Chapter 43
“We cannot use the caves again,” Ulli said, cutting straight to the point as he walked back to the small camp they had set up in a dense copse of trees northwest of the monastery.
“Gautho has stationed guards along the beach itself, and there is a small cog anchored just offshore of the cave entrance.”
“So much for sending the fleet south,” Robin muttered, pacing across the small space to keep warm as they did not want to risk lighting a fire.
While everyone else was out gathering intelligence, she was stuck here pacing.
Her arm was still tied tightly in a sling, and Ian, Ulli, Lane, and even Fletcher had forbidden her from leaving the camp.
They said it was because they needed her in a central location to manage everything, but Robin knew they really wanted her to remain safe and out of combat while she was injured.
She was positive that she was more lethal with only one arm than most other people with two, but she abided by their concerns.
For now. This fight was too important for her to sit out on.
And she was willing to get injured again—or worse—to thwart Gareth, save the Majis, and perhaps even build a better Iseldis.
Footsteps sounded nearby, and both Ulli and Robin went still. Whenever it was one of their own who approached, they whistled a bird call well in advance.
Robin dropped her left hand to the dagger in her belt. She knew without looking that Lane was silently lifting the bow from his back.
Then the timid call of an owl split through the air, and she relaxed.
“Ian,” Robin whispered, looking toward Ulli. “He does not know the calls well enough yet.”
Lane kept his bow at the ready until Ian appeared through the underbrush a minute later.
Ian quickly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as Ulli dropped the bow.
“Make the call sooner,” Ulli said.
Ian nodded, then turned to Robin. “I found a neutral place. There is an old monk who relocated to a hut further north up the shore. Onric and I visited him once, a few seasons ago. We can invite Zimri there.”
Robin nodded. That sounded like the perfect location.
“Now to invite him there without raising suspicion.” She held out a long, thin strip of parchment, placing it against the flat surface of her satchel.
“You know him best,” she said to Ian. “How would you communicate that to him in as few words as possible?”
Ian leaned over to look at the tiny slip of parchment, putting his face close to hers. “Let me write it,” he said. “I have spent many hours with Zimri writing down strategies on maps. He will recognize my hand.”
Robin nodded, handing the satchel over to Ian. Reaching inside the satchel, she located the small glass vial of ink that she always kept in the interior pocket. She handed it to Ian as well, along with a small, tipped feather.
She could have leaned away to give him space to write out the note. But she wanted to participate in what he chose to say, to make sure that it was vague enough not to arouse suspicion.
And the night was bitterly cold. Being close to him was warmer. So she stayed, leaning close enough to watch him dip the tip of the feather into the vial, but not so close as to block the dim lantern light he needed to write by.
“We know which room is his?” Ian asked, leaning closer to her. Perhaps it was an excuse to keep his voice low, or perhaps it was also to keep warm. Whatever the reason, she welcomed it.
“Yes,” Robin answered. “But we cannot guarantee that he will be the person to find the arrow, though it is most likely.”
Ian nodded.
Bringing the feather to the parchment, he wrote out a short note.
Z. Urgent matters to discuss. Tonight. Small hut northern cliff.
He did not sign it. “If someone else finds it,” he said, “they could still try to ambush the hut. But without my name, hopefully it has less weight.”
“Good,” Robin said.
Ian picked up the slip of parchment and held it out to her.
She shook it gently in the cold night air, encouraging the ink to dry. Then she, in turn, held it out to Ulli, who knelt on the other side of the lantern, arranging the fletching supplies from his own satchel.
Ian passed the satchel back to her. But even after she accepted it, he remained close to her, sharing the same space.
They watched quietly as Ulli wrapped the paper around the shaft of a partially fletched arrow and then used a hanging thread to combine the feather with the paper, weaving it seamlessly together.
After tying it all tightly into place, Ulli examined the arrow from all angles. “This should fly as true as it possibly can.” He held it out to Robin.
Robin lifted her hand, palm outward, to reject the proffered arrow. She pointed to her still-injured shoulder, but Ulli was already pulling the arrow back, as though he had remembered too late that she would not be able to draw her bow.
He nodded. “I can shoot it into the general’s window.”
Robin looked to Ian. “You can,” she confirmed. “But Ian is a better shot at that distance.”
Ian raised his brows in surprise as he looked back at her.
Ulli extended the arrow once again. This time to Ian. “Then he shall shoot it.”
“It is true,” Robin said, reassuring him. “Ulli is lethal if he is watching the road from a tree branch, but anything longer than our field at Lockwood and he quickly loses accuracy.”
“Then I shall shoot it,” Ian said, echoing Ulli’s words.
“Good,” Robin said. She stood. “Let us go, then. The night grows late.”
Robin led the way down a thin trail in the darkness, taking Ian to the hill overlooking the north side of the monastery. The sky was clear, offering a beautiful backdrop of stars over the ocean beyond.
