by Dan Fish
SORROWS AND JACE trudged through the snow, working their way to the main road. The moon was waning, but bright. The stars shone clear and steady. Wood smoke wafted in the air. Sorrows worked his fingers. Need to talk. My room, tonight. He didn’t expect Mig to show, but he had to try. Without her, he’d need to ask Ga’Shel for help, which he really didn’t want to do. He and Jace returned to the tower. She showed him to the dining hall and sipped on wine while he shoved forkfuls of meat pie into his mouth.
“You going to eat?” he asked.
Jace nodded. “Later.”
“I’ve never seen you eat.”
“That’s because I don’t want you to see me eat,” she said.
He stopped mid-chew.
“Are you serious?”
She nodded. He shrugged. After he was finished, she took him back to his room. When she lingered at the door, he waved her out and shut it. He turned to the room.
You there? Please. Need to see you.
✽✽✽
MIG DIDN’T SHOW. She hadn’t shown all week. Sorrows lay in bed the next morning, staring into darkness and thinking. He figured either she’d seen Jace kiss him and left, or she was in trouble. Mig was smart. Mig was a Walker. She could take care of herself. She wouldn’t be in trouble. Which meant he’d fired the arrow one too many times. The shaft had snapped. He’d taken splinters. Maybe some deep splinters. Yes, he loved her, though he didn’t say it. And yes, he enjoyed being with her, though he found reasons to stay away. But the truth was, he needed her. Needed as many Walkers in his life as possible. They made his job easier. And if Mig was through with him, it might mean Fen was through with him, too. And that left Bex and Ga’Shel as the only Walkers he knew. And when it came to Walkers, he made a point to know all of them. Forestwalking was a rare gift. A Walker might come along once every hundred years. He’d traveled with Bex long before Fen and Mig appeared. She wouldn’t be around much longer. He’d have to make amends with Mig, eventually. But he could let her hate him for a while.
He was still in bed, still in the dark, when the door opened and Jace walked in. She crossed the room, lit the lamp, studied him. Really studied him. Her eyes ran up and down his body, lingered on his chest, his stomach, his legs.
“Like what you see?” he asked through a yawn.
She nodded. “Very much.”
She took a step toward him. He held up a hand, mustered some sort of resolve. Realized he wasn’t ready to give up on Mig. Not yet.
“Wait outside. I’ll get dressed and join you in a minute.”
She hesitated, said nothing. Her hair was done up in thin braids piled on her head. The style made her neck look long, slender. Inviting. An ideal neck for lips. Maybe his lips. Maybe he’d start at the curve of her jaw. Maybe he’d work to the spot where her throat and collarbone met. He felt his resolve weakening.
“Go,” he said.
He managed a dismissive wave. She went. The door closed. He swung his feet onto the floor and sat. Signaled with his fingers.
Mig didn’t show.
Chapter 23
DAVROSH HAD PILED a mountain of bacon onto her plate. Brown and crisp and glistening with fat. Sorrows stared at it over the table, smelled it in the air. Looked down at his eggs and cakes, at the moat of syrup surrounding them, at a spoonful of yellow butter slowly drifting. It was a good breakfast. Hearty, sweet, warm. Problem was, it wasn’t what he wanted. He looked again at Davrosh’s bacon.
“You going to eat all that?” he asked.
She took a piece with her fingers, bit it in half, chewed with exaggerated zeal.
“Yes,” she said.
She hung on the word until a fleck of bacon flew out her mouth, landed on the table. Her face reddened. She wiped it away, went back to her bacon.
“Gods, you two,” Oray said. “Stay focused. Today is Shealu Hallovel. Then four tomorrow. Let’s talk strategy.”
Sorrows shrugged. “Hallovel will use her Great Room. You’ll have two mage guards there, I’ll be there. If the killer shows up, I’ll stick an arrow in his head. See how he likes it.”
“I’d prefer to keep him alive,” Oray said. “Question him. Get an idea of why he did it.”
“Can’t promise anything,” Sorrows said.
