Chapter Seven The Witness Who Lies #3
“The scout arrives?”
Orla closed the small gate.
Right in Davra’s face.
The wooden clap was deeply satisfying.
“Yes,” she said to the yard. “And Frostmere waits.”
Arlen Saff arrived alive enough to bleed and barely enough to know it.
The litter came between two Red Creek wolves, with Brann walking beside it and Hessa behind, one hand on her knife as if daring the road to try again.
Arlen lay wrapped in blankets, face gray, lips cracked, one leg badly bandaged, ribs bound tight.
His hair was damp with sweat. His eyes moved under closed lids.
Miri made a broken sound.
Riksa caught her by the shoulder before she could throw herself onto him.
“He needs air more than grief.”
Miri choked on a laugh or sob.
“I know.”
“Good. Know it two steps back.”
They carried Arlen into the witness hall.
Red Creek shut the inner doors to everyone except Riksa, Orla, Miri, one Bluebank woman, Willa, Hessa, Torren, and, after a sharp exchange, Selka.
“Why her?” Orla asked.
Selka answered before Willa could.
“Because if he says a name from Frostmere or Marr, I may know what it means.”
Orla nodded. “Useful.”
Selka looked faintly startled.
Hessa said, “Get used to it or stop being useful.”
Arlen was placed on a table padded with blankets.
Riksa worked quickly.
Cut cloth. Checked pupils. Smelled breath. Pressed ribs. Insulted whoever had wrapped his leg first. Ordered hot water, honey, willow bark, clean wool.
Willa stood near the wall, mark aching with Torren’s proximity and the room’s fear.
Torren had taken a place near the door.
Not beside Arlen.
Not looming.
Blood washed from his hands, but his presence still filled the room.
Miri held her brother’s fingers.
“Arlen.”
His eyelids fluttered.
Riksa bent over him.
“Breathe first. Heroics later.”
His eyes opened a slit.
Miri sobbed once.
“You idiot.”
Arlen’s cracked lips moved.
No sound.
Riksa touched honeyed water to his mouth.
“Tiny sip. If you choke, I will be annoyed and your sister will be worse.”
He swallowed.
Coughed.
Lived through it.
“Miri,” he rasped.
She pressed his fingers to her forehead.
“Here.”
His eyes moved.
Confused.
Frantic under weakness.
“Mark.”
Willa stiffened.
Torren did too.
Arlen’s gaze rolled toward the door.
Toward Torren.
Fear flashed there.
Not because of the man in the room, perhaps.
Because of the story he had been left inside.
Miri squeezed his hand.
“Alpha Pike found you.”
Arlen’s breath hitched.
Riksa said, “Do not make that face. Your ribs dislike drama.”
Arlen tried again.
“Mark.”
Hessa stepped closer. “We found the stone. Redjaw. Pike. Frostmere cuts.”
Arlen’s eyes widened.
He shook his head weakly.
“No.”
Silence.
Willa moved from the wall.
“No?”
His eyes found her.
The mark at her throat was visible above the scarf now.
He stared at it a moment, disoriented.
Then whispered, “Not… Pike.”
Torren’s hand closed around the doorframe.
Wood groaned.
Willa looked at his hand.
He released it.
Exact.
She turned back to Arlen.
“What was not Pike?”
“Man.”
Riksa leaned closer. “Speak less badly or bleed less. Choose one.”
Arlen’s mouth twitched in agony.
“Man… said Pike.”
Willa’s skin chilled.
“The man at the reed crossing?”
Arlen blinked once.
Yes.
“Not Pike,” he whispered.
Miri bent over him. “Who?”
His eyes rolled toward her.
“Frost…” He coughed hard.
Blood spotted his lips.
Riksa swore and pressed cloth there.
“Enough.”
Arlen fought her weakly.
“Frost…”
“Frostmere?” Hessa asked.
Arlen’s eyes rolled toward Selka.
Selka went pale.
“Frost Marr?” Willa asked suddenly.
Everyone looked at her.
Arlen’s fingers tightened around Miri’s.
His lips moved.
“Frost… marr… stone.”
The room went cold.
Not a name.
A chain.
Frostmere.
Marr.
Stonewatch.
He had found all three.
Riksa pushed him back as he tried to speak again.
“No. If you die to finish a sentence, I will tell everyone you were bad at pacing.”
Arlen’s eyes shut.
His breath rasped.
Miri looked at Willa.
“What does that mean?”
Outside, Davra waited at the gate.
Kalen waited beside her.
Varric did not need to be present to stand in the room.
Willa looked at Torren.
His face was savage.
But his hands were open.
“It means,” Willa said, “your brother found the road before it was built.”
Hessa’s eyes flashed.
Selka sat slowly in the nearest chair, as if her knees had decided honesty was too heavy.
Riksa kept one hand on Arlen’s chest, counting breaths.
Orla looked toward the shut doors.
“Frostmere will ask whether he spoke.”
Willa touched the mark.
It beat steady beneath her fingers.
“Then we answer accurately.”
Torren looked at her.
“He spoke.”
“Yes.”
“And he lives.”
“Yes.”
His mouth almost moved.
Not smile.
Something harder.
Better.
“Then Davra can wait longer.”
Orla smiled.
“Red Creek agrees.”
Outside, the Frostmere horn sounded once more.
Impatient now.
Less polished.
Good.
Let Davra stand at the gate with her clean gloves and no table.
Inside, a wounded witness breathed.
Badly.
But enough.
And for the first time since spring began thawing old roads open, the lie had failed to reach him first.