My frown vanished. “I can’t ask you to leave the knighthood.”

“Because you know I’d say yes?”

“Because the king relies on you. I can’t ask you to choose between—”

“You don’t have to.” His eyes were so dark. So soft. “I’ve already chosen.”

The frail tapestry of my soul expanded. “Won’t Benji be upset to lose you?”

“It’s not a death—just a departure. Besides, Benji doesn’t need me the way he thinks he does. He’s stronger than he realizes.” Rory nodded at the hedge and the king at the heart of it. “He knows I care about him. He’ll understand.”

“Will he?”

“He’ll have to. A knighthood is not a yoke. I’m no one’s drudge.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “But I’ll be your errand boy if you ask me nicely.”

“You’re such an idiot,” I said, smiling like one as I looked out over the sea. “Thank you.”

He nodded, a hint of rose in his cheeks. He’d seen me naked. Put his hands and mouth on me. And I marveled that this—standing with me in full armor, talking of the future, our future—should be the thing to make Rodrick Myndacious blush.

The threads of Benji’s tunic were all around, catching the wind, and all of them strong. Something I’d once considered a good portent. I didn’t need it now. I knew exactly how to read the signs—knew exactly what was going to happen to me. It was happening right now.

I was falling in love.

We watched the ceremony until Benji’s tunic was but five long threads. Folk in the crowd took hold of those threads, dancing in crooked lines around the hedge. The gargoyle danced with them, hopping and giggling. Maude and Benji stood aside with the rest of the knights, silently nodding at Rory and me as we disappeared over a bluff, Aisling’s spring water in a flask upon Rory’s belt.

We put it on a rock among thrift flowers. Undid its lid. Hid behind another rock and remained unmoving.

We waited. Waited.

The Heartsore Weaver did not come.

Two hours later, I yawned. “Maybe I dreamed her up last night.”

Rory shook his head. “That bruise is real enough.”

“Spring water worked for the Scribe, the Oarsman.” I peered at the flask upon the rock. “Why won’t the Weaver come?”

He didn’t answer, worrying his thumb over his coin.

Then, when the first star touched the sky—

“What are you two loitering around for?”

Rory swore and I jumped, the two of us turning. The gargoyle was there, trilling his claws happily as he waved at us. Maude and Benji, too.

They carried the Omens’ stone objects with them. Maude used the Ardent Oarsman’s oar as a walking stick, and Benji bore the Harried Scribe’s inkwell, the Faithful Forester’s chime roped tightly on his belt. The king wore leathers and a breastplate. “The ceremony is over,” he called. “I sent the knights back to the inn.” When he approached, his gaze shifted between Rory and me. “Any luck spotting the Heartsore Weaver?”

I shook my head.

“That’s because you are not looking in the right place.” Just as quickly as he’d arrived, the gargoyle sauntered off. “This way, chickens.”

We stared after him. “Do you even know who we’re looking for?” Maude hollered at his back.

“Of course I do. I know everything, and I know it exceedingly well. So come.”

We four shared a bewildered look. But Rory shrugged, Maude snagged the flask of spring water and fastened it to her belt, and then we were stepping on the same trodden flowers the gargoyle had crushed, hurrying after him.

He led us down a hill and up another, past a croft, until we were on the same cliff he’d gone to yesterday morning, where he’d looked out at the dawn.

He stood next to an old gray rock, turned to us, and held out his arms. “I will now accept your applause.”

Rory looked around. Saw nothing. Clapped with painful slowness.

I let out a sigh. “We’re not here to admire the sunset, gargoyle.”

“I did not bring you to see the sunset, Bartholomew.” He nodded at the earth near our feet. “I brought you to see what’s beneath it.”

Silence. Then Benji turned his head. “What’s that sound?”

“Can’t hear anything.” Maude put a hand to her bandaged side and winced. “If you dragged me up that hill again for nothing—”

“All I hear is the ocean,” I snapped.

Rory pulled me into the crook of his arm and stamped his palm over my lips. “Shhh. Listen.”

I made a note to bite him later and went quiet. At first there was nothing. Just the murmur of wind through grass and the hum of the sea and an invigorated owl, hooting in the distance. But just as I was about to sink my teeth into Rory’s palm, another sound called—closer than all those others.

Lapping water, coming from directly beneath us.

Rory and I both looked down at the stone next to the gargoyle’s feet and dropped to our knees. And I saw that the impression in the grass was slightly off. The stone had been moved, revealing a sliver of darkness in the ground.

“There’s something under it,” Benji said.

Rory dropped to a crouch. He grasped the stone. Made a low sound of effort I liked far too well.

“Oh, let me.” I added my fingers to his and lifted. The stone was heavy.

“No one’s as strong as you, is that it?” he said, straining.

We both lifted it in the end. But the effort to toss it aside was all mine.

Rory smirked. “Boastfulness is ignoble.”

“And you love it.” Maude joined us where the stone had been. In its place was a hole in the cliff, wide enough to fit my body. We gathered around it.

It was like looking down a long, dark throat.

The sound of lapping water was louder now. I could smell the salt of the sea. See the faintest reflection of water, twelve or so hands below us.

“My grandfather’s notebook didn’t say anything about caves beneath the Cliffs of Bellidine,” Benji said.

Maude sucked her teeth. “How do we even know the Heartsore Weaver’s inside?”

“This is what my dream looks like,” I murmured. “It’s dark, the only light coming from cracks above. I slam into a stone bench, and there’s a tapestry. That’s where I see the loom stone. Then”—I rubbed the prickles off the back of my neck—“there are footsteps. Heavy, like the ones I heard last night. A sharp clacking noise right behind me, but I never see who’s chasing me.”

The others stared.

“Well.” Benji’s throat worked as he swallowed. “That’s quite the dream.”

“It’s the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard.” Rory was fidgeting so madly with his coin it was a wonder he didn’t accidentally propel himself through space. “I hate tight, dark places.”

“Let’s hope you never die,” the gargoyle said. “I hear graves are rather constrictive.”

Rory’s eyelids drew low. “Helpful.”

I looked down into the darkness. “How did you know this was here, gargoyle?”

“I told you, Bartholomew. I know everything I know exceedingly well.” He came to the lip of the hole. Sniffed the air. “Rather fusty.” He turned to me. “Shall we draw straws to see who will go down first? Or will you just cheat and choose the short straw on purpose like you always do?”

“I don’t always—”

Benji’s voice was a taut string. “I’ll go.”

“Calm down, Your Majesty. Let your ignoble knight go first.” Even in the dim light, I could see the warmth in Rory’s face was gone. He looked down at the blackness with a jaw of iron. Sat down on the grass and threw his legs into the hole.

“Rory, wait.” I caught his shoulder. “I can do it—”

“I know you can, Sybil.” He took my hand off his shoulder and brought it to his mouth. Pressed his lips over my armored knuckles. “But for fuck’s sake. Permit me.”

He jumped.

Time held me by the throat. “Rory?”

His boots hit rocks, and he coughed.

“Rory!” Maude hollered.

“I’m right here.” His voice ricocheted off the walls of the cavern, near and far. “Come down—I’ll catch you.”