Oray sighed, looked at Sorrows. I want to be done with you, he was saying. Sorrows didn’t blame him. He wanted the same thing. He offered a belated grin to Oray, and Oray shook his head, sighed again. But he looked awake today. Like the progress they were making was helping him sleep at night. The wolf lingered in his gray eyes. Sorrows hadn’t seen the wolf since he arrived in Hammerfell. It made Oray look dangerous. But dangerous was good when you were trying to catch a killer.
“Try to keep him alive.”
Sorrows shrugged, said nothing.
Oray turned to Ga’Shel. “How’s next week’s list?”
“We should be able to see another dozen families today,” Ga’Shel said. “Only two refusals yesterday. Shemlock and Davers.”
“I’m doing Shemlock’s mask,” Davrosh said. “I’ll keep working on them.”
Sorrows thought of Mishma Valinor, alone in her stone cradle, a mask of holly and flowers on an unrecognizable face. An eternal reminder of the night she was killed.
“If the killer gets to her, the mask will haunt them,” he said.
Davrosh looked at him like it was an odd thing to say. She frowned, furrowed her brow, took another piece of bacon, and studied him like he’d said something unexpected. Something that didn’t make sense. She didn’t know he’d visited Mishma. Didn’t know he’d passed through her grieving mother. Didn’t know he’d seen Davrosh’s painting unbroken on withered skin. Sorrows ignored her, reached across the table, snatched a piece of bacon off her plate. She didn’t try to stop him. Looked at him for a moment longer, then turned back to her breakfast.
✽✽✽
JACE WALKED WITH him along the main road. The Feast of Nine had passed, its decor had been cleared from shops and lampposts. Pumpkins, cornstalks, and hay bales had been replaced with evergreen boughs and red ribbon. All of Hammerfell looked ahead to the Eve of Silversong. Cities were like that because people were like that. Quick to forget what was, quick to embrace what would be. Sorrows and Jace passed by a butcher’s shop with slabs of beef and cured meats hanging in the window. A week ago, it had been filled with turkeys stripped of their feathers and dangling by their feet. A week ago, crowds of dwarves had gathered ale and meat and sweet breads. Today they emerged from shops carrying bundles of wool and silk and lace, bags of tobacco, bottles of whiskey.
“It’s been some time since you carried your bow,” Jace said.
She had her hood down, her hair tied low and loose. She’d pulled it forward, and it spilled down her left shoulder onto her chest, over her gray cloak cinched tight. Like sunlight on stone. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with cold. She caught him staring and smiled. He turned away, shrugged.
“Other things to worry about,” he said.
“What about the Seph?” she asked.
“I’ve got time. He hasn’t left, yet. Probably wants to flee but feels the pull of the Grimstone.”
“It’s that strong?”
Sorrows nodded. “Both ways. Longer we stay close, the stronger it grows. Another month and I’ll be able to find him with my eyes closed. Another month after that, and he might come looking for me.”
“It works every time?”
“Every time.”
Jace stepped close, reached behind him, pulled an arrow from his quiver. She brushed a thumb over the fletching, stared down the shaft, pressed the point into her finger.
“Then you shoot him and free the soul in the bow,” she said.
“Something like that,” he said.
“What does it feel like, I wonder?” she asked.
“For the soul? I don’t know that she’ll feel anything.”
Jace smiled softly. “No, I mean to be shot by an arrow.”
Sorrows
tensed. Felt the echo of pain in his right shoulder, his right leg, his stomach, the left side of his chest.
“Hurts like all hells,” he said. “Some places worse than others.”
“You’ve been… shot?”
Sorrows laughed. “Once or twice. Shot, stabbed, sliced, bludgeoned, burned, drowned. Bear chewed off my left hand a couple hundred years ago. Took four years to grow back. There are a lot of things in this world that don’t feel good.”
She nodded, said nothing. Stepped close, returned the arrow to the quiver, kissed him on the cheek before she moved away. He glanced at her. She smiled. But there are some things that feel very good, she was saying. He furrowed his brow, attempted to look annoyed, wiped his cheek where her lips left it wet and the air made it cold.
