Filed To Story: The Knight and the Moth Book PDF Free by Rachel Gillig
He raised himself, kissing my neck as he went, the air between us immediately warm.
“Was she very terrible?” Benji asked, his voice slow, quiet, as he beheld my stone eyes for the first time. “The Weaver?”
“I hardly saw anything besides a face. It wasn’t…” I frowned. “The Harried Scribe and Ardent Oarsman were horrible to look at. But I could still see some humanness in their faces. But the Heartsore Weaver-she didn’t look human at all. It wasn’t just her eyes that were stone. More like her entire face. A strange, distorted face.”
“Did she say anything?” Maude asked.
“No.”
“Likely wanted to eat you,” Benji muttered.
“Did that really need to be said?” Rory snapped.
“Anyway.” The king ran a hand down the back of his neck. “We’ll catch up with her. Lure her out with spring water during the ceremony, like we did the Oarsman.”
We all nodded.
“And while you all are engaging in heroics”-Benji swished his colorful tunic-“I’ll be paraded about in this. Apparently Tory Bassett’s mother made it especially for me.” He frowned. “Not sure what it’s for.”
“At least one of us is dressed,” Maude said. “I can hear the knighthood rumbling about. I need to change my bandages, and Rory’s not in his armor yet.”
“I’m not in anything,” I muttered.
“And I’m not complaining,” Rory said.
I slapped his arm and he grinned.
“No one expects you to still come to the ceremony, Maude,” Benji said gently. “You can stay and rest if you-“
“I say this with love, Benedict Castor.” She pinched his cheek. “Shut up. I’m a knight, and I will attend your ceremony with the rest of the knighthood. In fact, both of you”-she grinned-“kindly fuck off.”
The gargoyle was Maude’s squire as well as mine. He was helping her tie her boots, and making a pig’s ear of it, when I stepped out of the room, surprised to find Benji still there.
“Six.” He smiled, then nodded at the door. “Do you mind?”
I shut it.
“I wanted to clear the air after the other night.” I looked for the boy in Benji. The easy smile, the eagerness in his blue eyes, but they were hard to find. Now, his gaze was clouded, his smile practiced. “Hamelin’s… well. He’s not the charmer he imagines, but his mother is the wealthiest woman in the Fervent Peaks. Dedrick Lange’s family owns half the Seacht, and Tory Bassett is a fearsome fighter. Loyalty is political-being their friend has its advantages.”
I imagined it did. “Not at the cost of your friendship with Rory, I hope.”
“Of course not. But Rory…” His cheeks went red, his gaze falling to his shoes in a sudden discomfort. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve always looked up to Rory. Tradition, virtue, loyalty
-those things don’t touch him. You saw how he was when I knighted you, nitpicking what you should or should not swear to. He was like that with his own vows as well, despite the fact that it was my grandfather who saved him-” Benji paused, clearing his throat. “What I mean is, I envy him his freedom. Rory keeps his own rules, beholden to nothing and no one.”
I’ll do anything you ask of me.
I frowned. “Perhaps always looking up to him means you do not see him clearly. Rory is the most loyal person I know.”
Benji’s gaze lifted. “Perhaps.” Then, like the storm that had passed over the Cliffs of Bellidine, the clouds were gone from the king’s eyes. He seemed like himself again-lively and eager. “Where’s your shroud?”
“Gone.”
He did not look upset that I’d flouted his wishes, nor was he repulsed or afraid to look at my eyes. The king looked almost… awestruck. “Stone eyes,” he murmured. “As ever, you’re wildly intimidating. A desirable trait-one I’ll use to my advantage when I sit on the throne back at Castle Luricht.” He looked down at his ceremonial tunic. “Rather unlike me, wearing a glorified quilt. I suppose I should be happy that this hamlet does not require me to be naked and cast into freezing water.” He squeezed my hand and dropped it. “See you out there.”
“Benji-” I swallowed. “I don’t know if I’ll be joining you at Castle Luricht.”
