The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

  But he doesn’t. He only sighs. “I wish things had been different between us.”

  “Me too.” My voice catches on the words and I want to say something more, something that will build a bridge that spans the space between us, but I don’t know how. Bram and I were on the same path once. Until I ruined everything.

  Until I let my freedom rob my fate.

  As the days go by, it becomes clear why these ships are called winged-fleet vessels. They travel so quickly, it feels like we’re flying. We sail past towns and villages that would still be a week away or more if we’d been on any other ship.

  I stand on the deck, my gaze fixed on the deep purple of the northern horizon. Stars glitter in the distance.

  Bram joins me. Rests his hand on the glossy wooden railing near mine. It’s so dark that he’s little more than a shape beside me.

  “We’re getting close to home,” he says. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” I say.

  Bram and I haven’t discussed our conversation from the other night. It sits between us like a giant boulder in the middle of a trail. We both politely edge around it, but his words are a constant echo in my mind: I wish things had been different between us.

  Over the last few days something has taken shape inside me. I can feel the contours of it—small. Warm. Heavy. Like a stone that has been worried smooth.

  “It’s late,” I say. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

  “Wait.” His hand closes around my elbow and I freeze.

  “Our conversation before … It’s taken me a few days to gather my thoughts.” He lets go of me and rakes his fingers through his hair. “You’re not the only one who has made mistakes. I hated you for seeing those memories, hated that you looked at me differently because of them, when all I wanted was to leave the past behind. And then, after the kenning … you can’t imagine how terrifying it was to picture you as the village Bone Charmer. To know that the person I’d need to rely on for readings had looked into my memories once before and found my character lacking.” My stomach lurches and my fingers curl around the railing. “The fact that we were matched only made it worse. It felt like I’d never escape you. Like your power would forever shape how people saw me.”

  Bram’s voice stills me, the halting cadence of it, the undercurrent of pain. I feel as if I’m inside a bone reading, watching him at the junction of two paths, not sure which one he’ll turn toward. One choice will shatter me and the other will mend my heart.

  He clears his throat and keeps talking. “Once we got to Ivory Hall, sometimes I felt like I caught glimpses of you peeking through—that girl I knew before the day on the prison boat. The girl who was my friend. I thought maybe spending time with me again had reminded you of our friendship.”

  I move my hand so it rests on top of his. “I did see you differently, but not because I remembered who you were then. But because I got to know who you are now. And for what it’s worth, I’m not afraid of your power. Not anymore.”

  “I’m glad,” he says. “I would never hurt you, Saskia.” His voice is a thread pulled tight.

  “I know,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” he says.

  “So, you don’t still hate me?”

  He gives a small laugh. “No. I don’t hate you.”

  It may be more than I deserve, but it’s so much less than I hoped for.

  We stand together in silence for a stretch, and then I realize that my hand is still covering his. My cheeks prickle with heat. I shove my fists into the pockets of my cloak.

  His fingers slip from the railing and I worry that he’ll walk away.

  “Bram …”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish …” I feel as if I’m stumbling through a room in the dark. Grasping for something I desperately want but can’t find.

  “What, Saskia? What do you wish?”

  I turn toward him. Our faces are finally close enough that I can see his jawline etched in silver moonlight. His eyes hold mine. A silent question. I don’t look away.

  He slides a palm beneath my hair and rests it in the curve of my neck. My breath catches. Bram’s thumb strokes my cheek, and my skin sparks at his touch. I close the narrow space between us and rest my hand against his chest. His heartbeat is wild beneath my fingers. His face dips toward mine.

  Then the ship hits a bit of rough water and we lose our footing and stumble apart. I grab the railing to steady myself. My breath is ragged, and my thoughts spin wildly. I want to go back to Bram’s hand against my skin, his lips inches from mine. But the moment was like a butterfly in a cupped palm—delicate, and impossible to recapture once it’s flown away.

  A group of drunken sailors stumble around the corner, talking and laughing loudly.

  Bram sighs, and I hear all of my own frustration in that single sound. “It’s late. We should probably get some sleep.”

  And as I drift off that night, I can’t help but wonder if fate will ever work in my favor.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  The air is thick with the acrid smell of smoke laced with spicy cinnamon incense. A nauseating combination. My head swims as I tip another set of Gran’s bones from the basin onto the rug in front of me. I fall into the vision the way one might fall into a swiftly moving river. Easily swept away, but completely out of control.

  I take deep breaths and try to center myself. I used Declan’s blood this time. As much as I long to see Gran again, I don’t have time for self-indulgence. Not if I want to stop Latham before he does something terrible. I need to find Declan, and quickly. I nudge my thoughts toward him, try to see his face in my mind. Images flicker in and out of focus until, finally, I find him.

  Declan and Latham stand behind Midwood Hall, their backs pressed against the stone facade.

  “Your girl understands the plan?” Latham asks.

  “Yes,” Declan says, almost flippantly. “Don’t worry about it. Bette has everything under control.” Latham’s face goes hard. Declan flinches under the weight of his stare. He swallows. “She knows to leave the back door open and to delay Della in the council chamber until we get there.”

