Shadow War: Book 3 of the Shadows Rising Trilogy (WIP Rough Draft)

5. Common Factors

7th of Eylestre

Something woke me. Or, rather, nothing woke me. My sleepeasy draft had worn off, so I was simply awake. No warning, no sliding into it, just pop hello.

I stared up at my bedroom ceiling, my tired body bartering with my brain, begging for a few more hours sleep. Too late. My brain was up and racing.

With a weary sigh I threw the covers off, flopped my feet over the side of the bed and sat up. Then I groped around in the dark till I found something to pull on over my night clothes and padded down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the washroom.

I had finished tending to necessities and was about to go rummage for something to eat, then stopped, squinting into the back room.

A sliver of light glimmered along the bottom of the door to the tunnels. The wall sconces were still lit.

Someone else was up.

Probably Orrelian. The man never seemed to sleep.

If I had to be awake, I might as well find something to do. Company would be nice. I pulled the ancient metal fire door all the way open and stepped out into the cool of the tunnel, my bare footsteps silent on the gritty concrete floor as I made the trek around the corner to the gigantic storage hangar we had turned into a sparring ring, obstacle course, and strategy room.

I paused in the doorway.

It wasn't Orrelian.

A single oil lantern cast its warm glow over the map table, illuminating Arramy's face and gilding his hair a rich gold as he stared down at a group of sylvos arranged in neat lines on the table in front of him.

He was alone. With the finished sylvographs.

"What are you doing?"

The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it, flying across the distance between us like a verbal slap, suspicion ringing harsh in the silence of the hangar.

His eyes met mine. Then Arramy sat back in his chair, one eyebrow rising, that chilly gaze flicking from my head down to my feet, then back up. "I couldn't sleep," he said, simply. "What are you doing?"

I glanced down, abruptly aware that I was standing there in my summer linen night shorts and what had turned out to be one of NaVarre's long-sleeved silk shirts. The emerald green one, with the faint blue stripes. It reached nearly to my knees, and probably made me look like a child. Blast. Face warm, I pulled the shirt closer around myself, crossed my arms over my chest and managed a shrug. "I couldn't sleep either."

Arramy was watching me. Waiting.

"Are those from tonight?" I asked.

He nodded. Once.

I nodded too, then came all the way in. "Mind if I take a look?"

He shook his head, but it hadn't really been a question. I was already halfway to the table, moving swiftly, the thought that he might have been up to something blazing at the back of my mind.

All twenty of the sylvos I had takenof the little black ledger from the safe were there, as well as the rubbing from the blotter. If he was up to something, it wasn't immediately obvious. Nothing looked tampered with.

Casting a sidelong look at him, I picked up one of the sylvos.

Familiar rows of letters and numbers marched down an image of a ledger page; two letters, then a number. Some rows had only one pair. Some had four or five, spilling down into another row.