Filed To Story: The Knight and the Moth Book PDF Free by Rachel Gillig
A knock sounded upon the cottage door.
Four banished her intensity with a final puff of idleweed, then pinched her cheeks in the cracked looking glass and pushed up her breasts. “Well, shrews. Shall we don our cloaks?”
They were for winter months, our cloaks. Wool and undyed, they’d been traded by a weaver from the Cliffs of Bellidine for a Divination. And while they were heavy and hot for late summer, when we drew the hoods up, we were Diviners no more, our dresses covered, our faces and shrouds perfectly obscured by shadow.
Five chuckled. “We look like the statues in the courtyard.”
“Remember,” One said at the door. “No eyes, no names.”
We shuffled down the stairs on a tide of smoke and slipped outside into the night.
The grounds were still, the gates closed-the outbuildings darkened. The gargoyles would be asleep. The abbess, too. The only movement was the wind, breathing through the grass.
The six knights, leaned up against the cottage, made no sound at all.
Two jumped, then swore. The rest of us went still at the cottage door, save Four, who ran headlong into the company. “Which of you is buying my first drink at the Faire?”
The knights grinned in her wake.
“Gods, I envy her,” One murmured. “I never know what to say to these eager, puppy-dog knights.”
“They’re not all puppies.” Even in the dark, I could see the faces of the knights. There were men and women in their ranks, all wearing armor and the same awestruck expression as they surveyed us in our hoods.
All, save the tall one with three gold bands in his ear, smiled at us.
Rory leaned against the cottage wall, scanning the line of Diviners. He had no business telling me from the others, my face hidden in the shadow of my hood, but his gaze halted the moment it crossed me, dark eyes narrowing in an unspoken challenge.
I raised the remains of my idleweed. Shot smoke out of my mouth at the sky.
Rory itched his nose with his middle finger.
Maude came to stand before us. I could tell by the way the other knights made room for her that she was in charge. “All right, Diviners,” she said in a low voice. “There are rules to this happy little jaunt. Each of you has been assigned a knight. That way, if we split up, none of you are lost or unprotected. Keep those hoods up-folk of Coulson are grabby at the best of times. Don’t tell anyone who you are.” She paused. “In fact, don’t talk to anyone, full stop. Last thing we want is a rumor that the knighthood is somehow undermining the abbess.”
She turned to her fellow knights. “Don’t embarrass yourselves. Don’t drink too much or gamble or fight-Tory, I’m looking at you.
If we split up, meet near the king’s pyre. Keep a close eye on your Diviner, and get them back here before dawn.”
Unlike Rory, Maude had some difficulty finding me in the crowd. “Is that acceptable?” she said pointedly. “Per our agreement?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “We’re even.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Rory muttered behind her.
Maude sighed, waving the company forward. “Try to have fun.”
We walked in silence, but there was a loudness to our verve-a buzz within us. We followed Maude down the tor to the west wall. I looked back only once at Aisling Cathedral, who, cold, beautiful, and disapproving, watched us disappear into the night.
The road was called a holloway-a sunken, tunnel-like road that led away from Aisling’s tor into the vast fields of Coulson Faire. Grass and shrubs, green and brimming with life, grew at a curve, and the leafy tops of trees let in only the barest glimpse of moonlight. It was like stepping into a living tunnel. A hollow, blooming log.
There was a secret spot on the west wall the other Diviners always used when they snuck away from the tor. One that was not such a high drop onto the holloway road below.
I was a little insulted how, without instruction, the knights found it. They climbed over first, then caught the Diviners as they dropped to the other side. I went last, climbing up, then over the wall.
I didn’t need anyone to catch me. Still, just before my feet touched the ground on the other side of the wall, hands encased in gauntlets braced my hips.
“All good?” said a voice.
My feet hit the road and I turned. The knight who held me had short blond hair and a smile wide enough that I was afforded a view of all his straight white teeth. “I’m fine,” I answered, brushing him off.
“My name is Hamelin Fischer, Diviner. If it’s all right by you, I’ll be your escort for the evening.”
Anyone but Myndacious. Again, I said, “Fine,” and we continued on.
Not ten minutes later, a noise began in the trees.
I startled. There it was again-a harmony of tiny voices, laughing. The clamor grew, echoing through beech trees, through ferns and ivies and nettle brambles. I turned to One. “What’s that?”
High in the trees, something flittered. I looked up, and my hood fell back.
There were creatures above us. Small, quick-moving. They looked like hummingbirds, their bodies brightly feathered and iridescent, only they bore no beaks, just slat-like nostrils, thin purple lips, and round, inquisitive eyes. Their jointed arms and legs were as purple as burdock flowers. When they opened their mouths, I could see rows of pale, jagged teeth.
They sat on leaves and twigs, watching us.
“Sprites,” One whispered, her gaze lifted like mine.
A few little creatures dropped down from the safety of the trees, hovering, then darting over the knights ahead us, hissing. I could hear their bodies tinging against armor as they swiped again and again at the knights.
A sword was drawn. In a single blow, the pommel collided with one of the sprites, knocking it from the air, like a fly swatted. The sprite fell onto the side of the road, where it lay, shaking, then still, upon the grass.
I gasped. “Why did he do that? It’s just a little thing!”
“Beastly creatures, sprites,” said a voice near my ear.
I’d forgotten Hamelin. He walked with another knight behind One and me, looking up at the sprites in the trees, hand lowered to the hilt of his sword. “Creatures of the land can’t be trusted. There’s no room for mercy, even for the little ones. Large or small, handsome or monstrous, all sprites are violent and impossible to control.”
“Not true,” One countered. “The gargoyles are sprites.
Ancient ones, trained by abbesses of old to serve the cathedral. They heel well enough.” She looked up at the trees. “These little ones seem harmless. No need to be brutes.”
The knights were clearly not of the same mind. “All respect, Diviner, but you’ve never been to the Chiming Wood,” said the man behind me. “Or the Fervent Peaks.” He glowered up at the trees. “There’s nothing redemptive about creatures who would happily eat you for breakfast.”
We passed the fallen sprite, its little body unmoving, as if asleep. I had the intrusive desire to lay my palm on it. “He shouldn’t have killed it. It’s lovely. Even in death.”
“Not as lovely as you, Diviner,” Hamelin said.
One snorted and looked over her shoulder. “Didn’t I kiss you last night?”
The second knight laughed. “That was me.” He wielded his smile as well as Hamelin. “I’m Dedrick Lange, from the Seacht. Remember?”
“Oh… yes. Sorry.” One waved a hand in his face. “All you seem the same to me.”