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

said nothing. They walked. The side of the mountain turned to lines and corners, slanted roads and terraces. Bex’s tangled shack appeared, they approached, they entered. Sorrows sat on the same cushion, laid his bow down to the side.

“As soon as you’re ready,” he said.

Mig stood behind him, bent over, kissed him on the cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight?”

Sorrows nodded. “As soon as I can.”

The smell of stone and damp returned to Sorrows along with the ringing of iron outside. Dust swirled around fragments of glowstone scattered on the walls. His back grew cold without Mig leaning against him. He held his breath, expecting Jace and Bex to reappear.

He was still alone when the burning in his lungs reminded him to breathe, and a voice in the back of his head told him to start counting. Was still alone at one hundred. At two hundred he picked up his bow. At three hundred he left the shack and emerged into blowing snow. He stopped counting and started working his fingers. Where are they? He waited, but Mig didn’t show. He tried again. Come back.Need to talk. He started counting.

Every hunter misses on occasion. Loose enough arrows, and you’ll know a miss before the string slips off your fingers. At ten, Sorrows pulled up his hood and slid his bow into the bindings on his back. At thirty, he started running. He passed the tavern, kept running. He passed from gravel to paved stone, kept running. He ran until the tower loomed before him and didn’t stop until his hands grasped iron. He opened the doors wide while two elf guards leveled blades at his throat. He stopped, but he saw inside. Saw Jace waiting.

And she saw him.

She waved the guards away and walked across the stone floor. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair wild, like she had just come in from outside. She came close, took his arm, pulled him inside, turned to face him. Her eyes were glistening.

“How could you?” she asked.

She kept her voice low, lips close together. Her chin quivered. She was trembling.

“What do you mean?”

It was a weak deception and one he didn’t bother trying to sell. She slapped him. Hard.

“Why do you hate me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t.”

“You’re wrong about us, but you’ll never see it,” she said. “Not now.”

He didn’t know what she meant, and at that moment he didn’t care. Guards were taking interest, and he was feeling outnumbered. He reached out, took her elbow. She gave a half-hearted attempt to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I am too,” she said.

“For what?”

She stepped forward in a rush and pressed her mouth against his. She brought her hands to his head, threaded her fingers through his hair. Her tongue slipped through his lips, past his teeth. She kissed him hard, then pulled back, stared at him.

“I hope she was watching,” she said. Her voice was tight, angry. “She deserves it. You both do.”

Jace turned and walked away.

✽✽✽

HE FOLLOWED JACE into the spiral corridor. She turned left, headed down. She said nothing; he said nothing. One door on the right, one on the left, two on the right, three on the right, two on the left. She was walking fast, angry. She stopped in front of a door. He’d lost count again. She opened it; he walked into his room; she closed the door.

He set the bow down on the bed, then sat beside it and waited for Mig. He expected yelling, maybe another slap. He’d explain, she’d forgive him. Eventually. Maybe before he was taken away again. Definitely before he fell asleep tonight. No way in all hells was he going to bed with an angry goblin watching him outside the gods-stream.

But when she didn’t reappear, he worried that the shaft had snapped. The arrow had been loosed one too many times. Maybe she saw the kiss, turned around, and left. Maybe she was already on the road outside Hammerfell. He thought of her walking alone, obsidian eyes wet with betrayal. He was an orchole. He should’ve turned away from Jace when she stepped close. Should have shoved her away. Should have reacted. But he didn’t do any of that because he wanted the kiss. Maybe not all of him, but definitely a part of him. The loose hair, the flushed cheeks, the red lips. More of him had wanted Jace than he realized. More of him wanted her to come back through the door, blue eyes flashing with anger, full of passion, hungry. He realized then that Mig had been right, and he had been outplayed.

He flashed some signs with his hands. Sorry. Surprised me. Wasn’t thinking. Mig still didn’t show. He took off his cloak, unbuttoned his jerkin, fell back on the bed, watched the lamplight flicker and dance on the ceiling.

Hours passed by. The door opened, Jace stepped in. She’d taken off her cloak, smoothed her hair. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes placid and composed.

“Is she here?” she asked.

Sorrows shrugged. “If she is, she’s not talking to me.”

Jace leaned against the door, closed her eyes, shook her head slowly side to side.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “I lost my composure. I came to apologize.”

Unexpected. Elves never apologized for anything. One benefit of complete arrogance is a conscience unburdened by the belief you are ever wrong. Sorrows watched Jace, said nothing. She kept her eyes closed, like she couldn’t look at him when she was this vulnerable.

“You’ll learn things about me, Solomon,” she said. “Things I’d hoped we could get past. Now other things will make that difficult. But I need you to know I’m not a monster.”

“I believe you,” he said. “I do.”

She opened her eyes, looked at him, nodded, gave a small smile.

“Thank you for that,” she said.

A knock sounded on the door. Jace slid away as it opened. Davrosh stood in the doorway, jerkin askew, hair like a bundle of dirty straw. She looked from Sorrows to Jace to the bed to Sorrows.

“Uh,” she said.

“I’ll bring