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Rory’s hand stilled. A flush rolled onto my face. “That’s what I thought when we first spoke at Aisling,” I muttered. “Outside the Diviners’ cottage. You smiled.”
He looked half amused, half something else. “And you were imagining what pattern my teeth might leave on your skin?”
“I was in the throes of the idleweed. Out of my senses.”
“Mm-hmm.” He resumed his ministrations. “Shall we see, then?”
I wondered if he could feel my pulse, drumming through the water. “Where would you bite me, knight?”
“Wherever you told me to, Diviner.”
My arms. My neck. My mouth, stomach, breasts. And maybe he knew, because his breath quickened, like he, too, was thinking of all the parts of me he might sink his teeth into.
I lifted my palm to his lips, just as thousands of palms had been lifted to mine during Divinations. Only now there was no viscous blood to swallow, just moonlight over a sheen of water. Rory held my gaze and slipped his teeth over the flesh below my thumb. Pressed down.
My lips parted. His bite was the same as his touch, exacting but gentle—a low, determined pressure. Then his teeth were gone. Rory shut his eyes. Sighed into my palm.
Replaced his teeth with his lips.
Rory kissed the place he’d bitten with arduous slowness. “I’d rather this left a mark instead,” he murmured into my skin.
He was a thief, stealing my breath, my reason. “May I ask something of you?”
He looked up.
“If tomorrow does not go well… will you find a home for the gargoyle? Will you keep looking for the Diviners?”
His grip on my hand tightened. “If you have imagined portents, let me dispel them. The only thing that matters in this world is the effort you exact, Diviner. And you have been working harder than anyone I’ve known. So, please—don’t look to dreams, and don’t look for signs. Just look forward. Tomorrow will go well.”
“Two things can be true at once, Myndacious. I can look forward. Work hard.” I labored over the word. “And still die. So I’m asking you. Will you find a home for the gargoyle? Will you keep looking for the Diviners?”
“Yes.” He drew closer, water sloshing around us, and I was aware of his body, mine—and the bareness of them beneath the spring’s surface. “The thing is—I think I’d do anything you asked of me.”
And then he was pulling away, moving farther into the pool, leaving me tangled in the beat of my own heart. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I remained unmoving ten seconds. Twenty. When Rory turned to give me privacy, I lifted myself out of the pool. Found my nightshirt. Threw it haphazardly over myself and glanced back at him. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I need a minute.”
I wandered back to the village. The mountainous earth was chill beneath my feet, and the Tenor sang its distant watery song. I stopped to listen. Noted how the moon had journeyed in the sky. How the wind through brome and heather was a delicate whisper.
And it startled me, that the loneliness I’d felt earlier was no longer so oppressive, as if put to sleep. The night was half-gone, and though I needed rest, I could not bring myself to mind that I was awake and out of bed. Everything was just so…
Beautiful.
I looked down at my hand. The marks from Rory’s teeth were still there. I’d been right—the bottom row looked like a crooked, crowded line of soldiers, unique as a fingerprint, as a line of stars.
I lifted my palm. Put it to my mouth. Ran my lips over the indents.
Maude and the gargoyle were still snoring when I returned to the i
I dreamed of a knight with gold in his ears and charcoal around his eyes, who did all the ignoble things I asked of him.
Maude was up with the dawn, abrupt as the thundering sky. “It’s time.”
The gargoyle waltzed around our small chamber, humming a tune. I sat up in bed. Rubbed my shrouded eyes. “What has you so pleased?”
“Bartholomew suggested I act as your squire, since you have none.”
“My—”
Maude stepped back, revealing a pile of armor at the foot of my bed. Her armor. “It won’t be an exact fit,” she said. “Not as effective as the one being made. But more protective than your leathers or chainmail alone. You’re strong enough to bear it.”
Maude’s armor was intricate—swirls that resembled billowing boughs engraved in the breastplate. “It was my mother’s,” she said. “And hers before.”
