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

Others. Not dwarves, Sorrows thought. He shook his head.

“Gods, no. You’re incredible, you know that.”

“Then why?”

“I was injured.”

“I could have taken care of you.”

“I was badly injured,” he said. He placed his hands on her arms. “I was asleep for a few years; in bed for a few more; spent a couple learning how to walk again. When I came back to Hammerfell, you’d married.”

“You could have visited.”

“I thought it would be awkward.”

She leaned forward, brushed her lips against his. “Is this awkward?”

Her breath was warm, her body close, her nightgown thin as parchment. He didn’t turn away, couldn’t move back any further.

“Your husband’s downstairs,” he said. “This is a little awkward, yes.”

She hesitated. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. Davrosh bumped her chair into the door. Sorrows tensed, shifting forward a little. Only a little. But it was enough to press his lips against Sofya’s. She reacted, fell onto him like snow slipping from a tree. Rigid and still one moment, then all gravity and movement the next. She kissed him hard, slid her hands from his chest around his back, pulled herself tightly against him. Her thighs squeezed his leg, pushed against the bow. Her chest pressed against his, silk on leather. She moaned, soft.

“Gods, you’re married,” Davrosh said, muffled behind the door.

Sofya broke away, pressed her lips together, bit back a smile. She took a deep breath through her nose, gave Sorrows a quick kiss on the cheek, backed away. She offered a smile, beautiful in the half-glow of the hallway.

“I am married,” she said, too soft to pass through the door. “To a wonderful dwarf. But I remember you, Solomon Sorrows. And I missed you.”

He slid his hands from her arms to her wrists to the tips of her fingers.

“I remember you, Sofya,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”

Footsteps below, rushing to the stairs. Low voices coming closer. Sofya stepped away quickly, smoothed her dress, lifted her chin, swallowed. Strong, defiant. A daughter. The head of the family. Unashamed, unafraid. She turned to the stairs.

But it was the Mage Guard. Sorrows didn’t know their names, hadn’t bothered to ask. Didn’t particularly care. One was tall with red hair, the other short with black hair. Red hair looked at him, glanced at the door. Sorrows shook his head.

“Door stays closed,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Sir, it’s—”

Ga’Shel appeared beside Sorrows, grabbed his arm, pulled. “You need to come with me. They’ll watch the door. Bring the bow.”

Sorrows jerked away and stood. “Easy, sunshine. Is it Jace?”

“What’s going on out there?” Davrosh asked.

Ga’Shel nodded, grinning. Not smug. Nervous, anxious. “She made her first mistake. We need to go. Now.”

“I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Davrosh said. “I heard voices. Are you talking to someone? Who is it?”

Sorrows glanced at Sofya. She stared back at him.

“She’ll be fine,” she said. “Freni will be safe. Go.”

She was pale and beautiful, broad and muscled and curved. Black hair, black dress. Shadow on snow. She smiled at him. Then she was gone.

And the warmth of La’Gren Manor went with her. Snow floated in the air. The night was dark but not black. The moon shone bright and full behind the clouds. Sorrows put one foot in front of another. Left, right, left again. He shook his head, blinked his eyes into focus. Ga’Shel glanced at him.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

“Your place or Oray’s?”

Ga’Shel looked away. “Mine.”

His voice was strained, and Sorrows turned to him. Blood stained the back of his head, dull, dirty crimson against his golden hair.

“You injured?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You were supposed to send a runner.”

“Doesn’t matter. Jace is gone. And I’m faster than a sled.”

“Were you in the room?”

“Yes.”

“How’d she get in?”

“Hirsch opened the door.”

“Hirsch? The dwarves?”

Ga’Shel nodded. “They were afraid. They thought enough time had passed.”

“They could’ve just asked you.”

“I was slipped. I always stay slipped at these dances. I don’t want to get caught off guard.”

“How did you get hit?”

Ga’Shel sighed. “I got caught off guard.”

Sorrows said nothing for a moment, studied Ga’Shel. “Gods, it would be like standing watch for days.”

Ga’Shel shrugged, said nothing.

They left the street, passed between pillars of stacked stone and black iron. Maybe Sorrows didn’t understand dwarf artistry, or maybe he didn’t stay in one place long enough to notice. Maybe he was too old and had seen too many buildings, walls, rooftops. Whatever the reason, Hirsch Manor was more of the same. But the trees were different; tall in the darkness, soft silhouettes against the blush of moonlight playing in the night sky. They stood like sentinels at the corners of the manor, two on the left, three on the right. They framed the windows, the columns, the front door.

They framed three dwarves standing in a rectangle of light. One had lines on her face, the shadow of gray hair on her chin. One had wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a silver-streaked beard that hung to his stomach. One had gleaming black hair woven in thin, loose braids. Reshel Hirsch, a dwarf daughter, the maiden of the Maiden’s Dance. The first to survive Jace’s attack. Her face was dark beneath a Stone Mother’s Mask. She wore a blue-green dress the color of spruce needles. She stared down the path, watching, waiting. But Sorrows and Ga’Shel were slipped and remained unseen. A precaution. Ga’Shel needed Sorrows alert, ready to act quickly if Jace were to show. Sorrows needed to avoid the disorientation of a slip. They approached hidden, steady, cautious.

They drew closer to the front door, to Reshel Hirsch. Her mask showed a pattern of ivy and white flowers. Her dress was torn. Her eyes were amethyst fire. One hand was clenched at her side, angry and determined. But the other hung limp, fingers slack, trembling. Weak. None of the daughters used restoration magic now. Better to suffer smudges than to present an easy target. Perspectives change. Sometimes overnight. Without the magic, the paint didn’t hide the deep wound circling the dwarf’s wrist. Without the magic, blood trickled onto