The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

  “At least I’m not in love.” The words slip out before I think them through. My cheeks flame. Bram coughs. Clears his throat. Looks away.

  An awkward silence stretches between us. It’s Bram who speaks first. “So what do you want to do?” He motions toward the book. “About this, I mean.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I wish I had access to bones.”

  His eyes spark. “You do.” He steps out of the cave and scans the ground. And then comes back with a large satchel over his shoulder. “I brought it back from Esmee’s,” he says, “but I forgot all about it when you attacked me.”

  I take the bag from him and peek at the contents. It’s full of bones, carefully separated into sets sized for readings. In the bottom are several pieces of flint, a small stone, and a velvet cloth. There are also two flasks of water and a bit of food.

  My throat gets thick. “You had the presence of mind to gather all of this?”

  “No,” Bram says. “Esmee left them for you.”

  “What? Where?”

  “In a storage bench by the back door. It was my favorite hiding place when I was small. Esmee probably knew if I came back I’d look there.” He rubs a hand over his face. “The outside was charred, but nothing inside was destroyed. It was a good hiding place.”

  I run my fingers along the bag, tracing patterns in the rough fabric. “I’d feel guilty using these.”

  “Don’t,” he says. “Esmee lived without regret. She chose to give up her life so we could escape. She’d be angry if you didn’t use her gift wisely.”

  I smile. “I would never want to make Esmee angry.”

  Bram grins back—a swollen, misshapen thing, shaded with grief, that pricks my heart. “No,” he says, “you really wouldn’t.”

  Ash falls from the sky like gray snow. The blaze died out long ago—after it burned a path all the way to the Shard—but now the wind plucks the ashes from the forest floor, and they flutter in front of the cave’s entrance as a grim reminder of everything we’ve lost.

  A handful of bones is scattered on a cloth in front of me. My head is lightly throbbing. I’ve been trying to see Latham for nearly the entire day, without any success.

  “I think we need a backup plan,” Bram says. “If Latham is wearing a shield, you might never see him again.” His eyes flick to the limited food and water Esmee left us. “We can’t stay here forever.”

  I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. I feel like a wrung-out cloth. “He’ll take it off eventually. If he wants to kill me, he’ll have to find me first.”

  Bram’s hand falls to my knee. “But if you don’t see him soon …?”

  I sigh. “Then we’ll go back to Ivory Hall and try to get a meeting with the Grand Council.”

  Bram doesn’t point out how impossible that will be. The Grand Council doesn’t simply grant an audience with every apprentice who might have a grievance—especially one who has been expelled. We’re far more likely to be detained than to get a meeting with anyone who can help us.

  I think of Tessa, Talon, and Linnea back at Ivory Hall. I imagine them sitting under a tree, quizzing one another on anatomy and gossiping about the instructors. I wonder if they think of us, if they miss us. My eyes sting. I long for simpler times, when my only worries were if I was learning bone charming fast enough and questioning if I was matched to the right person.

  “You look exhausted,” Bram says. “Maybe you should take a break for a little while?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ll keep trying.”

  He watches me carefully, searching my face. “All right,” he says, “but at least drink something first.” He hands me one of the water flasks. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I bring it to my lips. The cool liquid sliding down my throat is a relief.

  “Thank you,” I say, handing the flask back to him.

  And then I place my hands over the bones, close my eyes, and try again.

  Latham stands on the grounds outside Ivory Hall, framed by the soft light of early evening. A gentle mist leaves flecks on the shoulders of his red silk cloak. His gaze sweeps across the rolling hills dotted with apprentices—studying, eating, a few of them walking arm in arm, the pink flush of new romance in their cheeks.

  An apprentice in a blue cloak jogs up to Latham, her dark curls bouncing behind her. Tessa. “Pardon me,” she says. “I wonder if I could ask you a question?”

  “Of course.” Latham gives her the same genuine-seeming smile that made him seem so trustworthy when I first met him.

