Nausea threatens again. My thoughts chase one another around until I’m dizzy with them. How could I have been so stupid? Am I such a bad judge of character? And then a terrible thought—one that slices through me like a blade—what price would my bones garner on the shadow market? Especially if someone thought—months ago—that there was a chance I would be matched as Bone Charmer at the kenning. How valuable would my mother’s bones be?
It must be so much easier to kill someone who trusts you.
Audra doesn’t speak all the way back to Midwood, which is probably for the best. Something dark and ugly is growing inside me. I can feel the rustle of its wings.
The boat slides alongside the dock, and I don’t wait for Audra’s servants to steady the craft before I scramble to my feet and lug my father’s bones to shore. I heft the sack over my shoulder and start for home.
“Wait,” Audra says. Against my better judgment, I turn. Her gaze darts to the bag. “You’ll need to provide payment for those.”
My blood turns to fire in my veins. “Fate will pay you back, Audra. I’m counting on it.”
My mother sits in a chair by the fire, an oil lamp burning low on a nearby table. Her spell book rests on her lap, but her palm is pressed firmly on top of the leather cover, as if her instinct is to protect it even in sleep.
I clear my throat and she stirs. Her eyes flutter open and then go wide with fear. She flies to her feet. The spell book tumbles to the ground. She grabs a poker from where it hangs near the hearth.
Suddenly I realize how I must look—hooded, gloved, a bag slung over my shoulder—as if I’m here to rob her, or worse.
“It’s only me,” I say.
“Saskia?” Her voice is still hazy with sleep and confusion. “You frightened me. Where have you been?”
I lower the burlap sack to the floor. “It’s a long story.”
“I tried to read the bones to find you,” she says. “But I needed someone with Second Sight. You were too close to the present for me to see.”
“I’m sorry.” I take off the cloak, pull the scarf and the pins from my hair.
“You’re crying,” she says.
“No.”
But when I touch my fingers to my cheek, the black satin comes away damp. I can’t stand the feel of Audra’s fancy gloves on my skin for a second longer. I strip them off one by one and throw them into the hearth. I watch as their fingers curl and melt. A bitter odor chokes the air.
My hands are sweaty and one of my knuckles is smudged with dye—how fitting that Audra would loan me a fabric that bleeds when it weeps.
I rub at the stain with my thumb, but it won’t budge.
I bring my hand closer to my face and examine the mark. It’s not dye. It’s a small black tattoo. And it’s shaped like a triangle.
Saskia
The Bone Charmer
I sit beneath the shade of an aspen tree, leaning back and resting my elbows in the cool grass. Tessa lies on her stomach next to me, quizzing me about the bones of feathered vertebrates. The gentle warmth of spring has given way to the heat of summer, which makes studying on the slopes surrounding Ivory Hall far more pleasant than being inside the stiflingly hot dormitory or in one of the training rooms. Talon and Linnea sit nearby, working with replicas of animal bones. They’re practicing identifying them only by feel—an important skill for all of us, but especially for Linnea and the other Breakers. Which is why it’s unfortunate that Bram isn’t here. I try not to imagine where he might be, try not to think of him at all. He’s obviously not interested in mending the rift between us. He made that perfectly clear the other night when I tried to apologize.
“Saskia?”
My head snaps up. I can tell by the impatient tone in Tessa’s voice that it’s not the first time she’s said my name.
“Sorry,” I say, “what was that?”
“You’re so distracted today. Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine. My mind just wandered for a moment. Can you repeat the question?”
Tessa looks down at her book. “Name three birds whose serrated bills are often mistaken for teeth, and the primary magical uses for them.”
I bite the inside of my cheek while I think. “The greylag goose, the toucan, and … the tooth-billed bowerbird?”
“Good,” Tessa says. “Magical uses?”
I tap my fingers in the grass. “Mixers use them for potions that dissolve metal…. Are there more uses?”
