Slack Enough to Hear

Pell had tied Venn’s hand to his belt with a strip of sailcloth. He’d done it neatly, which was how I knew he was angry.

Venn stood beside Istren’s open chest with his salted palm held away from the crack. The silver strand inside had gone still since he pulled free. It lay in the darkness like a thread stitched through a wound.

“Can you feel it?” I asked.

“Not now.” Venn looked at the strand, not at Pell. “When it moved, I could feel the pull through my hand.”

Pell tightened the cloth around Venn’s wrist. “And that was enough.”

It had been enough to spread salt across Venn’s palm. Whether it was enough to trap him forever, we had no evidence. Saltborn had died for less reassuring gaps in the evidence.

Tarrow sat with his back against a rib, his useless arm braced across his lap. The fire had quieted. It hadn’t gone away; his good hand kept flexing as though something under the skin were tugging each finger open. No one had to tell him to stay clear of the chest. He watched it anyway.

I looked at the strand. “We’re testing the voice. Venn stays there. Nobody touches the inner line.”

Pell gave me the kind of look people reserve for orders they plan to disobey. “And if it pulls?”

“We let the anchor take it.”

We had enough silver tether to make a short loop. Pell and I passed it around a rib and back through the chest’s narrow crack, leaving slack between the living line and the opening. Jorren wedged a bone splinter beneath the loop so it couldn’t saw against the rib. Neris checked the knot twice, then set her weight against the tether. The rib held.

It was an ugly arrangement. That made it more trustworthy than most of our plans.

Venn studied the slack. “How much?”

“Enough for one pull,” I said. “If it takes more, Pell cuts the line.”

Pell’s fingers settled on his knife. Venn glanced at them, then at my stone palm. The black letters of Istren’s name crossed its surface. I kept that hand at my side.

“You said it turned toward my voice,” Venn said.

“It did.”

“Then let me speak.”

He wanted to ask for Oda. He wanted to ask how to reach her. The strain had already taught him what asking could cost, but it hadn’t made the questions smaller.

I nodded once.

Venn stood beyond the reach of the crack. Pell kept hold of the sailcloth, giving him room without giving him freedom to lunge. Venn took a breath.