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

He stood in the doorway with Ga’Shel and Trellia Gorsham. He glanced at Zvilna.

“And right now we need that.”

Chapter 30

THE WAIT FOR Zvilna Gorsham was excruciating. Each day was torture. You are not one for waiting. Not when every second works against you. Patience is for the idle, the complacent. Patience would see you discovered. Discovery would see you dead.

You are hunted. You have been for some time now. How they learned of your existence is irrelevant. They have brought someone new. Someone who is skilled at many things. Someone who will find you, if given enough time to do so. Every second works against you.

Or at least they did until very recently. Until Zvilna Gorsham, to be precise. Something happened then, which tipped the scales in your favor. Something happened, which gave teeth to the hunted. Or if not teeth, then a claw. A slender, silver claw as sharp as a cry in the night.

It is a simple thing of long lines and sharp point. A delicate thing, light in the hand and well-balanced. A deadly thing that pierces skin and flesh. You had to try it out immediately. You couldn’t wait. Patience is for the idle. It was easy to use. So easy. To plunge and pull and plunge again. And again. A simple thing.

✽✽✽

“WHAT DID YOU find?” Oray asked.

He moved around the room, glancing in the corners, under the bed, out the window. After a cursory glance, he approached Zvilna.

“Nothing new,” Davrosh said. “What about you? Any luck with your search.”

“Just another dead half-born in the Quarry,” Oray said.

“Foul play?”

“Looks like it. Body full of holes.”

“Poor Ostev,” Davrosh said, grinning.

Ga’Shel frowned. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Body was mostly frozen when we got there,” Oray said. He blew out his cheeks. “Any thoughts on entry? How about the window?”

Sorrows shook his head. “This far up? I know a handful of goblins that could do it. But they wouldn’t try it with snow on the roof and guards below. Too risky. And this guy’s too good to take unnecessary risks.”

“The door?” Oray asked.

Davrosh shook her head. “Door’s no good. Guard was right outside.”

Oray leaned over Zvilna, examining the arrow from all sides. He ran two fingers along the shaft, took a deep breath in through his nose, let it out slow and loud the same way.

“Manner of death?”

Sorrows glanced sideways at Davrosh. “I think it’s the arrow.”

Oray frowned. “But the shaft is intact.”

“I know,” Sorrows said. “I’m still working on it. I want to see the wound with the magic removed.”

Ga’Shel made a face. “Gods, what for?”

“Paint’s too thick. It’s holding her skin together. I want to see what damage the arrow caused. You all right, sunshine?”

Ga’Shel had paled. He put a hand over his mouth, nodded. Davrosh snorted.

“He doesn’t like blood,” she said.

“Odd line of work for someone with a weak stomach,” Sorrows said.

He hooked a finger beneath the collar of Zvilna’s dress, pulled it away from her neck, studied her throat. Smooth skin. Pale, unbroken. No bruising.

Oray moved beside him. “We have a team for that at the tower.”

“You’re taking her in?” Sorrows asked.

Oray nodded. “Tonight. We’ll examine the body, then return it to the family.”

Sorrows let the collar slip off his finger, studied her dress. Crimson and gold, with a pattern of holly falling over one shoulder. Soft fabric that clung to the contours of Zvilna’s body. The sleeves ended just below the elbow and flared wide. The hem hung against the buttermilk coverlet like spilled blood. Sorrows thought of the Fates and Zvilna’s empty wrists reaching for him. He ran his finger along the pattern of holly and primrose painted onto her forearm, wrist, the back of her hand. The paint was smooth, cold.

“What are you doing?” Ga’Shel asked.

He shifted on his feet. Davrosh stepped forward.

“What do you see?” she asked.

Sorrows closed his eyes, felt where the paint ended on Zvilna’s hand. Moved his fingers to her palm, brushed his thumb over her knuckles, took her hand like he was helping her out of bed. Like she was only sleeping.

“What’s he doing with my daughter?” Bo Gorsham asked from the doorway.

Sorrows said nothing, ignored him, kept his eyes closed, thought of the Fate. There was a commotion. He squeezed Zvilna’s fingers, pulled gently.

“This is a crime scene, Gorsham,” Oray said. “Hold him back, Ostev.”

“I don’t want him touching her,” Bo Gorsham said. More commotion.

Zvilna’s hand pulled free like an apple plucked from a tree. Sorrows opened his eyes. Her hand rested in his. Her arm dropped against the bed. Blood trickled onto the buttermilk coverlet, dripped onto the floor. He looked up. Bo Gorsham ran into the hallway, vomited. Ga’Shel had vanished. Oray and Davrosh stared at Zvilna.

Sorrows took Zvilna’s hand, placed it against her wrist. The paint pulled itself together, pristine. Holly and primrose. He stepped back, looked at his hand, at a smear of blood left on his fingers. Then looked at Davrosh, didn’t know what to say, shook his head.

“Paint’s too thick,” he said.

✽✽✽

WHY WOULD THEYbring the dagger? The more you think about it, the more it annoys you. You haven’t given the gods reason to doubt. You haven’t shown yourself to be reckless or incompetent. You are patient. You plan. You kill with confidence. Mastery is within your reach. You have only one species left to study. One people left to conquer. You haven’t made a single mistake. Not one.

But they’ve guided you to this point. And what you first thought to be blessing you now suspect is a curse. They’ve coddled you. They showed you the wire, the arrow. They pointed out an easy target when the human appeared, when the Mage Guard grew more watchful. You realize they don’t trust you. And if they don’t trust you, they don’t see you as one of their own. An equal. They think your mastery to be little more than the flash of trickery or the whim of chance. The more you think about it, the more your