“Masons use them to make knives,” Talon calls out. His eyes are closed and he’s feeling the contours of an alligator ulna.
“They do?”
“Yep,” he says. “They’re not the most powerful tools Masons make, but they’re good for cutting through soft things. Like tomatoes.”
Linnea laughs. “Only you would think to use magic for cutting food.”
Talon gives her a goofy grin, his eyes still tightly closed. Linnea is studying him with open affection. It’s an expression I’ve never seen on her before. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes are particularly brilliant today. Emerald and arresting.
“I take my food very seriously.” Talon’s fingers close around one end of the bone. “Is this a forearm of some kind?”
“Be more specific,” Linnea says.
“Radius?”
Linnea’s mouth curves. “Nope.”
Talon opens one eye and peeks at the bone. “I meant ulna.”
“Cheater,” Linnea says, swatting at his arm.
“Saskia is the one who cheated. She got her answer from me.”
I start to protest, when Tessa glances over my shoulder and brightens. “Oh, good. Bram is coming.”
I lift my elbows off the grass and sit up. Talon’s easy banter created a delicate bubble of contentment around me, but the moment I spot Bram trekking down the hill, it pops like it’s been jabbed with the swift prick of a pin. It’s not just the way he holds himself—stepping stiffly and precisely like he’s avoiding any nonessential movement—that makes me go still, but it’s the raw expression on his face. The vulnerability.
He’s hurt.
I’m on my feet before I remember deciding to stand.
“What happened?” I ask.
Bram’s eyes meet mine. He gives me an odd look. “Viktor.”
I think of the angle of his leg when I saw him in the vision. “Then how are you walking?”
I can sense the rest of the group watching us. Can practically feel the weight of their questions at my back.
Tessa breaks first. “What’s going on?”
“Bram got hurt in training today,” Linnea says. Her gaze flicks to me. “But I’m not sure how Saskia knows about it.”
“I saw it during a bone reading.” I don’t mention that I saw it days ago—so far back that it shouldn’t have been possible for someone with Second Sight—and neither does Bram. Luckily, the others seem too concerned about him to ask more questions.
I turn to Bram. “In my vision your leg was broken.”
He winces as he lowers himself to the grass. “Healers,” he says, “good ones.”
“So why are you still in pain?” Tessa asks.
“My mentor doesn’t believe in pain control. He thinks learning to manage discomfort is an important part of my training.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. That’s ridiculous.” Tessa kneels in the grass next to him. “Saskia, I brought some bones with me. Would you grab them for me please?”
I find her satchel leaning against the tree trunk. “Do you need your spell book, too?”
“No,” she says, “I have the pattern memorized. I just need the bones and a needle.”
As I search through Tessa’s bag, I can hear her asking Bram questions about his pain—where it hurts the most, how long he’s been injured, what the other healer did to help him. Her voice is soft and soothing.
I find a needle and the small container of bones and hand them to her. Tessa places them in a pattern next to Bram and then pricks his finger a
nd lets a few drops fall onto the bones. She touches his leg, running her palm from his hip to his ankle, softly at first and then more firmly.
Bram’s expression looks like a man dying of thirst who’s just been given a jug of water. Relief washes over him. And then so much bliss that it makes color rise in my cheeks.
Tessa sits back on her heals. “Is that better?”
He reaches up and catches her fingers in his. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”
I think of my hand on Bram’s shoulder the other night and wish I hadn’t put it there.
“Your improvement is remarkable, Saskia,” Master Kyra says. I’ve just identified the total number of Masons in the training room next door and managed to eavesdrop on the Mixers’ lesson across the hall.
In the last few weeks we’ve moved on to more and more challenging tasks, and between my sessions with Latham and my regular lessons, I finally feel like I’m making progress.
“At this rate, it won’t be long until you get your mastery tattoo,” Kyra says.
The comment feels like standing near the fire on a chilly day.
