Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Twenty Two: A Reckoning

Jordan looked down at the page in front of him, frowning. He was a little rusty, but after some quick practice, he'd warmed back up to drawing in reassuringly good time. After his first full night of sleep in weeks, and the relief that came with knowing he wouldn't have to set foot in the dead quarter again for a good long while, the familiar rhythm had brought an almost trance-like calm. He had sat down straight after breakfast, and it seemed like minutes later that his hand was cramping and he could smell cooking for the midday meal.

He got up, grimacing as his back popped, and closed his journal on the sketch of a sleeping Ren. She woke up as his chair scraped against the floor and softly chirruped before closing her eyes again. He scratched behind her ears and then went out into the hall, massaging his aching spine.

"Have you been drawing all this time?" Nika asked. He chopped another potato into the pot with deft flicks of his knife.

"Yeah." Jordan shrugged. He wasn't certain if things had become more or less awkward with Nika since the night he'd come back from the food-store job. In some ways, he didn't feel so tense around him, trying to avoid extended time alone and wondering if he knew anything. In others, it was worse – Jordan knew Nika did know at least something of what he was up to, and the Unspoken had given no indication of what he thought about it. And things were always a little bit awkward with someone after one had climbed through a window in the middle of the night, covered in blood, only to break down on their shoulder.

"I believe Yddris has set your leaving time for three days. Hopefully you'll get across the Barrens before the storms hit full force." Carrots splashed into the broth. "I ought to show you how to cook a few things before you leave. Yddris can't cook to save his life."

"What does he do when you're not here?"

"I strongly suspect he loiters around the castle until the housekeeper takes pity and feeds him. A combination of that and spending an obscene amount of money buying it in shops and taverns." The Unspoken stirred the pot with the ladle. "When he was training me, I once saw him eat an entire raw potato as a meal on a trip to the Guildtown before he realised I knew how to cook."

"At least he's easily pleased." Jordan snorted. "If I mess up a meal, I will now carry the reassurance that he'd have happily settled for a raw spud."

Nika laughed. "That is true. I honestly don't know how he's lived this long sometimes."

"It won't be demons that finish him." Jordan joined in, the relief and calm of the morning buoying his mood. It almost felt foreign to laugh. "Something lame and domestic will do it."

"A particularly violent dust cloud from his attic," Nika said, "is my bet."

"I'm putting my money on a duff potato."

A knock at the door interrupted them. Nika pointed to the hall with his ladle. "It's for you."

Jordan frowned. No one had mentioned any visits. He opened the door and was met with Grace standing two inches from him, looking very much like he was in for a telling-off.

"Ah," he squeaked. "Hey, Grace."

"You're in so much trouble," she snapped, matching his thoughts exactly.

He sighed and stepped aside to let her in, just as Yddris came into view.

"She overheard outside Harkenn's study," his tutor muttered. "I had to bring her down for my own safety. She ambushed me at the front door."

"Sounds about right," Jordan said. He had been dreading telling Grace about the trip as it was, and she'd found out in the worst way possible.

"I hadn't appreciated that you hadn't told her about the name change, though, boy. It's been long enough and you've told everyone else. Don't know how you were thinking to keep that one quiet forever."