“How did you find out about what happened?”
“Oh,” Bram says, “Master Latham let me know.”
My stomach lurches. “You saw Latham? He was at Ivory Hall?”
Bram’s brows pull together, as if confused by my strong reaction. “Actually, no, he sent a Swift Note suggesting you could use a visit. He’s kind of taken me under his wing this year. And since he knew I was so close to your mother …” My blood chills and Bram stops talking. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Bram, Latham was the one who killed her.”
His face goes slack. “No,” he says, “that can’t be right.”
“I was there. She fell into my arms after he stabbed her in the back.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that? And why would he send me a message?”
I run my palms up my arms, suddenly cold. I don’t even know where to begin to explain.
Bram touches my elbow gently. “Is there anything I can do?” Both the expression on his face and the tone of his voice are so hauntingly familiar that I feel a tug low in my belly.
“Actually, yes,” I say. “Could you get me the supplies for a bone reading?”
Saskia
I sit on the floor of Ami’s room in front of a stone basin with only a solitary bone in the bottom. Bram paces back and forth across the length of the room. “I still don’t understand how you’re going to do a reading when you were matched as a tutor.”
I’m not sure how much to tell him. Two warring impulses battle inside me—one is an inexplicable tenderness for Bram, a nearly irresistible pull toward him that makes me want to confess everything. But the other is just as strong—I can’t help but mistrust him. The last person Latham pushed in my direction betrayed me. What if Bram is the new Declan?
I swallow and settle for a middle ground. “My gran’s bone broke in the kenning, and it … complicated things. I’m hoping now that it’s healed, I can see what my mother saw and figure out what to do.”
“But you aren’t trained,” he says. And then, after a pause: “Are you?”
“I’m trained enough.”
I prick my finger with a sewing needle and speckle the bone with my blood. Gran, wherever you are, please make this work. I use a rock and a piece of flint to set the bone alight, and then I close my eyes.
Color bursts behind my lids and I’m pulled into a vision. Dozens of paths stretch out before me, splitting off into hundreds more. But a few branches start off brighter and wider than the others. I wander down a well-lit path and see myself waiting at the harbor for the ship that will take me to Ivory Hall. Bram boards along with me. We’re matched, but we’re both unhappy about it. This path splits into dozens of others. I explore them one by one.
In most, Bram and I slowly come to terms with our past, take down the wall between us, and fall in love. On a few paths, we avoid each other and reject the match. I watch myself get trained as a Bone Charmer, failing at first, but eventually learning. Accepting my power. Becoming gifted. But then I see something that pulls me up short. Some of the paths have gaps in them, short periods of time where I seem to disappear. In each of those paths, I eventually end up at a small cottage in a town I don’t recognize. In some of them, I see myself die violently, though the identity of my attacker is invisible. In others, I hold a letter from my mother warning me that I’m in danger. A necklace with three interlocking circles slides from the envelope. I put it around my neck and the path disappears. Not a gap, but an end. I watch myself die again and again. I have no doubt the future my mother selected for me in the first kenning led to a rich and full life—she wouldn’t have picked it otherwise. But whatever choices I made afterward must have veered it off toward disaster.
I rush backward and go down each of the paths that start with me staying in Midwood. This time there are no gaps. Sometimes I am matched as a tutor and gain a mastery tattoo very different from the one that now rests on my arm. Other times, I’m matched as a jeweler, a baker, a cobbler. In each, I gain a different mastery tattoo. And every single path fizzles out shortly after it starts. I die violently by the hand of someone who is invisible to me, was invisible to my mother. Latham. He kills me at the end of all of them.
All except one.
One slender, poorly lit path leads to a bone match with Declan. In that path my life plays out more or less how it really did. It’s my mother who dies. And I live.
Once she takes her final breath, a thousand other paths widen and blaze to life. And Latham waits in the shadows to kill me at the beginning of all of them. I try to follow the options as they branch off, but they’re too hazy too see. I must not have enough bones—or enough range—to keep going.
I pull out of the vision breathless, and sobbing. My mother knew Latham would kill her if she chose this path. She died so I could live.
A hand falls on my shoulder. “Saskia, is everything all right?”
I’d forgotten Bram was here. The sound of his voice brings back every tender feeling I experienced as I wandered down my Ivory Hall paths. I stand up and turn to him, my voice urgent. “You have to go back to the capital. You’ll be in danger if you stay near me.”
I realize now why Latham sent Bram. Bram isn’t the new Declan. Not in the way I thought, anyway. Somehow Latham collected enough intensifiers to see both of my paths.
I think of his delight when he mentioned my mastery tattoo before he killed my mother. He needed me to have it before I died, so he must have planned for me to get that tattoo in my other reality, but I got it here instead. And I think of the slender pink tattoo that mysteriously appeared without me falling in love. It must have come from my Ivory Hall path, even though Latham thought I’d fall for Declan and get it in Midwood.
He knew the tattoos would appear across timelines and was scheming to kill me in both. If he’s seen my other possibilities, then he knows Bram is the person I’m most likely to end up with. That’s why he sent Bram back to Midwood. Latham wants me to fall for Bram in this reality, too.
