The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

  “I’m coming with you,” I tell her.

  “You most certainly are not.” She says it without even glancing at me, as if I’m a puppy who will stay on command. She pulls a pair of long black gloves over her pale fingers. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  My mother sits on the town council along with our Mason, our Healer, our Mixer, and two others—one man and one woman—who don’t have bone magic. Midwood’s council is modeled after the Grand Council in Kastelia City, and reports directly to them on anything that can’t be solved locally. My mother called an emergency meeting last night after we returned from the bone house.

  And I have every intention of attending that meeting.

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my pearl-gray cloak and follow her out the door. She startles when she sees me there, and then presses her lips together into a thin line. “I said no.”

  The door remains ajar while she stares me down, waiting for me to go back inside.

  I don’t.

  “Saskia,” she says, exasperated. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “I know my rights,” I tell her. “If the council is meeting on a matter concerning a family member, I’m allowed to be there.”

  She presses a gloved hand to her forehead. “There is no reason for you to come,” she says. “I promise to fill you in later.”

  “Like you filled me in on having Gran’s bones specially prepared? Like you filled me in on what my other paths showed? No, thanks. I’d rather see for myself.”

  That flicker of non-surprise on her face yesterday when she saw the empty box shook something loose inside me—like a dropped spool of ribbon that has been slowly unfurling, and now my trust in her lies in a tangled jumble at my feet.

  She opens her mouth to argue, but she must see the resolve in my expression, because she doesn’t speak. Instead she reaches around me and pulls the door closed.

  We walk silently toward Midwood Hall. Our breath curls from our lips in delicate billows, but the trees above us are alive with birdsong, as if the world still has one foot in winter and another in spring.

  As we get closer to the town square, the pressure between us builds, grows into a tangible thing, as if I could put a palm against it and push it away. My mother has something she’s trying to find the words to say. I’m not sure how I can tell—if it’s the subtle inhale that usually precedes speech, a quick, expectant breath that keeps fading into silence. Or is it the way she keeps leaning toward me slightly, only to lean away again? I tell myself that it’s not a premonition, not bone magic that’s taking too long to fade. It’s simply that she’s my mother, and I’ve learned to read her rhythms. Like the way Gran used to know a storm was coming when her knees started to ache.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  The question melts her expression—her eyes soften, her mouth curves into a tender smile. But then she turns toward me and I see nothing but worry. “If you come today, the council might interrogate you,” she says.

  “Interrogate me? For attending a meeting?”

  “You are one of only two people who could have opened that box.”

  I stop walking. “But I didn’t open it. That’s the point of getting the council involved. Unless … did you open it?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Saskia. It wouldn’t be a crime if I’d opened it. But this is a serious offense, and the council will start by questioning people who had access. They’ll be thorough. They’ll leave no stone unturned.”

  I tilt my head to one side and study her. I can’t tell what she’s getting at. “Well, I doubt my not showing up would prevent them from questioning me some other time.”

  Her teeth catch her lower lip. She sighs.

  “Oh.”

  She was hoping for a chance to prepare me. The thought shivers across my skin. Prepare me for what?

  “The council has … methods of assuring they get the truth,” she says.

  “And they will. I didn’t touch Papa’s box.”

  “Yes, but you’ve been spending a lot of time at the bone house lately.”

  And instantly I see it, like the moment a candle wick catches fire in a dark room. I’ve been at the bone house at least once a week since the kenning. And though it had nothing to do with the crime at hand, the reason for my visits is something my mother would rather the rest of the council didn’t know. If they know she tampered with my kenning bones, she could be removed as Bone Charmer.

  I start walking again and she falls in step beside me. “So prepare me now,” I say. “We’re nearly there.”

  She stiffens—she must have hoped I would turn back toward home. But I have no intention of doing that.

  “Tell the truth,” she says finally, “as cleverly as you can.”

  Midwood Hall is the largest structure in town, three stories high and built from cream-colored stone. Ivy climbs toward the gabled roof where half a dozen dormers look out over the square like all-seeing eyes. The council chamber is situated in the center of Midwood Hall, which is in the center of the town square, which is in the center of the town.

  As we step inside, I’m overcome with the sensation that we are gathered in the beating heart of Midwood. Energy thrums in the air like a pulse.

  The six council members are seated behind a long stone table on a dais at the far end of the room. They are arranged by seniority from left to right—first the Healer, Anders, who wears a blue cloak; then my mother in red; Rakel, the Mixer in purple; and Hilde, our town Mason, dressed in orange. At the far right end of the table are Valera and Erik, the two non-magical members of the council, who wear no cloaks at all.

  The walls of the room are stone, but heavy dark-blue draperies hang from floor to ceiling on all sides, adding warmth and softness, and probably muffling sound—eliminating an echo that otherwise might carry to the rest of the hall and compromise privacy.

  I sit on one of the long benches at the back of the room along with Ami, Declan, Master Oskar, and a handful of others that the council sent for upon hearing that my father’s bones were missing. My mother and I shared a look as they were marched in one at a time by the runners who were sent to fetch them. See? I wanted to say. You wouldn’t have had time to prepare me if we’d done it your way.

