Nightsworn | The Whispering Wall #2

Seventy Four: Tracked

Candlelight flickered on the walls of Arlen's room, bathing everything orange. It reminded him uncomfortably of Firebulls; he normally never lit candles in here, but the room had no window and he needed to see. Outside in the front room, Akiva and Usk played cards, and the smell of their blackweed had crept under the door.

It was all pretence, of course. To any unexpected visitors, it would look as though Arlen was out, and Usk and Akiva would act accordingly. It served a dual purpose; it almost eliminated the risk of anyone walking in on what he was doing, and gave the impression that Arlen was regaining independence. Which he was, in a sense, but a little exaggeration never hurt.

His new false leg leaned against the wall beside him. His old one was a shadow in the corner, and he hated that he had become fearful enough of losing his mobility again that he had kept it on as a spare. It was better than nothing. He refused to face any death that might come for him without options.

He cursed as he stuck his thumb with the needle. Usk had found the fabric for him, lifted from a careless tailor's back room. It was soft, and as flexible as any fabric Arlen had seen before, and he was fashioning it into a sock for his stump. The new model had been a vast improvement, but the shredded, healing nerves in the stump still caused him a great deal of discomfort despite its lightness. Besides, it gave him one more hiding place for the small vials lying on the boards by his knee. It was impossible to steal from without his noticing. The sock had been a stroke of genius – not that he had given Usk that much credit at the time. He had also taken it upon himself to modify the straps of the prosthetic to carry weapons; even if he would have paid richly to have his real leg back, this new model was fast proving itself very useful.

He tied off the last stitch and inspected his work. He was no seamster, but it was at least functional and didn't look likely to fray too quickly. He packed another folded piece of cloth into the base and pulled it over his stump. It at least no longer had the colour and appearance of a pile of moss with healing bruises, though he suspected the thick red scar from grafting and stitches would take years to fade.

He pried up the loose floorboard under his mattress. He pulled out his own vials of poisons one at a time and compared them to the vials that Jesper had returned with from the castle job. Nothing stood out. Not that he had expected to get the answer that way, as most of his poisons were designed to look harmless, and the stolen substances would either be in a similar vein or none of them would be poison at all.

He sighed, and replaced all the vials. The new ones he set down on the opposite side of the cavity and lowered the board again. Despite all he hoped to gain from it, this whole business of trying to save the life of a man who had spent years trying to eliminate the Devils was messing with his head.

He reattached his new leg and levered himself up to standing, testing the padding for comfort. It was an improvement, certainly. The chafing had been starting to get to him.

"Arl, this bastard's cheating," Akiva greeted him as he left the room and locked the door behind him. The assassin didn't look up from his hand. "And I can't work out how."

Usk chuckled, releasing a plume of smoke as he did so.

"S what you get for wagering with a Varthian," Arlen muttered. "Don't pretend you aren't also cheating."

"I am. He's just cheating better, and I want to know how."

Usk's grin was dagger-sharp as he set down a flush. "Better learn fast before I have your booze off you."

Arlen snorted and left them to it. A thin soup bubbled over the stove and he wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Usk, I told you to keep Akiva away from the food. What the fuck is that smell?"