Filed To Story: The Knight and the Moth Book PDF Free by Rachel Gillig
“Endlessly.” He stretched his wings. Yawned. “The tor was the only home I ever knew. But I have stepped down from its height and seen the world with my own eyes. You can’t take something like that back. Even if I returned to the cathedral, nothing can be as it was.” His fangs pressed over his teeth as he smiled. “You can never really go home.”
“Rather a tragic way to see things, don’t you think?”
He patted my leg. “You sound troubled.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Often, but also rarely.”
I keep my eyes upon the vast, liminal sea. Thought of life and death and the Diviners.
We’ll go to the Cliffs of Bellidine and look out over the Sighing Sea, all six of us. We’ll shout so loud and long that our echoes will sound behind us. We’ll lie under the stars on beds of pink thrift flowers and stain our teeth with wine. We’ll sleep, but never dream.
I stood. Walked to the edge of the cliff.
And shouted.
It came from deep in my belly. A forlorn yell that sounded so loud and so long that it put a buzz in my ears, its echo devouring the Sighing Sea, the Cliffs of Bellidine. All of Traum, perhaps.
And I thought, maybe the life of Sybil Delling was paid for with the death of Six’s dreams. That it wasn’t just the Omens that weren’t real, but the stories I’d told myself. That I had to suffer to earn a home at Aisling Cathedral-that I had to hide my face and name to be useful, to be strong, to be special. That the Diviners and I would spend our lives together-that our sisterhood was eternal.
But nothing was eternal, and I could never go back home. Death fluttered over the world like a breeze, stirring our hair, and I knew it well. I’d quested through Traum. Battled Omens, sprites-loneliness and longing. I’d made the agonizing pilgrimage from Six to Sybil.
That was death in and of itself.
But, just on the other side of it, waiting behind gossamer-
Was life, too.
I reached into my hair. Took off my shroud. Held it out over the edge of the cliff. When the wind took it in its teeth, I did not resist. I simply… let go.
I watched as my shroud fluttered away, as if on pale wings. It flew and it flew until I couldn’t see it anymore, because the light over the sea was so bright.
I cried. Just a little. When I turned, the gargoyle was there, smiling at me. So was Maude.
Rory too.
“Oh.” I wiped tears from my cheeks and levied a threatening finger. “Don’t you dare say anything.” But the threat fell flat-I was smiling right back at them.
Rory bridged the distance between us.
Morning light warmed his face. His dark hair caught the wind, and when he looked at me with unmasked adoration, I felt an instant tightness in my chest.
He leaned over in his usual idle way. Took my cheek in his hand. Said, “Just as well. I don’t have the words.”
I kissed him, and he kissed me back harder, and we stood upon the cliff and what felt like the edge of the world, windblown and breathless and new.
Maude hugged the gargoyle, and he clapped.
The ceremony, put on by the noble families of the Cliffs of Bellidine to mark the arrival of a new king, was delayed. For the rest of the day, it stormed.
I waited for Benji to find me and Rory and Maude-to meet with us as he had with Hamelin and the others last night, but he did not. He kept to his quarters while the rest of the knights, restless, shuffled through the inn where we stayed. I thought of staying in my quarters, too, afraid to show my stone eyes. But I had banished my shroud to the wind-let go of Six entirely. There was nothing to hide beneath now.
I sat by the fire with Maude and the gargoyle while Rory read a book of poetry aloud, making faces whenever the author said anything too amorous, then tossed the book aside with a snort. The gargoyle picked it up, held it upside down, and spent the next quarter hour hemming and hawing over it, pretending to read.
The knights stared at me. Travelers who stopped in the inn, too. They searched my stone eyes just as pointedly as they once had my shroud-with grotesque fascination or fear-until a murderous glower from Rory or Maude sent their gazes to the wall. And while I was not so restless as I’d been in the Chiming Wood, waiting for the king’s ceremony or an opportunity to snare an Omen, there was a thrumming disquiet in my body. An internal warning I could not translate.
Hours later, well into the night, I lay in bed in my room-still awake. Maude was snoring in the bed next to me, and the gargoyle muttered in his sleep. Rain sprayed the window, thunder rolled, the darkness perforated every handful of minutes by the flash of lightning. It was far from a quiet night.
Still-I heard it. A strange noise, just outside the door.
Clack, clack.
I went still, listening. There it was again. Footsteps in the dark. Not a thump like a cobbled shoe or boot or even a bare foot might make, but harsh. Like stone upon stone.
Clack, clack. Clack, clack-
The door creaked open.
A figure in a hooded gray cloak came into the room. Its steps were heavy, the wood groaning in its wake. I lay frozen beneath my blankets, listening as it drew closer and closer to me.
There was a low rasp. Quick, labored breaths. Then the figure was leaning over my bed, standing directly over the gargoyle. I couldn’t see its face. I couldn’t see anything.
But then lightning flashed-the sky a blinding white. I caught a glimpse of a face hidden beneath the shadow of a hood.
And screamed.
The figure turned. Ran for the door. I jolted out of bed and reached out, grasping at it. My hand closed around an arm so hard my fingernails broke. The figure jerked away, its arm flinging out and striking me along the shoulder with bruising force.
Maude sat up and the gargoyle shrieked, throwing his blanket aside. Lighting flashed once more, illuminating our room and everyone in it. Only now, the hooded figure-
Was gone.
The Knight and the Moth
LOVE AND HEARTBREAK
I woke with a terrible ache. The whole of my body was rigid, my muscles hard and overstrained. I let out a creaking groan. Sat up.
Someone cleared their throat.
Maude was sitting on her bed, Benji beside her. He was wearing a beautiful tunic, woven in intricate patterns, dyed astounding colors. The gargoyle sat on the floor next to him, staring at it in a quiet daze.
Rory was near, standing tall. A shadow over my bed.
They were all watching me.
“Pith.” I pulled my blanket to my chin. I wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’d taken it off to examine the mark on my shoulder the hooded figure had left last night when I’d tried to stop them from fleeing. A truly spectacular bruise sat on my collarbone, the skin an ugly shade of purple. Happily, nothing seemed broken. “You needn’t all be here. I told you last night, I’m f-“
“Say fine, and I’ll combust.” Rory reached down, gingerly moving the blanket and examining my bruise. “Well.” His voice was far too calm. He bent, ghosting his lips over damaged skin. “If it was indeed the Heartsore Weaver, I’m going to enjoy killing her.”