“You’re in a good mood today,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m in a good mood most days, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’re no Oray, that’s for sure,” he said. “But you seem different today.”
She smiled. “I’m excited.”
“Why?”
“It’s my first Maiden’s Dance.”
ONE MORE DAY. The wait has been easy. How could it be otherwise for one with your patience? You used the time to your advantage. You tested new wire. It held your weight beautifully. You studied Zvilna, her parents, her grandmother. A quiet household with few family and fewer friends. You planned.
You planned for the mage guard who would be stationed in Zvilna’s house the day of the dance. You planned for the human who would show up, as well. You planned for the City Guard who might come at the behest of one of their own. You planned for each contingency, but, in the end, you knew it mattered little. When the moment arrived, you would move swiftly with practiced confidence. You would kill Zvilna and leave. You would choose your next target. The last of the dwarves before you move on to the elves. Yes, much would happen when the moment arrived. And the moment always arrived.
Always.
✽✽✽
THE MUSIC PLAYED, and Cheshki Ellebrand danced. She wore a cotton dress, violet and green, lilacs and ivy. A matching mask had been painted on her face, matching bands painted around her wrists and ankles. The leaves were flat ovals with one line down the center and two or three small lines painted out toward the edges. The flowers were little more than blotches of violet painted among the leaves. A crude painting. Nothing like Davrosh’s work. And with no restoration magic placed upon it, the colors had smeared. They ran down Cheshki’s neck in thin green lines like rot against her tan skin. They followed the path of sweat that formed on her brow, glistened on her cheeks, and slipped down her jaw. The backs of her hands and her fingers were covered in the same sickly green, made dirty and dark by the violet from the lilacs.
She looked hideous. She looked lovely. She spun in time with the pounding of drummers. Their hands beat rhythmically upon tight leather; her feet barely touched the stone floor. A flute warbled and fluttered like a bird amid chords plucked on a lute. Three instruments, one song, one girl with a smile that shone like moonlight on snow. She danced while a host of her family and friends clapped in time around her. The day was hers; the night was hers; the Maiden’s Dance was hers. All but two eyes were on her, and she reveled in the attention and affection.
The two eyes that were not on her were on Sorrows. They watched him, unblinking. They had been watching him for most of the night, most of the day, most of the week. They were blue like deep water, and they were hungry. Not wolfish, but primal, urgent.
Jace’s demeanor had changed seven nights ago at Shealu Hallovel’s dance. She and Sorrows had kept watch along with two other members of the Mage Guard. The night had progressed without incident. Shealu had performed the Maiden’s Dance, with her four protectors standing stoically at the corners of the room. When she finished, the other attendees were invited to join. Shealu sought Sorrows, pulled him onto the floor to dance. He didn’t resist. It was her night; he understood the customs, and it allowed him to stay close to her. When she moved on to her next partner, he drifted back to his corner. Thought nothing of it.
When did you learn to dance? Jace had asked the next day as they walked back to the tower.
Sorrows couldn’t remember, and he had told her as much.
Would you dance with me? she had asked.
He had reminded her they were there to watch and protect.
Would you dance with me? she had asked again.
He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no. Two nights later, when he was pulled onto the floor again, Jace joined him before he could return to his corner.
He had imagined a few things since he’d first met Ivra Jace. She was beautiful, enticing, and his mind was prone to wander. None of those imagined things involved dancing. But most, if not all, were related to the movement of bodies in proximity. And that night, as she twirled about him, lithe and light on her feet, his wandering mind lingered on what those imagined things might be like. She noticed his gaze, guessed at his thoughts, and later that night she kissed him. Not out of spite, but out of need. Brief and hard. It sent fire spreading across his chest and into his limbs. He didn’t think about Mig until the next morning as he and Jace walked back to the tower. Mig had waited for him for a year. He was struggling after a month. Something like guilt soured his thoughts, but he shrugged it off. She’d left him, after all. Maybe they were better off apart.
