The Knight and the Moth (The Stonewater Kingdom, #1)(108)

“My grandfather’s notebook didn’t say anything about caves beneath the Cliffs of Bellidine,” Benji said.

Maude sucked her teeth. “How do we even know the Heartsore Weaver’s inside?”

“This is what my dream looks like,” I murmured. “It’s dark, the only light coming from cracks above. I slam into a stone bench, and there’s a tapestry. That’s where I see the loom stone. Then”—I rubbed the prickles off the back of my neck—“there are footsteps. Heavy, like the ones I heard last night. A sharp clacking noise right behind me, but I never see who’s chasing me.”

The others stared.

“Well.” Benji’s throat worked as he swallowed. “That’s quite the dream.”

“It’s the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard.” Rory was fidgeting so madly with his coin it was a wonder he didn’t accidentally propel himself through space. “I hate tight, dark places.”

“Let’s hope you never die,” the gargoyle said. “I hear graves are rather constrictive.”

Rory’s eyelids drew low. “Helpful.”

I looked down into the darkness. “How did you know this was here, gargoyle?”

“I told you, Bartholomew. I know everything I know exceedingly well.” He came to the lip of the hole. Sniffed the air. “Rather fusty.” He turned to me. “Shall we draw straws to see who will go down first? Or will you just cheat and choose the short straw on purpose like you always do?”

“I don’t always—”

Benji’s voice was a taut string. “I’ll go.”

“Calm down, Your Majesty. Let your ignoble knight go first.” Even in the dim light, I could see the warmth in Rory’s face was gone. He looked down at the blackness with a jaw of iron. Sat down on the grass and threw his legs into the hole.

“Rory, wait.” I caught his shoulder. “I can do it—”

“I know you can, Sybil.” He took my hand off his shoulder and brought it to his mouth. Pressed his lips over my armored knuckles. “But for fuck’s sake. Permit me.”

He jumped.

Time held me by the throat. “Rory?”

His boots hit rocks, and he coughed.

“Rory!” Maude hollered.

“I’m right here.” His voice ricocheted off the walls of the cavern, near and far. “Come down—I’ll catch you.”

I sighed. Sat and swung my legs into the hole. “Let’s kill another Omen.”

“Huzzah!” The gargoyle clapped.

And gave me an excited shove.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


THE HEARTSORE WEAVER




The air was close, smelling sharp like salt water and overripe like decay. I fell, heart in my throat, and then Rory was there, his strong arms folding around me. “I’ve got you.”

The gargoyle came next, though it took him a moment to squeeze his wings through the narrow hole. When he fell into the cavern, splashing Rory and me with water, he let out a raucous squeal. “And I thought flying was unsavory. But crawling in the earth like an insect—ugh, Bartholomew, look! A worm!”

Rory put his hand over the gargoyle’s mouth. “The point of a hunt,” he said, “is to catch your prey unsuspectingly. Be quiet or send yourself back up that hole.”

“And abandon Bartholomew to the Omen who tried to smite her last night?” The gargoyle batted Rory away. “What kind of squire would that make me?”

“A good squire is a silent squire.”

“Says the knight without one.”

“Both of you, shut it.” I squinted against darkness. The gargoyle had been right. There were worms in the cavern. Luminous green and blue and purple worms that lit the darkness, clinging to dripping mossy walls, climbing over lichen, over rocks. And while the dissonance of lapping water blighted most of the sound around us, I heard a small hum. The barest hint of a noise, coming from the worms.

“They’re sprites,” I whispered. “Tiny silkworm sprites.”

Rory and the gargoyle raised their eyes to the looming walls of the cavern. Pitch-black, it stretched on and on, and would have been impossible to navigate at night without a lantern. But the sprites, their small glowing bodies, cast an ethereal glow, like stars punctuating a moonless sky, affording us a view of a wide, vast space.

“Look out below!”

Benji didn’t jump. He traveled on the magical tide of the inkwell, appearing before us. Maude came after him, and Rory caught her, and she winced in pain. “It’s massive.” She peered at the walls around us. “It must have taken centuries for the sea to wear down all this rock.”

“How could someone live like this?” Benji asked, the cave throwing his echo back at him. “Ever in the dark?”

“You’d be surprised,” Rory murmured.

We struck out. Rory led, coin in hand, and I followed closely, gripping my hammer and chisel. Behind me was Maude, then the king, then the gargoyle at the rear.

“So you’re really not going to tell us how you knew this was here?” Maude asked him.

“I should think it rather obvious.”

“I promise,” Benji said, “it isn’t—”