  “We can’t afford mistakes,” Latham says. “I will hold you personally responsible if this goes sideways, is that clear?”

  “Of course,” Declan says. “I understand.”

  “I’m not sure you do.” Latham’s gaze flicks toward the sky—bright summer blue and cloudless, the sun at its highest point. An orange tabby cat meows from the branch of a nearby tree. “The council meeting should be ending shortly,” he says. “Go around to the front and signal me when the members start leaving. We’ll go in once they’re gone.”

  I yank my hands away from Gran’s bones, and the room snaps back into focus. My heartbeat roars in my ears. Latham is setting up an ambush. I have to get to Midwood Hall before that meeting ends, and warn my mother.

  My lungs are on fire and my legs ache. I’m not sure I’ve ever run so fast in my life. I press a palm to my side to quiet the stabbing pain below my ribs.

  Midwood Hall is just on the other side of the town square. I take a deep breath and force myself to make one more hard push across the cobblestones. I let my gaze sweep over the grounds for any sign of Declan, but I don’t spot him. Either he’s a good lookout, or the meeting is over and I’m too late. I rush inside the building, and I’m greeted by an eerie silence. My footsteps echo as I curve through the corridors. Dread coils inside me like a serpent. I suddenly wish I’d thought to slip a knife into my boot.

  A heavy set of double doors hides the council room, and I tug on one of them, relieved to find it unlocked.

  But the room is empty.

  I turn in a slow circle, confused. I know the council had a meeting this morning—I saw my mother leave with my own eyes. I know Latham and Declan were just here. I was careful to pay attention to details this time, so that I didn’t mistake the past for the pres
ent. It’s the same time of day. The sky is the same shade of blue. I race from the council chamber and through the hallways to the back door. Latham and Declan are nowhere to be found. I must have been wrong.

  My gaze flicks upward. A tabby cat studies me from its perch on a tree branch. The same cat I saw in the vision. Did Latham find a way to manipulate my visions to trick me? Is that even possible?

  A flash of color catches my eye, and I turn to see an orange cloak.

  “Hilde,” I call. The Bone Mason turns, and I jog up to her.

  “Saskia,” she says, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for my mother. Have you seen her?”

  “I’d imagine she’s back home by now. The council meeting ended a little while ago.”

  “Did she stay? Longer than everyone else, I mean?”

  “No, she left with the rest of us. I’m just coming back because I forgot something.” Hilde tilts her head and studies me. “Is everything all right, dear?”

  “You saw her leave?”

  “Saskia, what’s wrong?”

  I wave an impatient hand in front of my face. “Did you see her leave or not? It’s important.”

  “Yes, we walked out together. She was headed in the direction of your house when we parted ways and said goodbye. Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”

  But I don’t stay long enough to answer. I run toward home as fast as my already-exhausted legs can carry me.

  The front door is ajar. The hair prickles at the back of my neck, and blood shudders through my veins. Every instinct screams that something isn’t right. But still, I step inside.

  And the air goes out of me in one swift motion, like a blow to the stomach that has sent me flying and flailing and careening to the ground.

  My mother sits in the center of the room tied to a chair. Declan stands behind her, a knife pressed to her neck. Latham paces back and forth across the room.

  “Saskia,” he says, “how nice of you to finally join us.”

  Saskia

  The Bone Charmer

  The Falcon lands in Midwood in late morning. It’s a perfect summer day—vibrant green leaves against an azure sky. Just a hint of a breeze coming off the harbor. Warm, but not hot. Bram’s hand curls around mine as we disembark. My whole body is still in bloom with the newness of him. The miracle of coming together—of finally seeing each other—in the midst of despair, like two candles flickering in the darkness. His palm against mine is both a comfort and a reminder of everything I could lose.

  I woke up today with a delicate pink line around my wrist, so faint, it was barely visible. A wave of bittersweet irony washed over me. The tattoo that marks me as a girl falling in love is the same one that makes my bones more useful to Latham. The moment I finally feel alive is the moment I’m more valuable dead.

  “Welcome home,” Bram says once we’re on dry land. His voice sounds exactly like I feel—heavy with worry, but shot through with one slender, golden glimmer of hope.

  “You too.” I lean into him, longing to say something reassuring, but we both know it would be a lie. I won’t feel better until I’ve seen my mother.

  Every time I think of her letter, unease ripples over my skin: … it is essential that you don’t return to Midwood…. Please promise me that you’ll honor this wish … No matter how tempting it might be to come home, I need you to stay away. But she didn’t know what she was asking when she wrote those words. And I won’t honor her wish if it puts her in danger.

  Walking through Midwood with Bram feels surreal. Everything seems smaller, transformed somehow by my travels, as if the town now exists only in juxtaposition with every other place I’ve been.

  A young boy runs past us—Audra Ingersson’s son, Willem—chased by his harried-looking tutor.

  “Willem, come back here!” she calls out. “Stop right this minute, young man.” I don’t recognize her—she must have been matched from another town. A pang of sympathy goes through me. Willem doesn’t look like an easy charge.

