Arrow on the String: Solomon Sorrows Book 1 Dan Fish (best book club books .TXT) 📖

enough to say now, but you’re talking about a restoration spell. No one gave it a second thought, and we’d been asked by the families to preserve the masks.”

“Preserve? Why? Why wouldn’t the families ask to have the masks removed?”

Davrosh barked a sharp laugh. The street was empty, and her voice echoed against stone and the trunks of scattered hardwoods turned bare by winter. It startled the dogs. The sled gained a little more speed.

“You don’t know much about dwarves,” she said. “The Maiden’s Dance is the single most important day of a daughter’s life until she weds. To remove the mask would only add tragedy to tragedy.”

“Seems like it’s a way of ignoring what happened.”

“Maybe that too.”

They rode in silence for a spell, passing in and out of pools of light. The clouds had thinned overhead. The moon appeared from behind the few wisps that remained—a waxing crescent, bright and thin and sharp on the points. It hung in the sky for a moment before it was hidden again. Sorrows looked at the spot where it had been, could still see the dim glow of it behind the gray. Like a lamp hidden beneath thin wool.

“What happened to Ga’Shel?” he asked.

Davrosh turned, tilted her head in an unspoken question.

“When Zvilna’s hand came free, he disappeared,” Sorrows said.

“He slips when he’s surprised. Doesn’t your lady—doesn’t Mig do the same?”

Does she? Sorrows wasn’t sure. He’d never seen Mig in a similar situation. But it made sense. An instinct. Something deep in a Walker’s bones, like the rush of blood and strength and speed that Sorrows felt whenever he was in danger. Heightened awareness, a sharpening of the senses. For a Walker, the sudden impulse to slip and watch the situation safely outside the gods-stream. Free from threat, hidden from hungry eyes.

“Shun it,” he said. “I should’ve seen it. I’m sorry. It’s my mistake.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know how the killer’s doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Getting into the rooms.”

The sled lurched as Davrosh spun around, rode on her knees. “How?”

“Forestwalking,” Sorrows said. “The killer leaves the gods-stream, waits for the door to open. Steps in. Waits for the door to close.”

“He slips the women.”

Sorrows nodded. “They’d be disoriented long enough to get the shot off.”

“Gods, I think you’re onto something,” Davrosh said. “It explains everything. We just need to work through the details of how he gets them back onto the bed; how he cuts their hands off; why he’s doing it.”

“I’ll take new questions over old any day.”

“La’Jen is going to like this. Good job, orchole.”

He smiled and nodded. She grinned and turned around. The dogs panted and pulled. Glowstone illuminated the city, shining in neat rows like will-o’-the-wisps resting atop black iron trees. The tower looked ahead, windows mirroring the spiral corridor within. His thoughts turned to Jace. His smile faded. He knew a few Walkers. But only a few. And not many elves. He knew Jace had kept her forestwalking from him. He knew Bex was dead. He only suspected the killer was a Walker. He might be wrong. But he knew what he felt toward Jace and he knew life—his life especially—was never that easy.

Chapter 31

IVRA JACE HESITATED at the door. The tower was quiet, the corridor empty. No one had seen her leave the Archmage’s room. She hadn’t passed anyone in the hallway. She stood alone with her hand resting on the door handle and her forehead creased with shallow wrinkles.

“I will see him again,” she said. “This isn’t the end.”

She took off her hand, stepped back. Stared at the door, still didn’t move, like she was waiting for it to make the decision for her. But the door wouldn’t open itself. It was just a door. She took a deep breath, grabbed the handle again, and pulled it open.

The entrance hall was quiet. Her boots hammered on the stone. The sound echoed off the walls and vaulted ceiling. Her pace quickened.

She had just reached the heavy doors leading out when they split in the middle, started to open. She stepped to the side. Ivra Jace could move very fast when she needed. Stone columns framed the doorway. She held her breath, pushed herself tight into a sliver of shadow in the corner where doorframe met wall. Ivra Jace could be very hard to see when she wanted.

Overseer La’Jen Oray and Master Ostev Ga’Shel entered the tower, followed by a squad of mage guards. Behind them, a sled. On the sled, a body. Jace studied it for a moment before slipping through the doors as they closed.

The tower fell away as she walked in the direction of the Quarry. She stuck to shadows and alleys, staying on back roads and in hidden gaps between buildings. The snow was deep from the day’s storm, but she could be very light-footed when she wanted to.

Ivra Jace moved fast and didn’t slow until she reached a specific door painted a specific shade of green. She knocked and entered. Closed the door behind her. Stepped into a square room, dimly lit by a single candle. It was a small room. It was a cold room. Her breath clouded in front of her. She looked to a corner where a dark shadow hovered just beyond the pool of yellow-orange candlelight. Waited.

“The tower is no longer safe for you,” the shadow said. “He knows.”

Ivra Jace said nothing. There was nothing more to say. She turned, opened the door, stepped outside, and closed the door behind her. A tear ran down her cheek and fell into the snow. Then another. Her legs folded within her cloak, she slowly lowered herself to the ground, hugged her knees, closed her eyes.

And in the cold, quiet stillness of night, Ivra Jace wept.

✽✽✽

ORAY TAPPED HIS chin. “A Walker? You’re sure?”

“Explains how the killer gets into the room without being seen,” Sorrows said. “Explains the lack of clues. Explains why the women don’t struggle.”

Oray frowned. Ga’Shel frowned. Davrosh shrugged.

“It’s a good guess, La’Jen,” she said. “Best we’ve