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

against his chest, stepping on his feet.

She started a dance of mass and momentum. He felt his center of gravity shift, felt his weight move backward over his heels. It was a slow thing and easy to adjust for. He could just step back, could brace himself against her body crashing into his. If his feet were free. But they weren’t, and he couldn’t. What he could do was fall. Backward. Landing hard on the floor. So he did. What he could do was grab onto something as he fell. A reflex; no thought, just action. So he did. But the only thing close was Davrosh, and she was already moving in the same direction. She fell with him, landed hard on top of him. Pressed her body to his. Had no choice. A dance of mass and momentum. She stared at him, her face a finger’s width from his, flushed with anger. He stared at her, said nothing, didn’t move.

“Could you give us a moment?” Oray asked.

He turned to Brochand and Utuur, offered a smile and a subtle glance at the door. They left. The room fell silent. Davrosh pushed herself off Sorrows. Sorrows stood. They straightened their jerkins. She gave him a look that said, Orchole. He gave her a look that said, What in all hells was that?

“That was amusing,” Oray said. “But Utuur and Brochand still have work to do, and we’ll leave them to it. Before that, there’s something you two need to see. Ostev?”

Ga’Shel reached into a pocket on his skirt, pulled something out, and tossed it onto the table beside him. It landed heavy and scraped against the stone.

“What is it?” Davrosh asked.

“Wire,” Sorrows said.

Loops of fine silver wire coiled loosely together like a bird’s nest woven from horsehair. They formed an oval no larger than Davrosh’s hand, but Sorrows guessed the wire to be a good fifty paces, end to end.

“Same stuff they use to hang the glowstone in the Entrance Hall,” Oray said. “We found it this morning.”

“We?” Davrosh asked. “When? Where? Why wasn’t I told?”

“I went to see the Archmage, and I wanted Ostev with me in case Ivra Jace was watching, slipped. You weren’t there because I want you rested. Something doesn’t add up. Ga’Shel is the only Walker in this tower. The Archmage wouldn’t keep another Walker secret. They’re too valuable. Unless—”

“Unless the Archmage didn’t know,” Sorrows said.

“Right.”

“What’s that have to do with the wire?” Davrosh asked.

“It was on her desk.”

“She let you take it?”

“She wasn’t there. Looked like she hadn’t been there for some time.”

“Jace?” Sorrows asked.

“No sign of her. No sign of anyone. Only the wire.”

Sorrows stared at the gray coil for a moment, then picked it up. It was heavier than he’d expected. He ran his thumb along the bundled curves. The wire was fine, smooth. The metal flexed and glinted in the light.

“This is what the killer uses to bind the women,” Sorrows said.

“I think so.”

Sorrows unwound a length, gripped it, pulled until it bit into his skin.

“The wrists, too?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Gods,” Davrosh said. “Why do they let him?”

“They’re disoriented,” Sorrows said. “Took us, what, a quarter hour each time Ga’Shel slipped us out of the gods-stream? And he’s the best I’ve traveled with.”

“Thanks,” Ga’Shel said.

“Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

“We’re sure he’s a Walker?” Davrosh said. “The killer?”

Oray nodded. “I’m convinced now, given the wounds and the wire. But…”

He stopped, glanced at Sorrows. His eyes softened for a moment. He pursed his lips, sighed through his nose. Sorrows nodded.

“But he’s not a he,” Sorrows said.

“Who then?” Davrosh asked. “Ivra Jace?”

“Might explain why I haven’t seen a trail at any of the crime scenes,” Ga’Shel said. “I don’t see any in the tower either.”

“Is that possible?” Davrosh asked.

Sorrows shrugged. “Ga’Shel’s restoration magic doesn’t have a scent. Why couldn’t Jace’s forest-walking leave no trace?”

The four traded glances. Oray looked hungry, ready to hunt. Ga’Shel looked tired, but calm, confident. Only Davrosh seemed unconvinced. Wrinkles lined her forehead. She stared at the wire.

“Something’s not right,” she said. “It’s too convenient.”

“The killer’s always had an edge,” Sorrows said.

“You’re sure Jace is a Walker?”

“Positive.”

“But you were with her at Ellebrand Manor.”

“Yes.”

Oray tapped his chin, looked at Sorrows. “Walk us through that night.”

Sorrows took a breath, gathered his thoughts, gave some details, omitted others. Davrosh questioned, Oray listened, Ga’Shel grew bored and traced the table with his fingers.

“You two only kissed?” Davrosh asked.

“Nothing else,” Sorrows said.

Davrosh grinned. “You took a bow to the back of the head for a kiss?”

Sorrows sighed. “Yes.”

“Do you know what time it was when Jace left?”

“Could’ve been midnight. Could’ve been later.”

Davrosh looked at Ga’Shel. “How long does it take you to reach Gorsham Manor?”

Ga’Shel was leaning on the table, facing away. Bored.

“Ten or twelve minutes slipped,” he said.

“Even if she was slower,” Sorrows said, “it might only take her a quarter hour to get there.”

“That puts her arriving as guests are leaving,” Davrosh said.

“Gods, she’d walk right in the front door.”

“I want to go back to Gorsham Manor,” Sorrows said. “Or Valinor, Sturm. Hells, I’d even suffer Gorn Haglund—”

“Brightle,” Davrosh said.

“Right. Brightle. Doesn’t matter. I want to see a crime scene.”

“Why?” Davrosh asked. “You’ve already seen Zvilna’s room, and the others will be compromised by now.”

“I want Ga’Shel to come along.”

“You want to see things slipped,” Oray said.

“That’s the idea.”

“You all right with that, Ostev?” Oray asked.

Ga’Shel turned, looked at Sorrows. “Sure.”

“Good. You two can leave after breakfast,” Oray said. “We’ll all meet in the dining hall at noon. I want a full report. Remma, you’ll stay back with me. We have a list of daughters to go through.”

“We’re getting closer,” Davrosh said.

Sorrows frowned. “Not close enough.”

“We’ll get her.”

“We better. Your sister’s eight days away.”

✽✽✽

SORROWS BLINKED HIS eyes into focus. Shook off his disorientation. He stared at a mansion no different from the dozens he had visited in the past month. It was wide and tall, stoic among thinned clusters of pine, spruce, and cedar. It had stone columns, a sloped roof, windows scattered across