The monastery itself was lit from within.
Guards stood stationed at the front gate to their right, and several tents dotted the area outside the monastery walls.
Gautho had likely called up soldiers from the southern camp to help protect the monastery.
Even the cog that Ian had mentioned was visible offshore.
A dark shape against the reflective waves.
“The third window from the left,” Robin said, resisting the urge to point toward it.
The building was too far away for a pointed finger to delineate any specific window.
The monastery was a single story all around, but from their vantage point on the hill, they could just see over the wall that surrounded it.
Ian would have a clear shot. A long shot. But a clear shot.
Ian lifted his bow, nocking the arrow Ulli had given him.
“You only get one chance,” Robin said.
“I am aware,” Ian replied. “So your mentioning it does not help.” He dropped the bow, carefully releasing the tension from the string without shooting the arrow. “You made my arm shake.”
Robin smiled, wanting to laugh at him. “You can do this,” she said. “The wind is strong here above the water, but you know how to account for that. I do not need to tell you.”
“Why did you have to go and get your shoulder injured?” Ian asked. “You could have shot this arrow without even thinking about it.”
“I am sorry.” Robin added a false drama to her voice. “Next time I will be sure to avoid getting hit by chaos magic.”
“Yes, precisely.” Ian’s voice was still light, but she heard a hint of truth in it. “No more getting hit by chaos magic.”
“I am glad we are in agreement,” Robin said. “Now shoot the arrow.”
Ian sighed audibly.
Robin again found herself wanting to laugh. She was under so much stress she was likely going mad.
Ian lifted an empty hand above his head to feel the wind.
She watched him quietly, letting him take his time gauging the distance to the window.
Finally, he lifted the bow, drawing back the string. She could see the outline of his shoulders in the dark, the steadiness of his arm as he held the shot.
He exhaled.
Then released the arrow.
For the briefest moment, she could see the small dark line silhouetted against the light from inside the window.
Then the glass of the window shattered. She could see the light flashing off the shards of broken glass even though they were too far away to hear a sound.
The guards at the front of the monastery made no move. They too appeared too far away and around the side of the building for the sound to carry.
Ian dropped his bow, looking at her in the darkness.
“Well shot,” she said.
He nodded, satisfied. “Let us hope he is the one to find it.”
“And that he will respond,” Robin added. She waited for Ian to tuck the bow under his arm before turning back into the trees, but he did not.
Instead, he dropped one end of the bow to his boot—at least she assumed it was on his boot, but it was too dark to see that kind of detail against the ground. “Robin,” he said.
She stepped closer to him. His voice was so low she could barely hear it, and she had a feeling that she would not want to miss the next words that came out of his mouth.
“Thank you for letting me stay and work with you,” he continued. “Thank you for . . .” He looked up at her.
She was close enough to see the small pinpricks of starlight reflected in his eyes.
“That night, in the port city,” he continued, “we spoke of trust. Thank you for sharing your work with me. I am sorry that I failed you all those years ago. Thank you for being willing to trust me again.”
“Trust takes two people.” Her words rumbled in the front of her throat as she sought to speak as quietly as possible. “I should never have expected you to do something you believed was wrong.”
“I am aware,” he said, just as quietly, “that this is not the moment.”
Her chest tightened. She wished it was the time, for whatever it was he alluded to. “No. It is not.”
“But I want you to know—” He stopped himself.
She waited.
“When this is over—” He stopped himself again. Tilting his head forward, he dropped his forehead against hers.
The ache in her shoulder faded to something distant and unimportant. The only sensations she could feel were the hard pressure of his head against hers and the rapid beating of her heart. She wanted to tilt her face back and press her lips against his.
But she wanted a real kiss. A kiss as tender and passionate as the few they had shared all those years ago, hiding behind hedges at the castle.
She wanted a kiss filled with the promise of the future. “When this is over.” She breathed the words, the only promise she could make for a highly uncertain future.
Ian nodded against her forehead.
She stepped back then. Because if she did not, she would not. “We should go to the hut and wait for the general.”
Ian stood back, tucking the bow under his arm. “Wait, were you not instructed to remain in the camp tonight?” Ian’s voice was light.
Robin appreciated his attempt to jest and responded in kind. “Last I checked,” she said, leading the way back into the trees. “I make the rules here.”
“And yet,” Ian said, following along behind her, “you have broken at least three of them tonight.”
“I have not!”
“You left the camp,” Ian explained. Robin could imagine him holding up a finger for each point he made as he continued. “You allowed an injured person—yourself—near a potential skirmish. And, you broke a window.”
“That last one is not a rule.” She smiled in the darkness.
“It is when it is a monastery window,” Ian countered.
“But not if the monastery is a fort!”
Ian had no response to that.