  “Did I ever tell you I hoped to be matched as a tutor at the kenning?” I ask.

  Bram’s lips curve into a gentle smile. “Really?”

  “It’s true,” I say, watching Willem crest a hill, and then spin toward the tutor and stick out his tongue. “Though now I can’t remember why.”

  Bram laughs. And then, in a serious tone: “It would have suited you.”

  “More than bone charming?”

  He considers this. “Maybe not. But still, I’m sure you would have been good.”

  “What did you hope for at the kenning?”

  “I wanted to use my skills to help people. To be considered an asset and not a liability.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So you got exactly what you wanted?”

  He doesn’t miss the flirtatious tone in my voice, and he playfully nudges his shoulder against mine.

  But as my house comes into view, my muscles tense and my desire to try to lighten the mood fizzles away. Bram’s hand tightens around mine. “Everything will be all right.” We climb the porch. “And, Saskia?”

  I tip my face toward him and his eyes go soft.

  “Yes, I got exactly what I wanted.”

  A tangle of emotions churns inside me. Most of all, sadness that I can’t freeze time and hold this one lovely moment in the palm of my hand. I long to bask in uncomplicated joy.

  But that’s not the path in front of me.

  The door creaks as I ease it open. We step over the threshold. The air is heavy and still.

  I move through every room, calling my mother’s name, but only silence answers. She could be anywhere. The market. The bone house. Midwood Hall.

  Wherever she is, it’s not at home.

  I wander into my bedroom. It’s tidier than I left it—the quilt pulled smooth and tucked in, the pillows fluffed, the furniture free of dust. A pair of too-small shoes sits neatly beneath the bed as if they’re still worn daily. As if they might be needed at any moment.

  A lump forms in my throat. My mother misses me. She’s never been good with words—my father was the more demonstrative parent—but this bedroom feels like reading a love letter.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and Bram sinks down beside me.

  “We have to find her,” I say. Urgency pulses through me like a drumbeat.

  Bram threads his fingers through mine. “We will. Let’s start searching.”

  When we get to the town square, I spot Hilde leaving Midwood Hall. Her orange cloak is a bright spot in the distance. Relief leaps in my chest.

  “There must have been a council meeting scheduled this morning,” I tell Bram. The sun has risen in the sky. It’s nearly midday.

  “Hilde,” I call, “wait!”

  The Bone Mason turns and her eyes widen in surprise. “Saskia. What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting,” I say. “Have you seen my mother?”

  Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Does she know you’re back in Midwood?”

  “It’s a surprise. Have you seen her?”

  “Yes,” Hilde says, “the council meeting just ended, but your mother stayed behind. Bette asked to speak with her alone.”

  It takes a moment to pluck the name from my memory. Bette is the journeyman who is studying under Rakel. She finished her Mixer apprenticeship in the spring and arrived shortly before Bram and I left for Ivory Hall.

  “Thank you,” I tell Hilde.

  We hurry up the path. A tabby cat saunters along the cobblestones, stopping to examine us before moving along.

  Midwood Hall is nearly empty. Our footsteps echo as we twist our way toward the council chamber in the center of the building. When we reach the double doors, Bram and I each take a handle and pull them open at the same moment.

  Time freezes. The world goes silent. I can feel each slow beat of my heart as I take in the scene before me. My mother, tied to a chair in the center of the chamber. Latham holding a large kni
fe. A man I don’t recognize stands nearby, his huge arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s wearing a black cloak. A Breaker.

  Latham got here first. I thought I could beat him at his own game, but I should have known better. He’s been one step ahead of me the whole time.

  But it’s my mother’s expression, the sinking disappointment on her face, that finally breaks me.

  Time snaps back into place. Blood roars in my ears.

  We’re all going to die in this room.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  The walls feel like they’re closing in around me. I was so sure I would find Latham and Declan outside the council chamber, so certain that I would be able to warn my mother in time. Gran’s bones are powerful—the visions I had while using them were so vivid. But I trusted them too much. Maybe if I’d stayed home, things would have been different. Maybe if my mother and I had been together, we could have prevented this.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Latham says. “Come join us.” He smiles as if we’re at a ball and he’s inviting me to dance. I take another step farther into the house, my mind scrambling for how to get out of this. But I’m not sure I can.

  “Saskia, think—” my mother starts. But Latham holds up a finger and Declan presses the knife more firmly against her throat.

  “Let’s not get chatty, Della. We really don’t have time.”

  “What do you want?” I ask. I’m stalling. My mind is teeming with random bits of information, like an unfinished puzzle in a box. I pick up each piece. Examine it. Discard it when it doesn’t fit. What was my mother trying to tell me when I walked in? Think what? And what does this have to do with the vision I saw? Nausea pushes up my throat as I think of the prison boat. I’ve been wrong about magic before—so wrong that people died—what if it’s happening again? What if I put my mother in more danger by trying to warn her?

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Latham says. “I want your mother. I want you.”

  “You want us dead, you mean?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Your bones are only useful to me if you’re gone. Nothing personal.”