“Good,” Robin said. She stood. “Let us go, then. The night grows late.”
Robin led the way down a thin trail in the darkness, taking Ian to the hill overlooking the north side of the monastery. The sky was clear, offering a beautiful backdrop of stars over the ocean beyond.
The monastery itself was lit from within. Guards stood stationed at the front gate to their right, and several tents dotted the area outside the monastery walls. Gautho had likely called up soldiers from the southern camp to help protect the monastery. Even the cog that Ian had mentioned was visible offshore. A dark shape against the reflective waves.
“The third window from the left,” Robin said, resisting the urge to point toward it. The building was too far away for a pointed finger to delineate any specific window. The monastery was a single story all around, but from their vantage point on the hill, they could just see over the wall that surrounded it.
Ian would have a clear shot. A long shot. But a clear shot.
Ian lifted his bow, nocking the arrow Ulli had given him.
“You only get one chance,” Robin said.
“I am aware,” Ian replied. “So your mentioning it does not help.” He dropped the bow, carefully releasing the tension from the string without shooting the arrow. “You made my arm shake.”
Robin smiled, wanting to laugh at him. “You can do this,” she said. “The wind is strong here above the water, but you know how to account for that. I do not need to tell you.”
“Why did you have to go and get your shoulder injured?” Ian asked. “You could have shot this arrow without even thinking about it.”
“I am sorry.” Robin added a false drama to her voice. “Next time I will be sure to avoid getting hit by chaos magic.”
“Yes, precisely.” Ian’s voice was still light, but she heard a hint of truth in it. “No more getting hit by chaos magic.”
“I am glad we are in agreement,” Robin said. “Now shoot the arrow.”
Ian sighed audibly.
Robin again found herself wanting to laugh. She was under so much stress she was likely going mad.
Ian lifted an empty hand above his head to feel the wind.
She watched him quietly, letting him take his time gauging the distance to the window.
Finally, he lifted the bow, drawing back the string. She could see the outline of his shoulders in the dark, the steadiness of his arm as he held the shot.
He exhaled.
Then released the arrow.
For the briefest moment, she could see the small dark line silhouetted against the light from inside the window.
Then the glass of the window shattered. She could see the light flashing off the shards of broken glass even though they were too far away to hear a sound.
The guards at the front of the monastery made no move. They too appeared too far away and around the side of the building for the sound to carry.
Ian dropped his bow, looking at her in the darkness.
“Well shot,” she said.
He nodded, satisfied. “Let us hope he is the one to find it.”
“And that he will respond,” Robin added. She waited for Ian to tuck the bow under his arm before turning back into the trees, but he did not.
Instead, he dropped one end of the bow to his boot—at least she assumed it was on his boot, but it was too dark to see that kind of detail against the ground. “Robin,” he said.
She stepped closer to him. His voice was so low she could barely hear it, and she had a feeling that she would not want to miss the next words that came out of his mouth.
“Thank you for letting me stay and work with you,” he continued. “Thank you for...” He looked up at her.
