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

“Did you know Mari?” he asked.

Shealu’s mother hissed something in her daughter’s ear and tried to turn her away. Shealu jerked herself free of her mother’s grasp, stepped toward Sorrows. She nodded.

“We rode together from time to time,” Shealu said. “Though I never saw her outside of that. I always thought of her as a friend.”

Sorrows moved toward Shealu, but Wegg stepped in his way.

“I told you to get out of my home,” he said.

“It’s okay, Father,” Shealu said.

She hurried to her father, put a hand on his shoulder, kissed him on the cheek. She glanced toward her mother.

“I’d like to talk with Master Sorrows,” she said.

Shealu’s mother hesitated. Her jaw flexed and worked for a moment before she nodded. She gestured toward the cushions.

“Have a seat,” she said. She glanced at Jace. “Both of you.”

“They’ve no right, Ambetta,” Wegg said.

“They’re here to help, Wegg,” Shealu’s mother said. “Doesn’t hurt us to listen.”

Sorrows took a seat. Jace sat beside him. Ambetta walked to Wegg, whispered something in his ear, kissed him on the cheek, and patted his shoulder. There was an ease and comfort between the two. His shoulders had been bunched tight but relaxed at her touch. Her brow had been furrowed, but her eyes softened when he looked at her. Wegg took Ambetta’s hand and followed her to a pair of cushions across from Sorrows. Shealu joined them. Ambetta looked at Sorrows and offered an apologetic smile.

“The Mage Guard has us all so afraid,” she said.

Jace slid forward, knelt on the floor, reached out to touch Ambetta’s knee.

“We only want Shealu to be safe,” she said. “Solomon can help.”

“Of course,” Ambetta said, nodding. She glanced at Wegg. “Perhaps we should have listened more closely to what the Masters were saying yesterday.”

Wegg mumbled something into his beard. Sorrows caught the words smuggrin. He sympathized.

“Trust me, she’s worse once you get to know her,” he said.

Wegg rubbed his hand, looked at Sorrows.

“What in all hells are you talking about? She? You mean Master Davrosh?”

“No, no, we adore Remma,” Annetta said. She smiled. “She and Wegg grew up together when she joined house Davrosh.”

“Wish she would’ve left that gods-shunned elf back at the tower,” Wegg said. “Arrogant prick.”

“Master Ga’Shel isn’t arrogant,” Shealu said, blushing. “He was trying to be helpful.”

“Him?” Wegg asked, shaking his head. “If he meant to help, I’ll eat my beard.”

“Please, Wegg,” Ambetta said, glancing at Jace.

Jace smiled at Wegg, then glanced at Sorrows with a look that said, This explains a lot.

Sorrows nodded, leaned forward, studied Shealu. She was medium height for a dwarf, and broad across the shoulders. Her hair was black like Ambetta’s, her skin pale like Wegg’s, but her eyes were her own and they sparkled with the orange-reds of fire and sunset. She was young and lacking stubble on her chin and cheeks. Her hands were strong and thick-fingered, but soft, unworked. They were hands that gripped quills and parchment, not stone and timber. She was dressed in wool dyed gray-blue like the mountains, and her hair was tied back with white ribbon. She sat in between her parents like a gift. The pride of House Hallovel.

The goblin from earlier entered the room bearing a tray with assorted drinks. Coffee for Sorrows and Ambetta, wine for Jace and Shealu, a whiskey for Wegg. Ambetta offered a toast. Something about Shealu and the blessing of the gods. Sorrows didn’t hear most of it. His attention had turned to Wegg, who had thrown back his whiskey and was watching Sorrows. He wore a smile of sorts. Sort of angry, sort of hostile, sort of like Davrosh. It was the sort of smile that would make his chin look like a withered grapefruit, if he didn’t have a beard. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were unblinking and hard. Sorrows knew anger when he saw it, and this was something more. Something that needed to be confronted.

“I’d like to see Shealu’s room,” he said, setting his coffee down untouched.

Ambetta started to rise, but Sorrows held out a hand, gave a small smile.

“Wegg can show me,” he said.

Wegg stood, kept staring at Sorrows. “Follow me.”

Jace glanced at Sorrows. You sure about this?

Sorrows nodded at her: Everything will be fine. A stretch of the truth. Dwarves nursed grudges like orcs nursed ugly. And Wegg hadn’t stopped wringing his hand, though Jace had clearly healed any damage done by the handshake. Jace turned away and asked Shealu if she was excited about her Maiden’s Dance. Sorrows ignored the answer and followed Wegg into a hallway.

“You’ve already seen the entrance hall and sitting room,” Wegg said, gesturing without looking at Sorrows. “The dining hall was to the right when you entered, the library to the left. There’s a study, kitchens, along the north side of the manor.”

He led Sorrows deeper into the manor, using irrelevant detail to show the grandeur of House Hallovel. The Hallovels didn’t own a vase. They owned a vase gifted by their close friend, Elilah Sturm. They didn’t have just any old axe hanging in the library. It was the axe wielded by Ambetta’s grandfather, Ceshkil Hallovel, when he saved Arman Valinor from a horde of Curslings. The Hallovels were an up-and-coming house. Lifted from obscurity by four generations of daughters. They were fighting for recognition among the dwarven aristocracy. And that made Wegg dangerous. It made him the type of dwarf who would view certain risks as acceptable, if they would elevate the house. Maybe one of those risks was an attack on his daughter, which he thought he could defend. Not as impressive a task if the Mage Guard were there to help.

And that made Sorrows a problem. It had made Davrosh and Ga’Shel a problem, but they had been easy to send away. Wegg could save face with Davrosh by pointing a finger at Ga’Shel. Elf arrogance. A basic concept. Easy to understand. Not so easy to send the human away. The human who broke Wegg’s hand. The hand which had then been