  “Since you’re one of the Master Bone Charmers, I wonder if you might be able to tell me what happened to my friend? Her name is Saskia Holte.”

  Latham glances toward the sky as if he’s searching his memory.

  “She was the Second Sight apprentice,” Tessa prompts, “and she left recently without saying goodbye.”

  His eyes spark with recognition. “Ah yes, I know who you’re talking about now. I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss the results of disciplinary hearings with other apprentices.”

  Tessa’s mouth falls open. “She was disciplined?”

  Latham looks chagrined. “Oh no. I’ve said too much. Please don’t spread that around. I’m sure Saskia would be terribly embarrassed.”

  “Of course not,” Tessa says, “but it doesn’t make any sense. What could she have done?”

  “I’ve already told you that I can’t say.”

  “Can you at least tell me if she’s coming back?”

  Latham gives a small, sad shake of his head. “I’m quite certain she is not.”

  Tessa’s face falls. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m headed to Midwood tomorrow morning for some business. Would you like me to find her and ask her to write?”

  Tessa presses a palm to her heart. “Yes,” she says, “yes, please.”

  Latham tugs at his collar and the vision fades.

  My eyes snap open. Bram is lying next to me, curled on his side, eyes closed. His hair has grown longer since we left Midwood, and now it flops across his forehead. I watch him for a moment. The gentle rise and fall of his chest. His full lips, slightly parted in sleep. The green vine tattoo that curls over the top of his foot. The sight of him tugs at something inside me, and I’m filled with sadness.

  I put a hand on his shoulder and shake him gently. He startles.

  “What is it? Is everything all right?”

  “We have to go back to Midwood,” I tell him.

  He lifts himself into a sitting position. “It worked? What did you see?” As I tell him, his expression darkens. “Didn’t your mother’s letter say not to come back?”

  “He’s going there to kill her, Bram. We have to warn her.”

  I start gathering our things—Esmee’s spell books, the bones, our water flasks—and shoving them into our bags.

  “Hey,” Bram says, touching my wrist, “slow down. What if this is a trap?”

  “Of course it’s a trap,” I tell him. “Latham didn’t just forget to wear his shield. He wanted me to know he’s going to Midwood. But here’s the thing—now I know he’s going to Midwood.”

  Bram’s eyebrows inch up. “I don’t follow.”

  “Latham’s not the only one who can lay a trap. I know he’s trying to lure me out of hiding so he can kill me. But maybe we can outsmart him. Maybe we can throw him off the trail long enough to warn my mother.”

  “Saskia, I don’t think—”

  “If it were your mother, what would you do?”

  It’s a terrible question to ask him, when I know how guilty he feels that he couldn’t save his parents, but I need him to understand where I’m coming from. I can’t do this without him.

  “Well?”

  He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’d go. But how are we going to throw him off the trail when he can’t even see us?”

  “That depends,” I say. “How good of an actor are you?”

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  The walk home f
rom the bone house feels surreal—as if someone has picked up my life and tipped it over and now I don’t remember how any of the pieces fit together.

  Questions bubble up inside me, but when they reach my throat, they pop and fizzle away.

  I’m not sure what my mother could say, what answers she could provide, that would lessen the seeping defeat that is overtaking me. I’ve spent weeks learning Bone Charming only to interpret the vision incorrectly, to read the wrong moment in time. And now Rakel’s bones are gone.

  “Your mastery tattoo has three corners,” my mother says. Her voice splits through the silence like the toll of a bell at dawn. Sudden and startling.

  “Does that mean something?”

  Instead of answering my question, she asks one of her own. “Did you know that there weren’t always binding ceremonies?”

  “No,” I say, “I didn’t.”

  “It used to be that magic was allowed to develop naturally, without so many boundaries. Without such specialized training. But some apprentices were skilled in many different areas of magic, and others were only gifted in one. The Grand Council felt it created a power imbalance. So they attempted to even things out with the binding ceremony. If the kenning identifies an apprentice who has bone magic, they are assigned to specialize in one small area. And through the binding, they agree to confine their magic to the boundaries of that specialty. It’s like pruning a garden. The magic is directed and confined. And eventually the potential in other areas withers and dies. And the nurtured magic grows stronger.”

