Page 55 of Silverbow
“She was hardly akid, not by their standards, anyway.”
Oryn regarded him flatly, but Colm was studying his splayed hands. “Is she telling you something now?”
“The girl seems to…unsettle her.”
The corners of Colm’s mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Interesting.”
“What?” Oryn snapped.
“It’s just interesting, is all.” Colm chuckled and held up his hands in surrender, pitching his voice low enough they would not be overheard. “I’ve never heard of a resonance with one ofthem.”
Oryn knew he meant the godsung gifts. They were not sensed the same way the pure godsongs were.
“And I’ve never heard of a resonance with one likeyou.”
He meant one the gods sometimes tried to speak to.
“But I’ve never met one ofthemat all. It raises the question, is it the gift? Or is it the girl? It is…interesting, is all.”
Sana’s gift was rare enough that they’d never met a Silverbow. Given his way, Oryn would have taken her to sanctuary at once, but his offer had been declined. Only the godsongs were susceptible to those gods forsaken artifacts that yielded control of one’s gift to another. She should be safe enough, even if her gift would make her a weapon men would seek to wield. Perhaps it was best she remained out of sight in the Westerlands.
“What do you know of the house?”
“Nothing,” Colm shrugged. “Newly raised. Of no real consequence.”
Oryn stared west as if he could peer through the leagues between them. Like the wielding gifts, godsung gifts were believed to follow bloodlines, though they sometimes skipped so many generations, they were thought to have died out. He set the copper spinning on the tabletop with a flick of his fingers and watched it land. Pallas Davolier’s profile stared back at him.
“But why does itunsettleher?”
Colm shook his head. “I cannot say.”
Oryn spun the coin again and watched it come to a stop, balancing impossibly on its edge. He darted a look at Colm, his brows climbing. The coin finally wobbled and fell, Pallas Davolier’s face once again peering up at them. Oryn stared at the coin. He’d never been much of a betting man, but perhaps…Are you tryingto tell me to go back for her?He set it spinning and watched it suddenly halt and fall. Once again, he was looking at the false king.
Bloody hell. What am I supposed to do, knock on the door and ask for a cup of tea?
Another spin, stop, and lamp light glinted off the man’s profile.
Do you really want me to go west?
Oryn was staring at the coin that only seemed to come up heads, wondering if Mosphaera or Nimala were responsible, too aware that Colm was staring at him when the dulcimer cut off with an abrupttwangand the buzz of the common room suddenly faded around them. A pair of crimson coated soldiers had stomped in. Eyes swiveled to the man who held a sheet of parchment. He hardly looked at it as he cried his message.
“In the name of His Majesty the King, Pallas of House Davolier, High King of Estryia and Defender of the Dragon’s Dream…”
That Estryia’s monarch still claimed that title was ridiculous, and a Davolier king made it absurd. Oryn drummed his fingers on the tabletop impatiently.
“Lord Peytar Ralenet, High Lord of Pavia and His Majesty’s Master of Coin, offers the king’s bounty for the safe return of Miss Enya of House Ryerson in the Westerlands.”
Oryn didn’t notice the heads that whipped toward him when he rose, his chair scraping across the silence.
“Ten thousand gold marks will be awarded to the man who delivers her to any of His Majesty’s outposts.”
The other names and descriptions that were rattled off were lost to him. He thought he might explode with the effort of holding back the torrent of air, water, and spirit that tried to burst from him. He could practically feel Mosphaera’s frantic wails reverberating in his bones as the inn’s door burst open and a sudden gale whipped through the common room, trying to pry the parchment from the soldier’s fingertips.
Gods above.
Whispers and excited muttering picked up when the door banged shut again and the crimson coats departed. Colm was saying something, but the muddled understanding had him bolting for Kiawa. He didn’t know why or for what end, but one thing was clear. The gods wanted the girl kept away from Peytar Ralenet.
Colm