A lump formed in my throat. “You realize if I die you’ll likely lose it.”
“Thought about that. Figured out a solution.” Maude hauled me off the bed. Surprised me with a fearsome hug. “Live.”
The gargoyle’s stone fingers were blunt and clumsy, mostly because he was trilling with excitement. “Me, a squire.” He held up chainmail, fastened armor to my legs, my arms, snapped Maude’s breastplate over my chest. “Would you wear the helmet, Bartholomew?”
“Yes,” Maude answered for me.
The gargoyle handed it over, like he’d once handed me my Divining robe, and I tucked it under my arm. “I’m ready.”
The i
Rory and Benji were waiting on the other side of the plateau, armor clad. When they saw me, fitted in the same attire as them, they both went still.
Benji whistled. “You’re a proper knight, Six.”
Rory’s eyes were fast, measuring the scope of me. When he saw Maude’s helmet tucked under my arm, he gave me a pointed look.
“I’ll wear it,” I muttered.
He approached. “And this?” He tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear, brushing my shroud.
“I’ll wear it, too.”
He gave me his fist—unfurled his fingers. Handed me the Artful Brigand’s coin. “Let’s go kill an Omen.”
We made it up the mountain the same way we had before—carried up and over the waterfall in turns by the gargoyle. He did not complain this time. He was still too heartened to be considered my squire, which, I was begi
We landed at the Ardent Oarsman’s castle. The shale sprites were not on the stairs this time, but we tiptoed up the steps just the same. Knocked upon the ancient door. Waited.
There was no answer.
Rory slammed his open palm against groaning wood, but no matter his hails, the Ardent Oarsman did not come.
“Perhaps he went on a sabbatical,” the gargoyle offered. He peered up at the tempestuous sky. “And not a moment too soon.”
“Well then.” Benji stepped back. “Let’s invite ourselves in.” He rolled his shoulders and sprang forward, crashing full force into the castle door.
It burst open in a cloud of dust.
“That’s the spirit, Your Majesty.” Rory hauled Benji to his feet, and Maude led us, axe in hand, into the castle just as the sky opened up.
The clatter of rain upon the roof was like a thousand tapping fingers, muffling the sound of our footsteps. Still, I felt obtrusive in armor, too loud—an unwelcome guest. But the dark corners of the Oarsman’s castle, full of hungry shadows, held no one who might admonish me. Not in corridors, not in the great spartan chambers. Not even sprites stirred to see us.
There was simply no one there.
“What the hell?” We stood in the great hall, near the Ardent Oarsman’s pool and great pile of coins. Benji stared at the money, then rubbed his hands over his eyes and blinked repeatedly, as if willing the Omen to appear. “What sort of game is this?”
Wind and rain flew through the open east wall, spraying us.
“I don’t understand.” Stone crunched beneath my boot. “It’s been three days. Where is he?”
“There.”
Rory stood near one of the columns, wind in his face, looking out. We crowded around him, and I was afforded a view of the silver-blue basin behind the castle—the crystalline water that fed the Tenor River.
Fixed in the center of the basin was a platform. A broad wooden square. And upon it, hood back, jagged hands rested upon his oar—
The Ardent Oarsman. Looking out at us with unblinking stone eyes.
Waiting.
“There?” Benji said, incredulous. “He wants to fight her there?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Maude face was drawn. “He’s got his oar. He can drop it in the water at any moment—spin circles around her. He’ll shake the platform, break her aim. One misstep, and the Artful Brigand’s coin is going in the drink—and Six along with it.” She turned to me. “I hope you’re a damn strong swimmer.”
Rory went white, last night—the hot spring and me, slipping beneath its water—unveiling over his face.
“It is not like me to be the bearer of bad tidings,” the gargoyle said. “Bartholomew does not know how to swim. But worry not—” He looked up at me. Smiled proudly. “She has always excelled at drowning.”