  “But most people don’t have magic at all,” I say. “So there was already a power imbalance.”

  She gives me a small smile as if my response has pleased her. “Yes, you’re right. Long ago, magic was considered something that belonged to everyone. Not everyone wielded magic, of course, but everyone had access to it. Much like a woman with a beautiful voice—she might be the one singing, but everyone gets the pleasure of hearing the music. And a baker might bake a delicious loaf of bread, but everyone gets to eat.”

  She sighs. “But now bones are bought and sold. Magic comes at a price. And we all suffer for the loss.”

  I think of her argument with Audra a few weeks ago: Have you ever thought of the hundreds of children who could have avoided being leftovers if you had done something less foolish with your excess? I always wondered why the town assumes we’re wealthy when we’re not. We’ve always been comfortable, but other than the constant readings my mother has performed on me, we haven’t lived extravagantly. Now I realize, maybe we’ve had enough coin to be considered wealthy, but my parents used our excess on something other than luxuries for ourselves.

  Sudden warmth flares in my chest. “But what does any of this have to do with my tattoo?”

  “You didn’t go through the binding ceremony,” my mother says, “so your magic hasn’t been pruned. It’s growing like a plant in the wild, spreading roots and going wherever it pleases.”

  “So I have First Sight instead of Second?”

  “I think you might have both,” she says. “And maybe Third Sight, too.”

  The irony isn’t lost on me. I have more power than I ever imagined. Yet in the eyes of the country of Kastelia, I have no power at all.

  The next morning I wake to someone pounding on the front door. It’s a loud, persistent noise that drags me up through the gauzy layers of sleep. I get up and pad down the hallway, but my mother is faster. I hear the gentle creak of the hinges as she opens the door.

  “Valera,” she says, her voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

  I round the corner. One of the non-magical members of the town council stands at our threshold. Her mouth is set in a grim line. Her eyes are crinkled with sorrow. Maybe she’s heard about Rakel’s bones? Gran used to say that bad news travels faster than a storm cloud.

  “It’s Anders,” Valera says. Her voice is raw and it catches on his name. Time slows. Stretches. I don’t want Valera to say another word. I want to live forever in this moment between not knowing and knowing. But I can’t. “He’s dead.”

  My mother grips the edge of the door. Her knuckles turn white. “When? How?”

  “He was murdered last night,” Valera says. “His throat …” She takes a shuddering breath. “Just like Rakel.”

  A buzz grows in my ears. Anders was a Healer—his life’s work was to alleviate the pain of others. If anyone deserved to die gently, it was him.

  Valera puts her palm on my mother’s forearm. “Della, you’re the ranking member of the council now. You need to decide how you want to handle this.”

  My mother gives a dark, half-wild laugh. “How I want to handle each of us being picked off one by one?”

  Valera frowns. “We need to stop whoever did this so it won’t happen again.”

  My mother’s face changes. Like curtains falling closed. “Assemble the rest of the council.” Her voice is detached and lifeless. It makes a cold knife of fear slide down my spine. “I’ll meet you at Midwood Hall in an hour.”

  If my mother were home, she’d be horrified by what I’ve done to the house. It looks like we’ve been robbed by a gang of thieves. Cupboard doors are flung wide. Drawers slid open in varying degrees, like a mouth full of crooked teeth, furniture that’s been moved just enough to be noticeable.

  I’ve been searching for hours, but I finally found it—a small box of Gran’s bones hidden in the bottom drawer of my mother’s bureau. The box is beautiful—delicately gilded, with a lioness on the lid. It was well concealed, wrapped in a length of blue silk and tucked under a stack of blankets.

