Free The Glass Casket by Mccormick Templeman

Perhaps the duke will make a quick assessment of mauling and exposure, respectively, and be on his way. This is what we hope,” said Draeden Faez. “But we are pleading with you. If you, or anyone in this house, know what it is that the oracle points to, then we beg you to speak up. All of our lives are at risk.”
    Wilhelm nodded. “I will ask my boys about it, but I’m sure neither of them will know.”
    Jude had heard enough. He stood, and making barely a noise, he descended from his hiding place and left through the back door, the cold night air pulsing against his lips.

    Snow was falling steadily as Rowan walked over to the tavern, and the hollowness of her heart did little to protect her from the cold.
    Shivering, she tried the tavern door but found it locked,which was unusual for suppertime. She peered in the window, but all was dark inside. Walking round the back, she heard someone cough and she froze. It was Jude’s cough—she would know it anywhere. Years ago she’d learned to recognize any signs that Jude might be nearby. He was a year older than she was, but she was so small that he’d always seemed much older than that to her, and while she knew he was harmless, there was something vaguely frightening to her about that sly smile he always wore when he looked off into the distance as if she weren’t there. If it had simply been that he ignored her, that would have been fine, but he didn’t ignore her—no matter what he might pretend—because he always seemed to know things about her that no one else did.
    When she rounded the corner, she saw him sitting on the low stone wall at the edge of the forest. He was carving something, his hair falling over his eyes.
    “The tavern’s locked,” he said without looking up. “Father’s in a meeting. He should open it again soon, I’d imagine.”
    As usual, her heart stopped when she saw him. There was no denying that Jude was handsome, but she didn’t understand him, and something about him always made her nervous.
    “That dress doesn’t fit you,” he continued, his eyes still on his work. She could see that he was smiling.
    “Yes, it does,” she said, trying not to stumble over her words.
    “Look at you, you’re swimming in it.”
    “It’s none of your business how my dress fits,” she said, unable to disguise her irritation.
    He shrugged, still not looking at her. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
    “Thanks, Jude. You’re always so helpful. Is Tom around?”
    “He’ll be back soon,” Jude answered. “He went to drop some things off to the Widow Bardell.”
    Rowan stood there, not knowing what to do with herself. The inn was practically her home, but she never knew how to hold herself around Jude.
    “Do you mind if I wait here?” she said, feeling an idiot for asking, weak for not demanding her place.
    “Suit yourself,” he said, still focused on his whittling, the knife sliding slowly down the length of the wood.
    She walked to the edge of the wall and sat down as far from Jude as she could.
    “You have news, then?” he asked.
    “Excuse me?”
    “For Tom,” Jude said. “You have news, I can tell. It’s good news, I presume.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Sure you do. Fiona Eira, the girl he can’t stop talking about. You’ve been to see her.”
    “How do you know that?” she asked, wary.
    “Because there’s something different about you,” he said, still refusing to look at her, as if she didn’t merit his attention. “You’re sad. You’re never sad. And you would only be sad if you’d been to see her and you had good news for Tom.”
    She stood up, her body feeling suddenly frail, as if shewere composed of only brittle bones and weak tendons ready to snap at a single blow from Jude.
    “I’m not sad,” she said. “And I don’t look different. How would you even know when you’ve refused to so much as look at me?”
    With that, he grinned and looked up at her, his heavy eyes lit