  Declan’s fingers close around mine. “Are you all right?” he whispers. “Ami told me what happened and I feel sick.”

  It’s the question my mother has failed to ask me. Are you all right? How are you coping with losing your father for a second time? She just saw a problem and went about trying to solve it. “Puzzle-mode,” my father affectionately called it. When I was younger, I thought it was charming—that faraway look she’d get as she mulled over her spell book. The way the world seemed to disappear, leaving nothing except her and the magic. But as I got older, I started to resent that I seemed to vanish right along with everything else.

  I squeeze Declan’s hand. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, though I’m not sure it’s the truth.

  “The council will sort it out,” he says. “Whoever did this won’t get away with it.”

  I’m about to answer him—to tell him I hope he’s right—when Healer Anders stands and the chatter in the room dies down.

  “You’ve all been brought here as witnesses,” he says, “for the theft of Filip Holte’s bones.”

  There’s a collective gasp from the few people who haven’t already heard the news, followed by an ominous silence. It’s as if all the air has left the room, taking sound along with it. And even though I knew what Anders would say, the words still land like a blow.

  “I will ask you to come forward one by one for questioning,” the Healer says. “Starting with Master Oskar.”

  Oskar doesn’t stand. His head is down and his hands grip his knees so tightly that his knuckles are white. Several breathless seconds pass without so much as a whisper.

  “Oskar,” Anders says gently, “please come forward.”

  The master of the bone house rises from his seat and moves toward th
e front of the room like a storm cloud. His stride is purposeful. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He isn’t nervous, I realize.

  He’s furious.

  Oskar sits in the witness chair at the right side of the room, positioned so that the entire council can see him, and the other witnesses can too.

  “This isn’t a formal tribunal,” Anders says. “No one is accused of anything. We’re simply trying to gather evidence so we know how to move forward.”

  But it’s clear by the tight set of Oskar’s jaw that he feels like a suspect.

  A knock at the back door of the chamber brings Rakel to her feet. A journeyman—a girl by the name of Bette, who finished her Mixer apprenticeship at Ivory Hall last spring and has been training with Rakel ever since—enters the chamber holding a keras, a drinking horn. Judging from its small size, I’m guessing it came from a goat.

  “Thank you, Bette,” Rakel says, taking the horn from her. “That will be all.”

  Rakel’s purple cloak flutters behind her as she approaches Oskar and hands him the keras. “Drink, please.”

  He licks his lips. “Is this really necessary?”

  “If you having nothing to hide, there’s nothing to fear.”

  A memory prickles at the back of my mind. I was young—no older than six or seven—when some of the trees in the Forest of the Dead were vandalized. Someone had taken a knife to several of the names, carving deep lines through them until they were an unreadable mess of slash marks.

  “What if they never find who did it?” I asked my mother one night at dinner.

  “They will,” my mother said. “Now finish your potatoes.”

  I poked at my food with my fingers, but I didn’t eat. “What if they don’t, though? What if someone ruins our tree?”

  “Don’t worry, Saskia,” Gran said, patting my hand. “We’ll find them.” Gran sat on the council then, and her voice was warm and confident. But still, it wasn’t enough to quiet my fears. Gramps had died a few years before, and though I didn’t remember him well, it still made my stomach squirm to think of his name erased forever.

  “How do you know for sure?” I asked.

  Gran leaned close to me and put her hand over mine. “Because the council has a secret weapon.”

  My eyes went wide. “What is it?”

  “The veracity seat,” she said. “No one who sits there can tell a lie.”

  And just like that, my worries drifted away like leaves on the wind. It was a power singular to my grandmother. She always knew the right thing to say. When I grew older, I assumed the story was the stuff of fairy tales, one of the many yarns Gran spun to soothe whatever troubled me. Like the owl that perched on the tree outside my bedroom window each evening, the one Gran claimed had been fated just for me: He has a solemn responsibility to protect you—to watch for your nightmares and swallow them before they ever reach you.

  But now the story takes on new meaning and ice slides down my spine.

  The veracity seat. Truth serum.

  Oskar’s hands shake as he brings the horn to his lips and swallows its contents in one gulp. He passes the keras back to Rakel. His face and neck are red and splotchy. He tugs at his collar.

  “Let’s start with a few easy questions,” Anders says as Rakel slides back into her chair. “What’s your name?”

  “Oskar.”

  “Nicknames?”

  He presses his lips together as if willing the answer not to escape. He’s quiet for several moments. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead. Finally it’s too much to resist. “Osky,” he says tersely. “It’s what my mother called me.”

  A chorus of soft chuckles ripples through the room. Oskar’s partner, Markus, sits in the back, scowling at anyone who dares to laugh. He throws a particularly menacing glare in our direction. Beside me, Declan covers his mouth to hide a grin.

  But I’m not amused. I’m terrified.

  “What is your specialty?” Anders asks.

  “I’m a Bone Handler and caretaker of the bone house.”

  “Would you say you treat your responsibilities with the care they deserve?”

  His jaw goes tight. “Of course I do.”

  “Did you steal the bones of Filip Holte?”