  My mother will be furious when she realizes I used Gran’s bones for a reading. But I’d rather see her angry than dead.

  She told me at the kenning that she infused the bones with extra magic so they would allow her to see my future more clearly. I’m hoping they will help me flesh out the details of Declan’s plans so we can stop him.

  I gather all the supplies together and light a bit of cinnamon incense to increase my concentration. Then I sit on my mother’s reading rug and tip Gran’s bones into the basin. The bone needle rests on the floor at my knee, but I haven’t decided if I’ll need it. I’m not sure where to look. Another reading of Declan? Of my mother?

  A knock at the front door pulls me from my thoughts. I’m tempted to ignore it, but it could be news about Rakel’s missing bones or a messenger from Midwood Hall.

  I open the door to find Declan waiting on the front porch. The sight of him freezes my feet to the floor.

  “Well, hello there,” he says, leaning to brush a kiss against my cheek. “I’ve missed you.” He pushes past me without waiting for a reply.

  Panic blooms inside me. The incense is still burning. The basin is filled with Gran’s bones. A needle full of his own blood is resting on the rug.

  Declan’s confident step falters when he sees the room prepared for a reading. He trades one false expression for another—affection for casual curiosity. But his true feelings are hidden under a thin veneer, and his suspicion is showing through.

  “Oh, is your mother here?” The way he asks makes me realize he came here knowing she was gone. His eyes flick from me to the bones and back again as if he’s trying solve a puzzle.

  I blink. My frozen shock begins to thaw. I have to handle this carefully. “She’s not,” I say, motioning toward the basin. “She had to leave in a hurry.”

  I break off the glowing tip of the incense stick and drop it into a small bowl of water.

  “Is everything all right?” Declan asks. He comes behind me and snakes his arms around my waist. The muscles in my shoulders tense.

  “No,” I say, gently disentangling from his grip, and spinning to face him. “We just got some bad news. Anders is dead.”

  His eyes widen. “Oh, Saskia, I’m so sorry. Your mother must be devastated.”

  I imagine myself with a blade in my hand. Not as devastated as I’m about to make your mother. Not yet. For now he must believe I’m i
n love with him. That I think he’s on my side. Still, I can’t resist a small provocation.

  “She’s heartbroken,” I say, “but the council has a strong lead on a suspect, so hopefully whoever did it will be caught soon.”

  He flinches. A tiny movement, barely perceptible, but it fills me with pleasure. His face quickly smooths. “I hope so, too.” He circles my wrists with his fingers, and I’m suddenly grateful I reapplied the paint on my wrist before we left for the bone house yesterday. “Is there anything I can do?” His palms travel up the length of my arms, leaving my sleeves bunched at my shoulders. I try to pull them down, but I’m not fast enough. His gaze settles on the mastery tattoo.

  Something sparks in his eyes. “This is new.”

  My mind goes blank.

  I feel as if I’ve been swept up in a vision of the future. A series of images flash through my mind. This moment—Declan finding me in the house alone with a basin of bones and a burning stick of incense; him making the connection to my new mastery tattoo; a report to the Grand Council; a trial; my mother stripped of her status, and possibly imprisoned.

  It would take so little to destroy us both.

  But then I think of my father. Of the way he used to dole out little nuggets of wisdom like they were candy. “The most likely explanation is usually the true one,” he told me once when I kept trying to guess his strategy in a game of Winds and Currents. “When you hear wings flapping, assume birds, not dragons.”

  The most likely explanation for the bones is that my mother was preparing a reading before she left. My mastery tattoo most likely came from my assigned apprenticeship. Declan has no reason to mistrust me unless I give him one.

  “If I’d known a tutoring tattoo would be so large, I would have wished for a different specialty,” I say lightly.

  “But it’s so early to have achieved mastery. Especially when you haven’t spent that much time with Willem.”

  I widen my eyes in mock outrage. “Thanks a lot,” I say. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to teach him when he has a mother like Audra? I’m surprised the tattoo took this long to appear.”