Because love tattoos—just like love itself—can fade. Things that aren’t nurtured eventually wither. And without all three tattoos, my bones will be worthless. Ensuring the tattoo stays intact buys him some time to kill me.
The more connected Bram is to me, the more at risk he’ll be, which means I need to stay as far from him as possible.
“What happened?” Bram asks. “What did you see?”
“Latham wants me dead. He has my gran’s bones and my mother’s, too, and he isn’t going to stop chasing me until he kills me.” I take his fingers in mine, and they feel familiar in a way that makes my heart crack open. “Thank you for coming, but you have to go now.”
“Saskia, what’s going on? I’m not just going to leave if you’re in danger.”
For one brief, glittering moment, I imagine myself clinging to him. Begging him to stay and fight with me. Telling him we could have a great love story, that we did once in another life. But it’s time for me to grow up, to be my mother’s daughter. I need to be as unselfish as she was. I pull my hand away from his.
“Go,” I tell him. “Please.”
“No. Saskia, I want to help you.”
The earnest expression on his face breaks my already splintered heart in two.
I know what I have to do, but the thought sickens me. I take a deep breath and force a chill into my voice. “Avoiding me is a better path for you. Go back to Ivory Hall. Forget I ever existed.”
He cocks his head to one side and studies my face. “You didn’t do a reading on me, so how do you know a different path would lead somewhere better? It could just as easily turn out worse.”
The words reverberate in my mind. He’s said something similar to me before. In another place, another time. I would bet my life on it.
“Bram, please.” My throat feels tight. I fight competing urges to embrace him and push him away. “Latham wants me dead. I don’t want you to be in danger, too.”
>
“He killed your mother and then sent me here to help you mourn.” Bram’s hand drops to mine, curls around my fingers. “I think it’s already too late.”
I should yell at him. Say something so awful that he never wants to speak to me again. Find a way to hurt him so deeply that it keeps him safe.
But I feel hollowed out, empty enough that I could simply drift away, and his hand in mine is the only thing keeping me tethered. I can’t bring myself to do it.
“We were friends once,” he says. “Remember?”
“Yes,” I say softly, “I remember.”
“Then let me help. For your mother.” He tugs on the back of his neck. “For you.”
The thought of having Bram by my side, of not having to face this alone, wraps around me like a warm blanket. Maybe I can be strong enough to accept Bram’s friendship without falling in love with him? Maybe the tattoo can still fade away and keep both of us safe?
Or maybe fate has other plans.
Another week passes before I can bring myself to go home. Someone—probably at the behest of the town council—has cleaned the house from top to bottom. The blood has been scrubbed from the floor and the walls, the glass swept away. The sharp scent of wood polish is thick in the air.
I wander through the rooms like a stranger. The house feels like an empty husk. My mother was its soul, and now it’s just a collection of things sharing the same space.
I run my fingers along the fireplace mantel. I’m an orphan. I feel myself being remade by this fact, shaped into something harder. Something with fewer curves and more angles. I don’t know where to go from here.
“Hello? Is anyone home?” A woman steps over the threshold. Her silver hair is braided and rolled into a tight bun at the back of her head, and she has a yellow half-moon-shaped tattoo on the side of her neck. She sees me and her face relaxes into a smile. “The door was open,” she says, extending her hand. “You must be Saskia.”
“Yes.” I take her hand. “And you are?”
“Norah. I’m Steward of Ivory Hall.” She must see my blank expression, because she explains, “I’m in charge of all the apprentices who train in the capital.”
“Oh,” I say, “nice to meet you.”
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” she says. “Della was beloved by everyone who knew her.” By now the sentiment has lost all meaning, and only makes me feel numb.
“Did you?” I ask. “Know her, I mean?”
“Only by reputation. But many of the instructors who have taught at Ivory Hall spoke highly of her.”
“One of your instructors killed her,” I say. These days my patience is a shallow puddle that evaporates quickly.
Norah swallows. “I’m aware of that. We’re doing everything we can to find Latham. I’m confident we will. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here then?”
“Your mother never reported the results of your kenning to the Grand Council.”
My fingers twine together. The room feels too warm. “She didn’t?”
Norah shakes her head. “An oversight, I’m sure. I know her mother recently passed—”
“My gran. Latham killed her, too.”
Her expression falters. “I hadn’t heard that part,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.” She smooths invisible wrinkles on her shirt. “I heard that Della lost her husband—your father—recently too. So much tragedy. She must have had a lot on her mind. Normally we would have another Bone Charmer verify and record the results. But, unfortunately, the bones used in your kenning are missing.”
“I don’t know where they are.”
“No, of course not. I just wanted to know if you could tell me about your kenning? I know you’ve done some work tutoring, but I can’t imagine …” She clears her throat. “Was that really your match?”
I wrap my arms across my body, grateful that my long sleeves hide my mastery tattoo.
“You’re not in any trouble,” she says gently. “We just need to know for our records.”
I think of my mother’s sacrifice for me. Of the fierce expression on her face when I told her I thought Latham wanted to kill me. I won’t let him.
And she didn’t.
