were still flushed. A strand of hair slipped free and fell across her cheek. She tucked it behind an ear.

“Someone who knows what you like.”

That’s the gods’ honest truth, he thought. “Does this someone have a name?”

Jace shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“And you were ordered to get close to me.”

“Something like that.”

“How close?”

She looked at him hard, unblinking.

“Close.”

He shook his head. “Well, that won’t happen. It doesn’t need to. We’re close enough right now. You keep Oray off my back and whoever’s giving you your orders can have the bow when I’m finished.”

“The bow?”

“That’s what this is about, right? The elves want the bow back?”

Jace said nothing, stared at him for a long moment, leaned across the table. “And you’ll just hand it over once the soul is free?”

Once Julia is free. “Sure. I don’t need another bow.”

“No questions asked.”

“No questions asked. Don’t know, and when it comes to elves, don’t care. At all.”

She leaned back, folded her arms, nodded. “We could still be close, if you wanted.”

“I don’t.”

She shrugged. “If you change your mind...”

“I won’t.”

She sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. What next?”

Sorrows pulled his tankard close, took a drink, regretted it. Eyed the stew. Decided he wasn’t that hungry. Glanced at the door, then the bar.

“We wait,” he said.

“For what?”

“Who, not what. Someone.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

Sorrows took the amulet from under his tunic. “He’s about to.”

✽✽✽

AN HOUR PASSED, then two more. The tavern emptied a little, then a lot. Jace left her seat, moved to the chair beside Sorrows to study the amulet. They finished the loaf of bread, sent the stew and ale back. Sorrows ordered two whiskeys. The old goblin had left for the night. The barkeep, an old dwarf missing half his leg, brought their drinks himself. He limped through the tavern on an oak spindle, didn’t talk, didn’t spill, and didn’t linger. A good barkeep.

“How do you know he’ll show?” Jace asked.

She’d turned toward him, her legs slipped beneath his chair, her forearm resting on his chest. She held the amulet in her hand and was brushing her thumb across its surface, staring at the lights dancing within. He looked past her to the door.

“I don’t,” he said. “Might be a she. Or something that looks neither male nor female. Who knows? You ever see a Seph?”

Jace straightened. “We’re waiting for a Seph?”

“We are. They’re drawn to the Grimstone. If there’s one in Hammerfell, it’ll come.”

“But if it doesn’t?”

“We’ll come back tomorrow if we have to. And the next day. And the next.”

“And if it never comes?”

“It will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The Grimstone works both ways.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a feeling I get.”

“You feel one close?”

Sorrows nodded. “Close enough. It’s in the city.”

Another hour passed, and the barkeep announced the tavern was closing. Sorrows dropped a few coppers on the table. He and Jace left. A north wind blew at their backs as they worked their way to Hammerfell Tower. Their cloaks fluttered in front of them. Cold, fine snow pelted their hoods. Jace stayed close. Sorrows should’ve minded. Didn’t. They found their way to the main road, the glowstone lamps, the shop windows gone dark. They passed the Mage Guard sentries, descended the spiral corridor, stopped in front of some random door on the right. Sorrows had lost count again. Jace placed her hand on the oak. It hummed with magic, then opened. Sorrows stepped inside.

“It was nice to spend time with you,” Jace said. “It might be nice to spend some more.”

The door was open enough to frame the shape of her. Her cheeks flushed from cold, cloak open, jerkin unbuttoned enough to show neck, chest, the hint of curve and shadow. Someone who knows what you like. Sorrows turned, took the door handle.

“Good night, Jace,” he said.

He pulled the door shut, held the handle until the hum of magic told him he was locked in his room, trapped. A guest with elevated privileges.