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

by Rachel Gillig

it. I’ll tell it to you as best I can and promise to be honest in my talebearing. If I’m not, that’s hardly my fault. To tell a story is in some part to tell a lie, isn’t it?

object. One statue held a coin, another an inkwell. One bore an oar, another a chime, and the final a loom stone.

There

A coin, an inkwell, an oar, a chime, and a loom stone. The sixth and final window was centered on the east wall—an enormous rose window, fixed with thousands of pieces of stained glass. Its design was different than the others, depicting no stone object, but rather a flower with five peculiar petals that, when I studied them, looked all the world like the delicate wings of a moth.

“We know Traum and its hamlets like our own five fingers. Coulson Faire, the hamlet of merchants. The scholarly city-heart—the Seacht—the hamlet of scribes. The Fervent Peaks, near the mouth of our river, the hamlet of fishers. The cosseted birch forest, the Chiming Wood, where the foresters dwell. The florid Cliffs of Bellidine, occupied by weavers.”

“The Omen who bore a stone coin, the child named the Artful Brigand. The Omen fitted with the inkwell was christened the Harried Scribe. The Omen who wielded a stone oar was called the Ardent Oarsman. The Faithful Forester carries the chime.” She pointed at the last arched window. “And the Heartsore Weaver employs her sacred loom stone.”

“But the sixth Omen bore no stone object. It revealed nothing of itself at all, appearing only as a pale moth on tender wing. Some say it shows itself the moment you are born, others believe it comes just before you die. Which is true”—she opened her palms, like two pans of a scale—“we cannot know. We may read their signs, but it is not our place to question the gods. The moth is mercurial, distant—never to be known, even by Diviners.”

“What’s your name?” “Rodrick Myndacious.” He winced, like he’d strung an out-of-tune fiddle. “Rory.”

“Forgive my curiosity, Diviner. If you are disallowed to leave Aisling, all of Traum must surely be a stranger to you. What happens when your service is up? When you are no longer required to—” “Drown?” Rory offered, spinning his spoon between his fingers. “Dream,” Maude corrected.

Tap, tap, tap went Rory’s spoon on the table. “And you call wasting your time dreaming of signs living, Diviner?” I slapped the spoon out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, and I leaned in, lifting the dull end of my chisel to his nose. “What would a highborn prick like you know about it?”

Idleweed. Tied around it was a note.

Be ready by nightfall. —R (The idleweed is to spare my fucking boots. Don’t smoke it all.)

Three grinned. “Sounds like a happy ploy to get everyone’s clothes off.” “Bless the knighthood.” Four cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Challenge him at his craft!”

King Castor’s finger, slightly wobbly, pointed once more. “The pretty one.” Rory’s eyes flitted to me. But the King’s finger, the knighthood’s collective gaze, was trained on Four.

“Good of you, by the way, telling her where to kick me.” He sucked his teeth. “My adoration for Diviners grows by the moment.”

“You’re a fucking scourge.” He groaned, dropping his gaze to my mouth. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to kiss me?” “And deny myself any pleasure?” He smiled, startling us both.

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

The next morning, the air was colder still. I sat up and combed the room. Held in a scream. Two was gone.

“No one’s as strong as you, is that it, Diviner?” “Put you on your back at Coulson Faire easy enough, didn’t I?”

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

“Did he just try to smite me, Bartholomew?” Rory’s gaze jerked. “Bartholomew? That’s your name?” “Pith, you’re thick—no. He calls everyone Bartholomew.”

“Take me with you, Bartholomew.” “What?” “Is my voice too quiet?” He hauled in a breath. Shouted in my face. “Take me with you, Bartholomew! I don’t want to start over again and again and watch children dream and never see beyond this place. I don’t want to be in the middle of the story anymore. Please.” He wrenched open the shed door. “Take me with you.”

Rory looked back at me, lip curling. “A knight and his lady.” “That,” I snapped, slipping from the saddle, “may be the worst thing you’ve said of me.” “That you know of.”

“Did that man just call me foul, Bartholomew?” “He mistook you for a bird.” “An even greater slander!” The gargoyle wagged a stone finger at the scribe’s stall. “I shall destroy his little house.”

“You will stay with Fig.” When the gargoyle’s bottom lip began to quiver, Rory hastily added, “She gets lonely.”