  “No,” Oskar says forcefully, “I did not.”

  “Did you arrange for someone else to steal them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you sell them or arrange for someone else to sell them in your place?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you know who might have been involved in this crime?”

  A pause. Then silence that stretches like molasses dripping from a spoon.

  “Please answer the question,” Anders says.

  “I don’t know,” Oskar says. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his forehead. “Maybe. It’s just a suspicion.”

  “Who do you suspect stole Filip Holte’s bones?” Anders says.

  Oskar’s gaze slides to the right and lands on my mother. “Della,” he says. At first I think he’s addressing her, but then his gaze slides away, and I realize I’m wrong.

  He’s not speaking to her. He’s accusing her.

  Saskia

  The Bone Charmer

  The dining hall is already teeming with people by the time I arrive. Apprentices are seated at long tables that stretch from one end of the room to the other. The brightly colored cloaks make the scene look like a kaleidoscope, as if one twist would produce a different, yet equally beautiful design. Everyone is already deep in conversation. Excited chatter fills the room like a low hum.

  I don’t know where to sit.

  I stand there awkwardly, weighing my desire to escape to the privacy of my room against the gnawing hunger in my stomach. I’m just about to turn and leave, when Tessa comes jogging toward me.

  “We sat in the back,” she says. “Follow me.” I’m not sure who is included in the “we,” since Tessa is one of the only apprentices I’ve interacted with so far, but I’m grateful. She leads me between two tables to the far side of the room. “I saved you a seat,” she says, sliding onto one of the benches and indicating the space beside her.

  “Thanks, Tessa.”

  I sit down and find myself face-to-face with Bram.

  My heart flips over in my chest.

  “Hello again,” I say as casually as I’m able.

  The girl next to him nudges him. “Do you two know each other?” Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders in glossy waves. Her black cloak matches Bram’s—another Breaker, then.

  Bram clears his throat and inclines his head toward me. “Linnea, this is Saskia. Saskia, Linnea.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I tell her.

  “Same.” She smiles and turns to Bram with an expectant look.

  “Saskia and I are … We’re …”

  Oh. He doesn’t want to admit that we’ve been matched.

  “We’re from the same town,” I say.

  Bram’s eyes flick up to mine. His expressions are like hearing words in a foreign tongue. I know they’re rich with meaning, but to me, they’re unfathomable. I don’t know if he’s relieved or annoyed or something else entirely.

  Linnea sighs, drawing his attention back to her. “I’m starving,” she says.

  “Well, it looks like we won’t have to wait any longer.”

  A small army of servers spills into the dining hall, carrying platters of grilled meat releasing fragrant curls of steam, bowls of sugared berries, and braided loaves of butter-glazed bread.

  Tessa gives a happy sigh. “I was ready to eat my own leg, but that looks so much better.”

  My stomach growls in agreement and she laughs.

  “Using bone magic must increase appetite,” she says. “I don’t remember the last time I was this hungry.”

  And judging by the hush that has fallen over the dining hall, I think she’s right. For several minutes there’s nothing but the sound of plates scraping across tables and people lic
king fingers. Gradually conversation picks up again.

  As we eat, Tessa introduces me to the others at the table, including Talon, a Watcher with a shock of auburn hair and a smattering of cinnamon freckles across his nose and cheeks. I’m astonished at how quickly Tessa managed to collect a group of friends—like it’s as easy as gathering seashells on the beach and slipping them into her pocket.

  “So how did your first day of training go?” Talon asks me.

  I tear a bit of bread from the loaf on my plate. “Not so great at first,” I tell him, “and then a little better toward the end of the morning.” I don’t mention Latham or the practice bones. “How about you?”

  “One of the dogs bit me,” he says. “So … not well at all.”

  “My morning was terrible, too,” Tessa says. “I was supposed to be relieving a patient’s headache, but I’m pretty sure I made it worse. She looked like she was ready to burst into tears by the time she left. What if I never get any better, and I can only use bone magic to hurt people instead of help them?”

  Bram tenses, a berry suspended halfway between his plate and his lips.

  Tessa must notice, because her cheeks turn crimson. “Oh no. I didn’t mean …”

  Bram pops the fruit into his mouth and chews slowly. His fingertips are stained red.

  “That came out wrong,” she says. “I just meant that healing is supposed to be about helping people, while breaking …”

  We all know what she’s thinking—breaking is about hurting people. About using magic to snap the bones in their arms or legs, their fingers or toes. I shiver as I think about how Bram’s and Linnea’s training must have gone this morning, what their failures must have looked like.

  Linnea gives Tessa a glare that could slice through glass. “Breakers protect people. Which is helping them.”

  “I know,” Tessa says. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

  “Really? Because it sure seems like you think some specialties are better than others.”

  “Stop it,” I say. Linnea’s eyes go wide, as if she isn’t used to someone speaking so harshly. She presses her lips together, her jaw so tight that I imagine her teeth are grinding together. But I keep going: “Tessa wasn’t talking about you or Bram. She was talking about herself and how hard this is. We’ve all had a bumpy transition. Maybe we could cut each other some slack.”