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

This is necessary. It does not worry you. You intend to show the gods what you are capable of. Despite the odds. Despite what the Mage Guard and Solomon Sorrows might know. What they might do to stop you. You will kill Nisha Davrosh. You will do it right under their noses, while they watch. You will do it alone. And when you are finished, the gods will see you mean to join them. They will see you are worthy.

And if they are wise, as gods are thought to be, they will be afraid.

Chapter 33

THEY LEFT ORAY and Ga’Shel in the dining hall and walked down the corridor. Davrosh said nothing, and Sorrows was glad for the silence. He’d given Oray the fragment of wire from Brightle Manor and they’d discussed what Sorrows had seen. Nothing. No bloody handprint left outside the gods-stream, no hints at the struggle between killer and victim, no remnant of torn dress or torn cloak. Sorrows had revealed three more strands of wire; one from each of the remaining three houses. Each no longer than his little finger. Each with a smear of blood, dried and dark against the shining, silver metal. Each left at the edge of Ga’Shel’s ability.

Wire and a Walker, Oray had said. Means and opportunity.

Davrosh had provided a less eloquent summary. Gods shun it.

They’d agreed they had a problem. Agreed they’d likely need to catch Jace in the act. Not because they wanted to, but because it would happen that fast. Agreed that Ga’Shel couldn’t be at more than one dance at a time. Bex Gellio was suggested. Oray shared the news about her death. Mig and Fen were suggested. Sorrows would ask around. Try to find Mig. But Fen was likely in Tam. Too far away. Not enough time. Ga’Shel had asked about the dwarves standing guard at the city gates; wondered if they’d been trained to detect Walkers; wondered how they were able to pull a Walker back into the gods-stream. Oray had explained the spells were bound to the gates themselves; complicated magic woven by teams of elves. Not something wielded by the dwarves standing watch. Not something the Mage Guard could carry from manor to manor.

It was all bad news that only grew worse. They had reached the busiest part of the month. The most dances in the least amount of time. Forty-eight in two weeks. More than three a day. Their only hope was to convince all the daughters to stay with family. To avoid their bedrooms. Ga’Shel had shaken his head. The idea was flawed, now that they knew the killer was a Walker. Jace could slip a daughter out of a crowd as easily as plucking petals from a flower. The daughter would be there one moment, gone the next. She’d be disoriented, suggestible. Jace would lead her upstairs. The daughter would die before the family noticed she was missing. Or maybe as they rushed up the stairs. Or maybe as they flung open the door. Davrosh had reiterated her earlier sentiment. Shun it.

Sorrows had suggested a terrible plan. A worst-case scenario. A knock-but-don’t-enter approach. They wouldn’t keep the daughters in the great rooms or the dance halls. They’d leave each to retire to her bedroom. They’d position a guard outside. They’d make sure the door stayed shut. They’d knock in the morning. If the daughter answered, the door would be opened. If they were met with silence, they’d call Ga’Shel, for reinforcements. They’d keep Jace trapped in the room. When Ga’Shel arrived, he’d slip the gods-stream with a handful of guards, wait until they acclimated. Twenty minutes to be safe. They’d open the door. If it worked, they’d catch Jace. But another daughter would die. It was a terrible plan. A worse-case scenario. In the end, they’d all agreed it was the only option.

Davrosh stopped in front of a door, glanced at Sorrows. He turned.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re doing the thing with your fingers again.”

Sorrows glanced at his hand. “Am I?”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’m not. It’s been days. Should’ve been hours.”

“Maybe she went thick again. Like you said she did with Bex. Maybe it’s only felt like a few minutes to her.”

“Maybe. But she shouldn’t have gone looking for Jace. I should’ve stopped her.”

“Stop a goblin Walker? You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Sympathy?”

“Honesty.”

Davrosh slowed and stopped in front of a door.

Sorrows looked at her. “What is this?”

“This is your room,” Davrosh said quietly. She sighed. “You’ve been here two months. How do you not know which door is yours?”

Her tone was all defeat, no bite behind her disbelief at his ineptitude. She gazed at her feet, shoulders slumped. She looked how he felt. We’re a sorry pair. He put a hand on her arm. Squeezed.

“They’re looking for Jace,” he said. “They might find her in time.” Before anyone else dies.

She shrugged his hand away. “Think you could find your goblin friend if she didn’t want to be found?”

No chance. He didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think so,” Davrosh said. “We have eight days until Nisha’s dance. Maybe I can convince her not to hold the party.”

No chance, he thought again. He said nothing. Davrosh clenched and unclenched her fists, kept staring at the floor like she wanted to hit something. Sorrows took hold of the door handle, shifted his weight to hide a backward step away from her.

“It’ll be her,” she said. “I just know it.”

“No,” Sorrows said. “You don’t know it. You only think you do. If you knew for certain it was Nisha, then we’d know how Jace picked her targets. We’d wait for her, catch her, and all of this would end.”

She looked up at him with eyes like springtime, green and vibrant and glistening. But her face was pale like winter. Her chin trembled.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think you’re too close to this,” he said softly. He wasn’t looking for a fight. “I think there are more than enough mage guards to assign someone else.”

She clenched