Page 15 of Still the Sun

“Moseus?” This time I brought a lantern with me and hold it high.

An empty room greets me. I start to close the door, but pause, taken aback again by howdarkthe room is. Why is it so dark?

Letting out a long breath, I leave his chamber and set the lantern at the base of the stairs. Climb up, blinking as my eyes adjust to new light. Mist swirls outside the cramped windows. Everything looks silver, except for Machine Two, which greets me in bronze splendor. I study it for a moment before tearing my gaze away.One thing at a time.

I don’t see either tower keeper. Following the wall, I find a door identical to Moseus’s. I knock firmly. No answer. So I let myself in.

The small room boasts only one slitted window, open to the mist.

This is definitely Heartwood’s room. Its décor is sparse. The skin of a deer—a rare find—covers the center of the cold stone floor. A cairnsits in the back corner with no purpose other than to look pretty, and I can’t help but think how pointless it is to carry stones up those stairs. A small table holds two little cups of succulents. There’s a bundle of parchment on a pallet right under the window. A pack, some folded clothes, a knife with a leather-braided handle.

My hand loosens on the doorknob.Leather-braided handle.

Checking over my shoulder to ensure I’m alone, I slip into the room—closing the door to a crack behind me—and head straight for the knife. It’s probably happenstance. Still, I grab it and pull it from its sheath—

A plain knife. It’s the right length, but it’s just a regular knife.

I turn it over, and my breath catches.

A design of sorghum leaves flows over one side of the blade.

“Where’s my knife, Pelnophe?”

My mouth parts. Realizing where I am, I sheathe the blade, shove it into my pocket, and run for the door, but gentle footsteps outside the room freeze me in place. Cursing, I move behind the door, pressing myself to the wall, and hold my breath. I can’t fit out the window, and there’s nowhere else to hide—

The steps fade down the stairs.

Thanking the gods, I hurry from the room, closing the door behind me. I rush to the window closest to Machine Two and pull out the knife again. I’m not losing my mind. This is Arthen’s knife. He’s been pestering me about it formonths. So why on the Serpent’s abandoned world was it in Heartwood’s room?

Speak of Ruin, and he shall appear.

Movement below catches my eye. I squint through the fog—it’s Heartwood, still in his leathers. Leaving the tower. Where is he going? Probably to the latrine. But I bite my lip, trying to quell the uneasiness in my gut as my knuckles whiten around Arthen’s blade.

I drop the knife onto Arthen’s work table.

“Aha!” he shouts over his bowl of porridge. “I knew you had it!”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “You were right. I lost it. I’m sorry. I’ll be more accountable moving forward.”

He snorts, then winces like a kernel of something has lodged in his nasal cavity. He takes a long drink, runs a hand down his beard, and picks up the knife, unsheathing it. “Well, you kept it in excellent repair.”

So it hasn’t been used much. I make a mental note. Swallowing down my defense, I manage, “I always do.”

He snorts again. “Tell that to the last shovel I had to sharpen.” He flips the knife in the air, blade over handle, and catches it easily. Does it a second time, then tips his head to the far wall. “See that knot over there?”

I see a dark knot in an old wooden beam supporting the wall behind the set of drawers. “What of it?”

With a quick flick of Arthen’s wrist, the knife goes flying, embedding itself dead center in the knot. He bows.

I mumble, “Show-off.”

He returns to his work. “Where have you been lately? Not seeing you around much.”

“Tinkering. Sleeping. For once.” I shrug.

“Tinkering with what?”

I pause. That’s right—Arthen thinks I gave him all my research. This is why I’m bad at lying. Fortunately, my brain comes around to an honest solution quickly. “Salki found something in the crops. Don’t tell.”

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