Our history books say there are three essential tattoos that indicate a life well lived: a love tattoo, which can be acquired from any especially strong bond, not necessarily just the romantic kind; a loss tattoo, which usually appears after the death of a loved one; and a mastery tattoo, which is the most unique and comes from high achievement in one’s specialty. Those who die without all three are mourned especially intensely. Mastery tattoos are commonly the first to appear—many people achieve expertise in their discipline before finding a great love or losing someone close to them—but only the top apprentices achieve a mastery tattoo before they finish training.
I think of the jewel-tone swells on my father’s right arm—a work of art that perfectly captured not only his skill as a painter but his joy as well. And my mother’s mastery tattoo—a vertical oval inside a larger horizontal one, both framed by thick, arching lines on the top and the bottom. Like a cat’s eye. It sits just below her shoulder, smaller and more reserved than my father’s, but it suits her just as well.
“A mastery tattoo? Do you really think so?” I ask.
She gives me a rare smile. “I do. Shall we try another task?”
“Yes,” I say. “Give me something challenging.”
She taps her finger against her lips while she thinks. “Choose someone specific—someone here at Ivory Hall—and see if you can locate them.” I start to close my eyes. “This is going to be more difficult,” she warns. “Directing magic toward a specific person without the benefit of their blood is an advanced skill.”
But Master Kyra doesn’t know I’ve been practicing bloodless readings with Latham for weeks.
“How about Norah?” I ask.
Kyra laughs. “You never choose the easy path, do you? Norah will be wearing a shield. She’ll be impossible to see.”
“A shield?”
“A talisman crafted by a Mason that blocks magic. Most of the Masters wear them to protect against disgruntled apprentices. Imagine the damage an angry young Breaker could do. Or a Mixer who whips up a poison.” She raises her eyebrows playfully. “Or a Bone Charmer who can spy on every private moment.”
I wrinkle my nose. I have no desire to see Norah’s private moments. “How about my roommate?”
“Very well. Give it a try.”
I lay my palms flat on top of the bones. I picture Tessa as clearly as I can—her wide brown eyes, the curls that frame her face and cascade in a tumble down her back, the star-shaped tattoos on her neck, the comforting melody of her voice. The tug in my stomach tells me I’m close. Shadowy figures move in and out of my vision, but they don’t solidify into anything recognizable.
Frustration invades my mind and the image breaks apart.
My hands twitch over the bones, but I leave them there. I can do this. I pay attention to my breath moving in and out of my body, to my lungs filling with air, and then deflating.
I try again.
A pull toward the bones. A silhouette—the contours of Tessa’s curls falling across her face as she leans over something. But I can’t go further. Trying to hold the image is like trying to hold water in my cupped palms. I can only manage for a few moments before it starts to seep away.
Sharp pain carves through my head. I bite my lip and try to hang on, but it’s no use. The vision is already fading.
I lift my hands and lean back in my chair. My temples throb, and when I open my eyes, the room looks red-tinged and blurry.
“You did well for a first try,” Master Kyra says. “What do you think went wrong?”
The pounding in my skull is relentless. It makes it difficult to think clearly. “I don’t know,” I say. “I just couldn’t get a clear image. Maybe I could have done it with an intensifier.”
Kyra’s breath is a hiss. “What did you say?”
“I just …” The expression on her face makes the words die in my throat. Her palms flatten against the table, and her eyes are wild. I should have told her about Latham’s extra lessons. I don’t know why I didn’t. At first, each time I was tempted to bring it up, I stopped myself, worried she would put an end to my sessions with him. And then later, when I actually started making progress, I wanted Master Kyra to be impressed with me, to think I’d gotten better all on my own. Now I can see that was a mistake.
“Have you been using an intensifier in your practice?”
“I didn’t mean any harm,” I say. “I was just trying to get better.”
“Dark magic should never be a shortcut to getting better.” Her voice is only barely controlled. Like a rabid animal on the end of a taut leash.
Dread seeps into me. “I didn’t know it was dark magic.” My voice sounds small to my own ears.
