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

by Rachel Gillig

“That’s an answer to King Castor’s question. The Omens do not favor him.”

Diviners, we were. Holy daughters of Aisling Cathedral. Harbingers of gods.

Rory scratched his nose with his middle finger.

“You’re—” My mouth fell open. “You’re joking?” Rory let out a low laugh. “Of course, you twit.

“She was with Hamelin,” Rory said flatly, procuring his own ale. “They were waylaid in the glen.”

“You noticed me go?” I scoffed into my cup. “How nice.” “Difficult not to,” Rory bit back. “What with the show you made.”

“Let… me… win.” His lips curled at the corners. “You are nervous. Why’s that, Diviner? Thinking of kissing me, too?”

“You’re a fucking scourge.” He groaned, dropping his gaze to my mouth. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to kiss me?”

“If you wish to Divine before the bitch—excuse me—before the abbess arrives, best get cracking.”

“My name is Rodrick Myndacious.” With shocking gentleness, Rory pressed his bloodied thumb to my lips.

“Well, if it isn’t my least favorite Diviner.” Rory.

“Threw you on that bed easy enough, too,” he murmured.

“Which one, Diviner?” Rory’s voice was deathly calm. He looked over his shoulder at me. “Which one marked up your face?”

“Put your arms around my chest.”

Yes daddy

“Occupations?” Rory looked back at me, lip curling. “A knight and his lady.”

Rory leaned down. Cracked him over the jaw with an open palm. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Do you have some moral compunction against saying my name?”

Rory’s expert profanity drowned him out. “Bring her down, you fucking cur, or I will—”

“I’ll likely regret saying this—but keep your hands out of my pants.”

I’m not one of your precious gods, Diviner.” His eyes flickered in the darkness. “I’m the one who’s killing them.”

“Which lowly picket of the Seacht struck her?”

“You say horrible things to me all the time.” “I know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Perhaps it’s why I worried you might be twenty miles away. That I might not—” He made a face. “That you might not come back.”

“I have disdain in me, yes.” Rory’s brows drew together, lips parted slightly enough for me to hear the shaky sound of his exhale. “But none for you.”

The Omens are not divine. They are mortals who are paid like kings to live like gods. Imagine where all that money for Divination might go if it wasn’t spent filling Aisling’s coffers or wasted in the hamlets on the Omens.”

And whatever you did to spite me after—well. I deserved to hate it, watching you disappear into the trees with Hamelin.” He gave me his eyes over his shoulder once more. “I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

“I need to clean your mouth.” “Because I said fucking?”

“Must I spell it out? I permit you.” Rory rolled his eyes. Brought his wax-laden thumb to my mouth. “You don’t like it when I’m a bad knight,” he muttered, “and you don’t like it when I’m a good one.”

“It’s not true, you know,” he said. “You don’t have to be good, or useful, for someone to care about you.”

“I think you like that I’m a bad knight. It’s why you feel so righteous, flaying me with your tongue—why you enjoy throwing me down and grinding your heel into my pride. It does something to you.” He wet his bottom lip. “I’d bet my oath your whole body is awake right now, aching and eager at the thought of putting me in my place.”

“You want to throw me down,” Rory said, eyelids dropping as he whispered into my parted lips. “And I, prideful, disdainful, godless, want to drag you into the dirt with me.”

“If you wanted to get me alone, Diviner, all you had to do is ask.”

“How undignified.” The gargoyle let out a whimper. “Did anyone see me fall?”

“What fun! What a wonderful display of valor on my part.”

Is that what you are doing, or is it the altitude that makes you such a mad apple?” Bad apple, I mouthed.

The gargoyle batted his eyes. “Oh, Bartholomew. He’s dreamy.”

“Are you married?” Rory coughed. “Come again?”

“And if I was married? That would, what? Bother you?”

“Pith, you think there’s something wrong with me—” “I don’t.” Rory’s voice was gravel. “I was wondering what it would be like. Watching you unravel.”

Rory was looking at me. Raw and desperate and intent, like he was trying to tell me something. His gaze flickered to my belt.

You have no love for Traum, its Stonewater Kingdom, nor for the people who call you hallowed. Your glory may come from Aisling, but it was earned by the dreaming, the drowning, of Diviners like me.”

“I am not afraid of you. Because without me, you would be nothing.”

“What are these little webs?” “Laces, you imbecile.”

“The Diviner, wearing shoes. My faith is restored.”

“I don’t want him touching you like he did last night. I don’t want him within a fucking mile of you. Keep your steps light.”

“Apologies if your heavy-footed lumbering puts a sour look on my otherwise perfect face.”

“That’s better. Still foul and unknightly, though.” “Just the way you like me.” Rory nipped the pad of my thumb. “Now run it again.”

“It’s personal. If I was any good at talking to you, maybe I’d have already said that, because it’s personal for me, too.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rory’s voice became perilously soft. “You think I want a single scratch upon her?”

“I fear she will die without ever having lived.”

“Don’t laugh.” The echoes of his chuckle still lingered in the air. “I’ve never laughed in my life.”