The Knight and the Moth (The Stonewater Kingdom, #1)(107)

“Will he?”

“He’ll have to. A knighthood is not a yoke. I’m no one’s drudge.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “But I’ll be your errand boy if you ask me nicely.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I said, smiling like one as I looked out over the sea. “Thank you.”

He nodded, a hint of rose in his cheeks. He’d seen me naked. Put his hands and mouth on me. And I marveled that this—standing with me in full armor, talking of the future, our future—should be the thing to make Rodrick Myndacious blush.

The threads of Benji’s tunic were all around, catching the wind, and all of them strong. Something I’d once considered a good portent. I didn’t need it now. I knew exactly how to read the signs—knew exactly what was going to happen to me. It was happening right now.

I was falling in love.





We watched the ceremony until Benji’s tunic was but five long threads. Folk in the crowd took hold of those threads, dancing in crooked lines around the hedge. The gargoyle danced with them, hopping and giggling. Maude and Benji stood aside with the rest of the knights, silently nodding at Rory and me as we disappeared over a bluff, Aisling’s spring water in a flask upon Rory’s belt.

We put it on a rock among thrift flowers. Undid its lid. Hid behind another rock and remained unmoving.

We waited. Waited.

The Heartsore Weaver did not come.

Two hours later, I yawned. “Maybe I dreamed her up last night.”

Rory shook his head. “That bruise is real enough.”

“Spring water worked for the Scribe, the Oarsman.” I peered at the flask upon the rock. “Why won’t the Weaver come?”

He didn’t answer, worrying his thumb over his coin.

Then, when the first star touched the sky—

“What are you two loitering around for?”

Rory swore and I jumped, the two of us turning. The gargoyle was there, trilling his claws happily as he waved at us. Maude and Benji, too.

They carried the Omens’ stone objects with them. Maude used the Ardent Oarsman’s oar as a walking stick, and Benji bore the Harried Scribe’s inkwell, the Faithful Forester’s chime roped tightly on his belt. The king wore leathers and a breastplate. “The ceremony is over,” he called. “I sent the knights back to the inn.” When he approached, his gaze shifted between Rory and me. “Any luck spotting the Heartsore Weaver?”

I shook my head.

“That’s because you are not looking in the right place.” Just as quickly as he’d arrived, the gargoyle sauntered off. “This way, chickens.”

We stared after him. “Do you even know who we’re looking for?” Maude hollered at his back.

“Of course I do. I know everything, and I know it exceedingly well. So come.”

We four shared a bewildered look. But Rory shrugged, Maude snagged the flask of spring water and fastened it to her belt, and then we were stepping on the same trodden flowers the gargoyle had crushed, hurrying after him.

He led us down a hill and up another, past a croft, until we were on the same cliff he’d gone to yesterday morning, where he’d looked out at the dawn.

He stood next to an old gray rock, turned to us, and held out his arms. “I will now accept your applause.”

Rory looked around. Saw nothing. Clapped with painful slowness.

I let out a sigh. “We’re not here to admire the sunset, gargoyle.”

“I did not bring you to see the sunset, Bartholomew.” He nodded at the earth near our feet. “I brought you to see what’s beneath it.”

Silence. Then Benji turned his head. “What’s that sound?”

“Can’t hear anything.” Maude put a hand to her bandaged side and winced. “If you dragged me up that hill again for nothing—”

“All I hear is the ocean,” I snapped.

Rory pulled me into the crook of his arm and stamped his palm over my lips. “Shhh. Listen.”

I made a note to bite him later and went quiet. At first there was nothing. Just the murmur of wind through grass and the hum of the sea and an invigorated owl, hooting in the distance. But just as I was about to sink my teeth into Rory’s palm, another sound called—closer than all those others.

Lapping water, coming from directly beneath us.

Rory and I both looked down at the stone next to the gargoyle’s feet and dropped to our knees. And I saw that the impression in the grass was slightly off. The stone had been moved, revealing a sliver of darkness in the ground.

“There’s something under it,” Benji said.

Rory dropped to a crouch. He grasped the stone. Made a low sound of effort I liked far too well.

“Oh, let me.” I added my fingers to his and lifted. The stone was heavy.

“No one’s as strong as you, is that it?” he said, straining.

We both lifted it in the end. But the effort to toss it aside was all mine.

Rory smirked. “Boastfulness is ignoble.”

“And you love it.” Maude joined us where the stone had been. In its place was a hole in the cliff, wide enough to fit my body. We gathered around it.

It was like looking down a long, dark throat.

The sound of lapping water was louder now. I could smell the salt of the sea. See the faintest reflection of water, twelve or so hands below us.