Read Online The Language of Souls by Lena Goldfinch - Free Book Online Page A

inside him shifted and came to rest, as if it had found its proper place. It was like one of his sister’s wooden tumbling puzzles, like the satisfying click it made when all its many turning pieces were perfectly aligned.
    He hadn’t felt that in a long time.
    If ever.
    Swallowing, Rundan gave the girl what was at best an inadequate smile.
    As soon as they returned to the cave, he collapsed onto the nyka hide and gestured for her to bring the smallest of the saddle bags to him. She brought it and though she retreated to the fireside to dress her fish, he noticed that she kept glancing at him, craning her neck to watch him.
    Rundan dug through the bag and found the parchment on which he’d copied as much of the ancient texts as he could fit. He read the entire scroll, front and back, but found no answer for what she’d done with their votifs. He’d known, of course, he wouldn’t. For now, at least he was alive and she also appeared to be well.
    Perhaps he could simply return her to her home in Torrani and he’d...
    He’d ...
    Well, he couldn’t go back home. Somehow he’d have to earn passage on a merchant ship and make a life in a distant land, which meant he’d never see his family again. Rundan allowed himself to feel the pain of losing his mother and sister, but he refused to think of his father. He decided, finally, that he’d spent too many years stri ving to please a man who couldn’t be pleased. It had been everything to him at one time, but now all his fruitless wishing, all his endless striving and yearning sat as dry as ashes on his tongue. His chest ached unbearably too, and though he rubbed at it, the action didn’t relieve the pain.
    The girl crept up beside him. She crouched low and stared fixedly at the scroll. When she reached for it, he held it well out of reach and frowned at her dirty hands. She hurried to the water jug and washed. She returned, wiping her hands on her leathers to dry them, then held them out for his inspection.
    Puzzled by her interest, Rundan merely grunted and reluctantly handed over his scroll. As she read aloud, he froze. At first her words made no sense. She spoke with her softly rounded vowels, her voice as fluid as a song, with none of the crisp precision of his native Odenian. After a few moments, he began to grasp the rhythm of her speech.
    He stared in amazement, unable to speak.
    “You know the ancient tongue?” he finally asked, at first in his language, and then quickly translating the words into the ancient tongue.
    “Yes,” she replied, her eyes alight with the same hope and eagerness he felt burning in his chest. “Though our teacher grows old,” she said, “he has a great passion for the ancient texts.”
    The girl bent over the scroll again, as if as comforted by the words on the parchment as he’d been. The sight of her reading was unexpectedly appealing and made Rundan’s heart pound. He’d thought her pretty from the first time he’d seen her, but now she was more than that....
    A rare flower.
    Or something.
    In the musical language of Torrani, there was probably a perfect word to describe her beauty, and he wished he knew what it was.
    More importantly, she knew the ancient t ongue and could understand him.
    Suddenly there was too much to say. Rundan’s thoughts raced in circles, until he finally latched onto their greatest trouble.
    “The master of the army”—Rundan knew no word for commander in the ancient tongue—“would have me turn you over to the king.”
    The light in her eyes flickered out. “I know,” she said softly. After staring at him for several moments, she looked a way and fumbled with her votif.
    He didn’t think she intended to remind him that she’d saved his life, as if he’d ever need a reminder. He suspected her action was simply that of one deeply troubled.
    She lifted her eyes to his. “I don’t want to die.”
    “You won’t die.” Rundan balked at the thought. Seeing a question in her eyes, he added,