“You’re remarkably difficult to like.” “You’d like me better if you called me Rory.” “I’d like you better if you were on your back again.” He smiled. An unfamiliar heat burrowed into my face. “From throwing you and your inferior strength down, obviously.” “Loud and clear, Diviner. I hear you loud and clear.”

Rory’s eyes widened. He wrenched me away by the wrist. “I’ll likely regret saying this—but keep your hands out of my pants.” “That coin.” I was shaking. Seething. “Where did you get it?” He didn’t answer.

The coin belonged to the Artful Brigand.” He withdrew the coin from his pocket, turning it slowly between his fingers. “It belonged to him right up until five days ago when we went to Castle Luricht, challenged him to his craft, and used it to kill him. As to the accusation—I’m not one of your precious gods, Diviner.” His eyes flickered in the darkness. “I’m the one who’s killing them.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do or who to believe in or how to find my friends.” A sharp pressure began behind my eyes. “I don’t know who I am without Aisling.”

He stood in shadow on the sideline. Leather clad, new charcoal drawn around his eyes, he was looking at me through an uncharacteristic crack in his derision, as if something he did not fully believe in had suddenly appeared right in front of him. Rodrick Myndacious.

“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.”

“But I regretted it. You should not have to bear, nor marshal, my derision. I was cruel. And whatever you did to spite me after—well. I deserved to hate it, watching you disappear into the trees with Hamelin.”

“You’re nervous,” I said, grinning. “Why is that?” “Don’t flatter yourself.” “But you’re blushing. Dying to fidget with that stolen coin in your pocket, maybe. Touching a Diviner must make your heretical heart truly uneasy—”

“If you wanted to get me alone, Diviner, all you had to do is ask.” Maude gave him an exasperated look. But Rory just smiled, his stupid words winning two battles. Maude, irritated—me, flustered. And

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

“She’s a guest of the king’s. Affront her in any way, the knighthood will answer. Attempt to look beneath her shroud, she and the gargoyle will respond as they see fit. With full immunity to any carnage tended.”

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

“I could never get comfortable. Never feel what you’re meant to feel. You know—losing oneself with someone else. The unraveling.” My face was so warm it hurt. “The little death.” He was silent for a beat of my heart. Then two. Three. “You’ve never finished.” “Not with another person.”

“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.”

The gargoyle’s wings were spread, his bottom lip trembling as he watched the Oarsman’s hand return to my throat. And Rory— Rory was looking at me. Raw and desperate and intent, like he was trying to tell me something. His gaze flickered to my belt.

“But now I see you with my eyes. You are not a dream. You’re just a man, paid like a king to playact as a god. A facade, hoarding wealth, yet claiming to starve. 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.”

“You say the river cares not for the rain, but it is the rain that feeds the river. In time, it can even wear away stone.” My words were like the fall of my hammer. Strong. Exact. “I am not afraid of you. Because without me, you would be nothing

“The Diviner, wearing shoes. My faith is restored.” “Explains why you’re drooling.”

“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.” I pulled myself upright. Reached for his cheek—dragged the corner of his mouth up with my thumb until he wore an absurd half smile. “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.”

“I’ll choke you.” “As if you haven’t imagined a thousand ways to strangle me.” He bucked his hips and my weight shifted forward, my chest falling flat over his, my forearm pressing into his throat.

Slowly, his left hand rose to my face. He hooked my chin with his thumb and pressed, parting my lips directly over his. Then he was pushing up, his mouth ghosting over mine— “You two still sparring?” someone called over the rain. “Or have we shifted tactics?”

“Hot springs. Hot enough to ease some of the ache your muscles are undoubtedly feeling after three days of hauling ass.”

“It’s not lost on me how terrible I’ve been. Growing up under the Artful Brigand—” He said it in a gasping rush, like it was he who’d been underwater. “I’m discourteous and utterly poisoned by contempt. I know that.” His throat hitched. “And I don’t know how to behave around you. You make me so fucking nervous. But letting you fall underwater when all you ever did at Aisling was drown, I—” “Myndacious.” I reached up. Put a hand over his mouth. “It was an accident.” He nodded too fast and wouldn’t look at me. My hand slid to his cheek. “Rory.”