Master Kyra’s fist comes down on the table. “Intensifiers are the darkest kind of magic. You must know how they’re made if you’ve been able to get your hands on one.”
It’s as if her anger is pulsing in my head. I feel it throbbing at the base of my skull.
“No,” I say, “I don’t.”
Her gaze bores into me. “They can only be made from the bones of a person who was murdered.” She swallows. “Violently.”
The words fall like blades. Nausea threatens at the back of my throat.
“No,” I say. “That can’t be true. Maybe I got the name of the bone wrong?”
“Where did you get an intensifier, Saskia?”
“I don’t have one,” I say. “Master Latham let me borrow his. He’s been helping me with extra practice.”
Kyra’s mouth flattens to a thin, harsh line. I can feel her disbelief like a weight against my chest. “Please don’t lie to me. The punishment for using dark magic is severe. Your honesty would go a long way toward lessening your sentence.”
“My sentence? But I didn’t know it was dark magic. Latham said—”
She holds up a hand. “I’m incredibly disappointed. This will have to be reported to Norah. She’ll decide whether to bring the case to the Grand Council.”
“Please,” I say, “this is all a misunderstanding. Ask Latham. He’ll corroborate everything I told you.”
Sunlight pours through the window. Earlier I thought it seemed cheery, how it sent the dust motes dancing through the air suspended in golden warmth. But now it’s harsh. Glaring. My clothes are pasted to my skin.
Master Kyra’s gaze is steely. She doesn’t believe me.
But she will. As soon as she talks to Latham, she will.
Two members of the Ivory Guard escort me to an assembly room. A long table fills the center of the space. Seated along one side are Norah and all three Bone Charming Masters. My breath sags out of me at the sight of Latham. He can explain and end all of this.
An empty chair waits for me on the other side of the table. I try to catch Latham’s gaze as I take my seat, but he won’t meet my eyes.
“Saskia,” Norah says, not unkindly, “I’m sure you realize why
you’re here.”
“Actually, I don’t,” I say. “Not entirely.” My gaze settles on Latham. I wait for him to intercede, to offer a few words of explanation or apology.
He doesn’t.
Certainty drains from me in one swift motion, like water from a tipped glass.
Norah gives me a searching look. “Is it true that you’ve been using intensifiers in your bone-reading practice?”
I sit straighter in my chair. I won’t let them convict me of something I didn’t do. “Master Latham approached me shortly after I arrived at Ivory Hall and offered me additional tutoring. He’s the one who introduced the intensifier. I wasn’t aware it was forbidden magic until Master Kyra told me earlier today.”
Norah’s glance slides to Latham, who shrugs. “Like I told you before, I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
I feel as if I’ve missed a step. As if the ground beneath my feet has abruptly disappeared and now there’s nothing but air. His denial makes no sense. “Why are you lying?” I search Latham’s face, try to find some hint of the mentor I’ve come to know, but he looks like a different man. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes have smoothed over, and his mouth—usually slightly upturned as if only moments away from a smile—is now a flat, hard line.
He leans forward and rests his arms on the table. “Whatever your plan is, it won’t work. We have ways to find out the truth.”
His words send a chill through me. We both know it’s not the truth he’s after, but I can’t figure out what he gains by his dishonesty. Is helping another master’s apprentice such a great offense?
Latham turns to Norah. “Have you searched her room?”
The blood drains from my face. Norah notices. I see her notice. See the shift in her expression. Watch as her sympathy fades away.
Understanding unfolds inside me. Latham isn’t trying to protect himself. He’s trying to implicate me.
“Search her room,” Norah tells one of the guards, “and bring us anything relevant.”
My throat closes off. I see the outcome as clearly as if I had Third Sight. When the guard searches my room, he’ll find the stolen spell book and the stolen practice bones—two items that have nothing to do with Latham. Yet somehow I’m certain he knows they’re there.
The Bone Charmer Page 16
