“Well, gods leave me,” he muttered. “What are the chances of that?”
“What?” Caris said, following his gaze. “Chances of what?”
Harric turned to her and smiled. “What are the chances the stars will give us a minute of peace together tonight?”
If the growing light had allowed, Harric imagined he’d have seen her blush. To her credit and his great satisfaction, however, she didn’t drop her eyes as she might have only a week before. She held his gaze and laughed.
“The stars have nothing to do with it. We’re Arkendian. If we want something, we make it happen ourselves. Right?”
Harric tilted his head to the side to study her from the corners of his eyes. “If Willard had said that, he’d have been preaching. You make it sound like a proposition.”
Mischief flashed in her eyes. Altering her voice, she made a very bad imitation of Harric: “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”
“Oh?” He laughed. “Remind me to show you when we’re alone.”
Epilogue
The Impit’s Gambit
Fink followed as she fled over hill and through forests to her grave. Her rapid retreat took most of the fun out of it. He’d hoped for more of a fight, but after only a few quick licks, she’d turned tail and made straight for Gallows Ferry and her burial cairn. When he finally caught her in that miserable cliff village, he found her waiting at the stones that covered her bones.
Crazy laughter tinkled from her lips, as if she’d just challenged him to a race and won.
The merry twinkle of her eyes sent a tremor of doubt through Fink.
“I see nothing good in your future, imp,” she said.
His lips peeled back in a sneer. “How long have you had the Sight, lady?”
“How long have you had it?” she mocked, as if she knew damned well he didn’t have it. She laughed again, secure in the Right of Last Kin, secure in the limits of power Harric laid upon him, secure in whatever it was she beheld in the web.
Fink bristled. Where’d she get that? Where’d she come by understanding of the Unseen most imps never had? The Sight alone was not enough to bring the depth of knowledge she displayed. Nor would it impart such moon-blasted confidence. He narrowed his eyes as if to better pick out clues in the wash of strands boiling upward from her spirit. Maybe she was a Spinner’s pet. He could find no Spinner’s mark upon her, but two of the three Spinners could be relied on to mark pets only subtly, and sometimes not at all.
That made him nervous. He didn’t dare meddle with a Spinner. Not directly.
Her eyes laughed as if she’d read his thoughts. Her lips pressed together and raised her thin eyebrows. She cocked her head as if to say, “I’ll never tell.”
He had nothing to lose. Why not prompt her? “Where’d all your frenzy and wailing go?” he croaked, as if he knew the answer and wanted her to know he knew. “That was quite an act.”
Her eyes brightened—she saw the feint coming a mile away. “I know what you want from him. I could have told him, but that would have skewed the futures. But I can tell you something: you won’t get what you’re after, imp. He’ll outmaneuver you, as he did me.”
“Yeah? Well, he knows all your tricks, lady. He don’t know mine.”
She laughed and watched him. “So speaks ignorance and pride.”
Fink felt a prickle of irritation. At the same time he glimpsed the slightest hint of doubt behind her mask of certainty. If he’d looked away he would have missed it. She was that good. A kind of awed respect dawned in Fink even as the leer of triumph spread across his face. “Gotcha,” he said. “Nice try, lady. But you can’t trick a trickster.”
The doubt was gone from her eyes, but now her laughter seemed forced.
His interest waned. “We’re done here, lady. Get in your grave, or—”
She’d already gone.
He stood in silence, disappointed. What a killjoy. No begging and gnashing of teeth. No fun. She’d dodged all that.
But what game had she been at? He pondered their exchange, searching for seams. She seemed to have wanted Fink to believe it had been part of her plan all along for Fink to apprentice her son. That she’d had no intention of reuniting with Harric. But to what end would she do that? To save face? She seemed far too clever and complex for that. What, then? To put him off his guard? Off his guard from what? The kid?
It didn’t make sense. But it didn’t matter anymore. She was back where she belonged. He lifted the fallen capstone from the ground beside the cairn, and returned it to the top. Then he shook his head to clear it, the way a dog shakes its head after swimming, and dusted his hands.
“All right, kid. Now you owe me.”
He turned toward the east, where, in the distant forest, the young Arkendian awaited his return. The kid knew nothing of the Unseen. He was a blank slate. There was almost no challenge to it. But the kid had said, No contract. No slaves. He glanced around for his snooping sisters, who would love to catch him in a misstep like that.
What was he playing at? Had his mother put him up to that?
Fink launched himself into the air and flapped his way eastward, thinking on the matter.
He could hear the kid out. He could put a truth geas on him to be sure no one put him up to it. And then what? Freedom?
Fink’s jaws widened, and the wind almost purred between the thicket of needle teeth. Freedom. Now that was power. A surge of desire thrilled through him, and though the sky already grew pale in the east, he redoubled his efforts and flew faster than he ever had.
Coming August 2014
From TORTOISE RAMPANT
The Unseen Moon Series
Book Two
THE
KNAVE OF SOULS
Author’s Notes
Hello, and thank you for reading! While it’s still fresh in your mind, please take time to leave a review on Amazon, and/or leave one on Goodreads.
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Beloved Backers
To the believers who backed The Unseen Moon trilogy, I owe an enormous debt of gratitude. When I first pushed the “launch” button on our Kickstarter campaign, I worried it might fail to reach even its minimum funding goal of Book One, but you people funded all three books. I am deeply grateful, and humbled by your support. Below, listed in order of backing, are your names—you, the people that made The Unseen Moon trilogy a reality, and made it possible for me to write, rather than fundraise, the rest of 2014 & 2015.
With all my heart, thank you!
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About Stephen Merlino
Stephen Merlino lives in Seattle, Washington, where he writes, plays, and teaches high school English. In 2014, his novel, The Jack of Souls, won the prestigious Pacific Northwest Writers Association award for fantasy, and the Southwest Writers award for fantasy. He lives now with the most desirable woman in the world, two fabulous children, one cat, and three chickens.
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