Three nights had passed since Shealu Hallovel. Jace watched him. Stared. He knew what it meant. Didn’t know if he would bother stopping it. Wondered when it would happen. They would leave Ellebrand Manor shortly and spending the night at the Gorsham’s. They’d watch over Zvilna, despite her family’s inevitable protests. He wasn’t concerned. Their complaints would be quiet, half-hearted, muted by a long day and by indulgent quantities of food and drink. He and Jace would return to the tower in the morning, exhausted, needing sleep, wanting something more.
The music ended, the assembled cheered. Cheshki spun and smiled, her face a lovely, smeared mess. Sorrows stood, nodded to her parents, nodded to the two mage guards. He turned and left, walking the empty hall from the Ellebrand Great Room on the way to the foyer. All but a few of the glowstone sconces had been capped for the night. The marble was dark, his boots echoed. He listened for Jace to approach behind him but heard nothing. Saw nothing.
A body pushed hard against him, forcing him through a doorway into a room, onto cushions set near a low table. Jace was on top of him, hands working at his jerkin, pulling at his tunic. Her fingers slid up his chest, her mouth found his. He took her shoulders, pushed her away enough to gather his breath.
“What in all hells are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s too much,” she said. She strained against him. “I need this. You. Now.”
The room was dim, nearly dark. She sat back, straddled him, started at the clasps of her jerkin. She moved fast. He grabbed her wrists.
“We need to get to Zvilna.”
“She’ll be fine. They have guards.”
“Then she’ll be fine with two more.”
She twisted in his grasp, broke free at his thumbs. Sat for a moment, chest heaving. Her jerkin hung open. She dropped her hands, let them rest on his stomach.
“I’ll never be good enough for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I tried to be beautiful, but you don’t see me.”
He reached up, cupped his hand to the side of her face. “An elf who doubts herself? You are strange, Ivra Jace.”
She sighed, laid down on his chest. Her head rested below his chin. Her hair smelled like wildflowers and honey. They lay there for a moment, saying nothing, breathing. Sorrows thought of three women, one decision. Jace wanted him now. Zvilna might need him later. Mig had stayed true to him in the past.
It was an easy decision. Two of the women waited at the end of the same path. Duty and loyalty. He could protect Zvilna. He would wait for Mig. One more day. Maybe another after that. She had
waited a year.
It was an impossible decision. Jace was close, soft, warm. Insistent. She looked up, kissed his neck, his jaw, found his mouth again.
“Zvilna,” he said.
“Guards,” she said.
He half-tried to push her away. She whole-resisted him. Her hands worked again, unclasping, pulling.
“Zvilna,” he said again.
“Guards,” she said again.
Back and forth. Push and pull. He broke free of her embrace. Took her hand, grabbed their cloaks, left into the cold and snow. Zvilna, he kept saying. But Jace pulled him down side streets, away from Gorsham Manor. Guards, she kept saying. His protests grew weaker. Half-hearted. Her assurances grew stronger. They found the tower, the double doors, the entrance hall, the spiral corridor.
They found his room, opened the door, slipped inside. He thought again of the three women. Knew he could only please one. Knew he had decided too late. Like an arrow released after the target passed behind a tree. Knew he’d miss the mark.
“Stop,” he said. He took Jace’s wrists, held her firm. “I won’t do this.”
“The City Guard will watch Zvilna,” Jace said.
“It’s not about Zvilna.”
She looked at him, said nothing for a breath. Relaxed, stepped away. He let go of her wrists. She buttoned her tunic, her jerkin.
“It’s Mig, isn’t it?” she asked. Quiet. She wiped her cheeks, averted her eyes, didn’t meet his.
He sighed. “Yes. I don’t like how I left things with her.” No loose ends.
“I don’t understand. She’s been gone. You danced with me. We kissed. I thought—”
“That was a mistake.”
“You think I’m a mistake?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“What are you saying? Do you not want to be with me?”
Sorrows shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why?” Jace asked. She took a step closer. “Why can’t it be that easy? Just this once. If anyone deserves easy, it’s you and me.”
“Has your life been so difficult?”