My mother never did anything without a reason. If she didn’t report the results of my kenning, it wasn’t by accident. Maybe she was able to see further down this path with all of Gran’s bones than I could with just one. Maybe this is what she intended all along.
An idea unfolds inside me like a map to a new land. I can’t decide if it’s brave or foolish.
I feel as if I’m standing at the edge of a sheer cliff with no idea whether the water below is deep and calm or shallow and turbulent. If I jump, will I drift to greener shores or be crushed against jagged rocks?
“Saskia?” Norah prompts. “Were you matched as a tutor?”
“No,” I say. “I was matched as a Bone Charmer.” It might be a lie, but it feels like the truth.
Her face registers only a moment of surprise, as if she half expected this answer. “Why didn’t you come to Ivory Hall to begin your apprenticeship?”
“My father had just died. And my gran before that. I wasn’t ready to leave home.”
“I understand,” she says. “Normally we wouldn’t allow an apprentice to start so late—once the binding ceremony is over, we don’t allow new arrivals. But under the circumstances …” By circumstances, she means one of their own instructors murdering my family. “I think it’s appropriate to make an exception. Would you like to come to Ivory Hall and begin your training?”
The idea rolls around inside me—gritty, uncomfortable—but gradually it takes the shape of something luminous and appealing. Like a pearl plucked from an oyster. Other than Ami, there’s nothing left for me in Midwood. But Latham worked at Ivory Hall. And even if he isn’t there anymore, he must have left clues behind. I can’t quiet the echo of his voice inside my head: You have no idea the marvelous things I have planned for Kastelia. The possibility of finding answers—of having another chance to stop him—is too tempting to resist.
Then there’s Bram. Working together from Ivory Hall would allow him to continue his apprenticeship. And if we’re going to thwart Latham’s plan, we’ll both need all the training we can get.
My toes grip the edge of the cliff. I take a breath, let go, and jump.
“Yes,” I say. “I’d like that very much.”
Norah’s mouth curves into a gentle smile. “I think you’re going to make a wonderful Bone Charmer. Just like your mother.”
I hope she’s right. I can’t think of a better fate.
Acknowledgments
Writing is often a solitary endeavor, but it takes many people to turn a draft into a book. I’m incredibly grateful to each one of them.
First to my amazing editor, Ashley Hearn: I can’t thank you enough for how well you understood this story and these characters right from the beginning. Your brilliant insights not only made this a better book but also made me a better writer. You truly are the Book Whisperer!
To my fantastic agent, Kathleen Rushall, who loved the idea for The Bone Charmer from the moment I first told her about it and enthusiastically championed it every step of the way. There really aren’t words to adequately express how much I appreciate you! From your sharp editorial insights to your savvy career advice, you never lead me astray.
I also appreciate all the other smart, supportive women at the Andrea Brown Literary Agency; and special thanks go to Jennifer March Soloway, who was kind enough to read early pages and provide invaluable feedback.
I’m so grateful to the entire team at Page Street for helping bring The Bone Charmer into the world: publisher Will Kiester; publicists Lauren Cepero and Lauren Wohl; editorial interns Trisha Tobias and Chelsea Hensley; production manager Meg Palmer; production editor Hayley Gundlach; editorial manager Marissa Giambelluca; designer Kylie Alexander; illustrator Mina Price; and the fantastic sales team at Macmillan. I’m so grateful to each on
e of you for the part you played in making this book happen and making it better than it would have been without you.
Also to Kaitlin Severini: Thank you so much for the thoughtful copyedit, and for making me look smarter than I am.
My heartfelt thanks to Katie Nelson, Kate Watson, Emily R. King, Rosalyn Eves, and Tricia Levenseller. I adore you all, and I’m so glad I have you in my life, both as fellow writers and as friends.
To the authors who join me on writing dates in a variety of cafés: Kendare Blake, Marissa Meyer, Lish McBride, and Rori Shay. Thank you for making the work feel a little less solitary. (And for helping me locate the just-right word when I’ve been staring into space for too long.)
As I was writing this book—exploring ideas on fate and grief and the love of family—I had no way of knowing that my dad would be diagnosed with esophageal cancer shortly after I finished the final page. Or that he would pass away right before I began editing. It was agony to open the file on my computer and realize that the book begins with a girl who recently lost her father, written before I had any inkling I was about to lose mine. My dad was one of the biggest supporters of my writing career, and as I edited, I felt him with me on every page. Dad, I wish I could have seen you grow old; I needed you in my life for so much longer, but I will be forever grateful you were there in the first place. Thank you for choosing a path that led to me.
To my mom, who survived the worst year of her life, while still managing to be there for the people around her: I love you with my whole heart!
To my children, Ben, Jacob, and Isabella, who are smart and funny, and some of the best people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I can’t wait to see where your paths take you!
Finally, to Justin, who helps me build worlds—both real and imagined—and then holds my hand while we live there. You are my everything.
About the Author
Breeana Shields is an author of books for young adults, including The Bone Charmer, Poison’s Kiss, and Poison’s Cage. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a BA in English. When she’s not writing, Breeana loves reading, traveling, and playing board games with her extremely competitive family. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, her three children, and two adorable, but spoiled, dogs.
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