“What am I looking for?” Sorrows asked. He leaned forward, squinted.
“The Walker. His back’s to us, about a hundred paces out. He’s a tricky one, but I slowed down, got thick, and thinned out real sudden and circled around. Look quick, I can’t hold us in this moment forever.”
Sorrows strode forward, ducked behind a tree. Slipped around the other side and moved closer. Found another tree. He kept moving until he had a clear view of the Walker. Ga’Shel. Expected. And he wasn’t alone. Also expected.
“That’s him,” Sorrows said.
“You sure?” Fen asked.
Sorrows nodded, pointed. “That’s the half-born beside him. They’re always together. Bow and arrow.”
“Who’s the bow, who’s the arrow?”
Sorrows shrugged. “Not sure. Can you lose them?”
“Yes, but we’ll need to travel east for a spell. And then I’m going to need to rest a bit afterward. Keeping us this thin isn’t easy.”
Sorrows nodded. “Do what you need to. Let’s go.”
The two put time and distance between themselves and Davrosh and Ga’Shel. When Fen eventually pulled them back into the gods-stream, the sun was high overhead, and he was exhausted. Sorrows left him resting in the boughs of an oak tree and went looking for shelter. Came back to find arms and legs dangling over a branch and Fen fast asleep. He climbed up, threw Fen over his shoulders, and dropped back down.
“Let go,” Fen said. Thick. Groggy. “Can walk, not a youngling.”
Sorrows said nothing, carried Fen to a small cave. Made camp while Fen slept some more. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when the goblin woke. Sorrows shoved some dried fruit at him.
“Eat,” he said. “We’ve got a problem.”
Fen stopped mid-mouthful. “Problem?”
“They’ll know we’re headed to Tam. They’ll just wait for us there.”
Fen shook his head. “Humans. You’re almost as bad as elves. Thinking you’re the only ones thinking. Thank the gods there’s only one of you. I changed course, took us on a different road. They won’t suspect Tam.”
He returned to his fruit. Sorrows glanced at the cave walls. Granite streaked dark, flecks of mineral sparkling throughout. Familiar.
“Where are we?”
“About two hours, slow-footed, from the Edge.”
Sorrows stood abruptly, hit his head on the low ceiling as he hurried to the cave entrance. “Gods shun you, Fen.”
“You said no rush.”
“I didn’t say get us killed.”
Fen shrugged. “You’re a big guy with a bow. I’m a Walker. What are you so worried about?”
“You were sleeping, and I’ve only got a dozen arrows. Small comfort if a horde of Curselings finds us.”
“Use your fists. I’ve seen you hit before.”
“Get up. Let’s go.”
“I’m still eating.”
Sorrows grabbed Fen, pulled him to his feet.
“Fen. Now.”
Fen rolled his eyes, looked at Sorrows, and shrugged.
“Fine, fine. But there’s another problem, Sol.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Sorrows asked, pushing Fen out of the cave.
“When we get to Tam, you’ll have my sister to deal with.”
Chapter 8
THEY’D MADE THEIR way to Tam three weeks ago. Twenty-one days. Most of which Sorrows had spent in the same tavern, at the same table, sitting in the same chair, drinking the same whiskey. Dreading the same conversation. A conversation he’d put off as long as possible. A conversation one year in the making. A conversation that still found him.
Sorrows studied the goblin sitting across from him. She was taller than her brother by a head. Taller than most goblins. She had large black eyes, skin the color of moss, soft, evergreen lips. She was lean and strong and full of curves. Her raven hair fell across her shoulders like dark water, shining and smooth. She was gorgeous. A goddess among a naturally beautiful people. And she was avoiding his eyes. Her forehead was creased. Her hands were clasped in front of her, resting on the table.
“It’s been almost a year, Sol,” she said.
“I know.”
“Was it something I said?”
“No.”
“Something I did?”
“Of course not,” he said.
“Is it because I’m a goblin and you’re… not?”
“Gods, Mig, no.”
She blinked, her brow knit. “I don’t understand. Is there someone else?”
There was always someone else. “No,” he said, and thought of the bow resting on a shelf in a room at Fen’s house.
“You’re lying.”
“Somewhat.”
“Another goblin?”
“No.”
She wrinkled her nose. “A dwarf?”
Sorrows shook his head, fought to keep a straight face.
“Solomon Sorrows, if you’re leaving me for an elf, so help the gods.”
“A soul, Mig,” he said. “Not an elf.”
“The job?”
“Yeah. The job.”
“But you are leaving me?”
“I don’t know. I need time with this one, Mig. It’s tricky.”
She moved across the table and kissed him. Pressed her lips hard against his. Her hands brushed his face. Her fingers threaded through the tangles of his hair. He took her arms in his hands, brushed his thumbs across her shoulders. Gods, she felt good. She pulled away. He pulled her back. She broke free, breathing hard.
“You remember this, Solomon. You remember who you have waiting for you. I won’t stick around forever.”
“I know.”
Mig turned and left. Solomon watched her walk away. Her scent lingered in the air. His mouth was still warm from her kiss. Her hips swayed left, right, left—
“That’s my sister, Sol.”
Sorrows stiffened. “Gods, Fen. Wear a bell.”
Fen sat down in Mig’s chair. “Got something to tell you. But first, did you come clean with her?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Clean enough. No specifics. That’s the best I can do.”
Fen nodded, stared at Sorrows. “How’d she take it?”
Sorrows remembered the kiss. Blew out his cheeks.
“On second thought, don’t answer that,” Fen said. “How are you doing?”
Sorrows shrugged. “Been better. Could use a drink.”
Fen gave a faint smile. “I’ll grab us a couple pints.”
“Make it whiskey.”
“You’re the boss.”
“What was it you needed to tell me?” Sorrows asked, but Fen had already left.
Walkers were like that. One moment they were there, the next they were gone, slipped from the gods-stream and off to their next destination. Sorrows didn’t mind. In this case, Fen’s next destination was a bar made of polished maple that reflected lamps hanging overhead and glasses neatly inverted on its surface. Eight goblins crowded its length, laughing, jostling one another, calling for the barkeep.
