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

She nodded, said nothing. Stepped close, returned the arrow to the quiver, kissed him on the cheek before she moved away. He glanced at her. She smiled. But there are some things that feel very good, she was saying. He furrowed his brow, attempted to look annoyed, wiped his cheek where her lips left it wet and the air made it cold.

“You’re in a good mood today,” he said.

She shrugged. “I’m in a good mood most days, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re no Oray, that’s for sure,” he said. “But you seem different today.”

She smiled. “I’m excited.”

“Why?”

“It’s my first Maiden’s Dance.”

ONE MORE DAY. The wait has been easy. How could it be otherwise for one with your patience? You used the time to your advantage. You tested new wire. It held your weight beautifully. You studied Zvilna, her parents, her grandmother. A quiet household with few family and fewer friends. You planned.

You planned for the mage guard who would be stationed in Zvilna’s house the day of the dance. You planned for the human who would show up, as well. You planned for the City Guard who might come at the behest of one of their own. You planned for each contingency, but, in the end, you knew it mattered little. When the moment arrived, you would move swiftly with practiced confidence. You would kill Zvilna and leave. You would choose your next target. The last of the dwarves before you move on to the elves. Yes, much would happen when the moment arrived. And the moment always arrived.

Always.

✽✽✽

THE MUSIC PLAYED, and Cheshki Ellebrand danced. She wore a cotton dress, violet and green, lilacs and ivy. A matching mask had been painted on her face, matching bands painted around her wrists and ankles. The leaves were flat ovals with one line down the center and two or three small lines painted out toward the edges. The flowers were little more than blotches of violet painted among the leaves. A crude painting. Nothing like Davrosh’s work. And with no restoration magic placed upon it, the colors had smeared. They ran down Cheshki’s neck in thin green lines like rot against her tan skin. They followed the path of sweat that formed on her brow, glistened on her cheeks, and slipped down her jaw. The backs of her hands and her fingers were covered in the same sickly green, made dirty and dark by the violet from the lilacs.

She looked hideous. She looked lovely. She spun in time with the pounding of drummers. Their hands beat rhythmically upon tight leather; her feet barely touched the stone floor. A flute warbled and fluttered like a bird amid chords plucked on a lute. Three instruments, one song, one girl with a smile that shone like moonlight on snow. She danced while a host of her family and friends clapped in time around her. The day was hers; the night was hers; the Maiden’s Dance was hers. All but two eyes were on her, and she reveled in the attention and affection.

The two eyes that were not on her were on Sorrows. They watched him, unblinking. They had been watching him for most of the night, most of the day, most of the week. They were blue like deep water, and they were hungry. Not wolfish, but primal, urgent.

Jace’s demeanor had changed seven nights ago at Shealu Hallovel’s dance. She and Sorrows had kept watch along with two other members of the Mage Guard. The night had progressed without incident. Shealu had performed the Maiden’s Dance, with her four protectors standing stoically at the corners of the room. When she finished, the other attendees were invited to join. Shealu sought Sorrows, pulled him onto the floor to dance. He didn’t resist. It was her night; he understood the customs, and it allowed him to stay close to her. When she moved on to her next partner, he drifted back to his corner. Thought nothing of it.

When did you learn to dance? Jace had asked the next day as they walked back to the tower.

Sorrows couldn’t remember, and he had told her as much.

Would you dance with me? she had asked.

He had reminded her they were there to watch and protect.

Would you dance with me? she had asked again.

He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. Two nights later, when he was pulled onto the floor again, Jace joined him before he could return to his corner.

He had imagined a few things since he’d first met Ivra Jace. She was beautiful, enticing, and his mind was prone to wander. None of those imagined things involved dancing. But most, if not all, were related to the movement of bodies in proximity. And that night, as she twirled about him, lithe and light on her feet, his wandering mind lingered on what those imagined things might be like. She noticed his gaze, guessed at his thoughts, and later that night she kissed him. Not out of spite, but out of need. Brief and hard. It sent fire spreading across his chest and into his limbs. He didn’t think about Mig until the next morning as he and Jace walked back to the tower. Mig had waited for him for a year. He was struggling after a month. Something like guilt soured his thoughts, but he shrugged it off. She’d left him, after all. Maybe they were better off apart.

Three nights had passed since Shealu Hallovel. Jace watched him. Stared. He knew what it meant. Didn’t know if he would bother stopping it. Wondered when it would happen. They would leave Ellebrand Manor shortly and spending the night at the Gorsham’s. They’d watch over Zvilna, despite her family’s inevitable protests. He wasn’t concerned. Their complaints would be quiet, half-hearted, muted by a long day and by indulgent quantities of food and drink. He and Jace would return to the tower in the morning, exhausted,