His eyes went blank, and I took a steadying breath. “That is, my focus is ever on Aisling. On putting my hammer and chisel upon it and destroying everything the Omens have built. What comes after, I don’t know, only that I’ve learned not to promise a future that may not come to be.”
He stayed quiet a long moment. “Did Rory tell you to say that?”
“What? No. I just-“
“Traum is a dangerous place, Diviner.” Benji’s voice softened. “There are terrible sprites. Terrible folk, too. But with me, you will be safe. You will garner the power, the awe-the respect-you are due.” He reached out. Patted my shoulder. “Everything will turn out well. Have a little faith.”
My muscles tensed. “And if I still wish to find my future away from Castle Luricht?”
Benji met my gaze. Smiled. “Then, of course, I will let you go.”
He bowed, then turned down the corridor. I watched him walk away, something cold chafing inside of me.
It was the first ceremony I’d attended where the entire hamlet was welcome. Folk of the Cliffs of Bellidine wore their finest knits, woven and dyed tunics similar to the one Benji wore. They joined the king and his knights, and together, like a herd of colorful lambs, we moved to a hedge that had been made to grow in the shape of a circle, a mile west of the inn.
There were elders. Barefoot children. Young girls who threw flowers, and young boys with sunlit eyes who looked up with longing at the knights and their armor and their weapons.
Folk were wary of the gargoyle-but only at first. “Is it a sprite?” a little girl with silver hair like mine asked. “Does it bite?”
“It is a he, and I believe he is a very old kind of sprite,” I called back. “And yes. I’m afraid he’s known to bite.”
“Slanderous imp, I am not.” The gargoyle smiled at the girl, his fangs on full display. I worried she’d cry, but she giggled, then gave the gargoyle a crown of pink flowers.
When we reached the hedge, we spread out around it. I made sure to stand on the north side, where the gargoyle and I could see the sea, and Rory and Maude came to stand next to us.
“Everyone here looks rather cheery,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “It’s alarming.”
Benji and five women, all wearing brightly dyed knits, entered the hedge’s circle through a narrow gate, then moved to stand in the heart of it. The women made their own circle around the king. I recognized the one who ran the inn-who’d smiled at me that first rainy day.
When she addressed the crowd, her voice was frayed by age. Wobbly, but still harmonious. “I’m Brenna Bassett. My family have lived along the Cliffs of Bellidine for over two hundred years. We’ve seen many kings. When a new one arrives, weavers like me have stood in this spot and said the Heartsore Weaver is the truest Omen. That only love, only heartbreak, can weave the thread of all that came, and all that is yet to come.” She paused. “But really, who are we kidding? We don’t have time to weigh the merits of gods, or which is best. We hardly look to portents at all. We’re too busy trying not break the bloody loom.”
The crowd laughed.
“But,” Brenna Bassett continued. “But. There is something to be said about love. Be it for ardor or sorrow, love is like the Heartsore Weaver-like an Omen. Its signs are everywhere. We may seek it, create it, feel it, ignore it, or lose it, but it is always there. Love is like our loom stone-it keeps us rooted to the world. To one another.”
The crowed nodded along, but I held perfectly still, listening.
“The truth is,” Brenna said, “we of the Cliffs of Bellidine are not too busy to look for the Heartsore Weaver’s signs of love and heartbreak. We do look for them. The world is a frightful place.” She found me in the crowd. Nodded. “Divination is a gift we give ourselves-that we might avoid the pain that comes from living, from loving, if we see it coming.
“But I like to think there are times when the thread of our faith in love is so resolute that we forget to search for signs.” She nodded to the crowd. “When a babe learns to walk. When friends gather around a sickbed, or deathbed, and sew a patch onto the family blanket. A couple’s kiss on their wedding day, and the night that follows. We do not look for love, or heartbreak, because they, like the truest god, are ever with us.” She smiled. “And it’s a privilege to know them.”
She approached Benji. “Thank you for honoring us with your presence, Benedict Castor. May you know love, and heartbreak, in your kingship. And may we, together, be witnesses to its wonders. Pupils of its portents.” She raised her hands. “Ever but visitors.”