“That looks Mason-made,” Talon says. “Give it to Niklas.”
Niklas takes the contraption from Tessa and runs his palm along the surface. “My best guess is that it’s a puzzle box.”
“So how do we open it?” Bram asks.
Niklas shakes his head, his fingers still roaming over the surface. “They’re all different. Some open to a distinct series of movements on the surface, some open only in a designated location, others work with a specific fingerprint.”
“Like the lock on our room,” Tessa says.
“Yes,” Niklas says, “the magic is a little different, but the principle is the same.”
I think of the box that my mother had commissioned to hold my father’s bones. It was made by Midwood’s town Mason, beautifully crafted from the crushed fragments of a whale’s rib cage and inlaid with diagonal stripes of lapis lazuli. It had a lock that would only open—was supposed to only open—for me or my mother.
And yet Latham managed to steal my father’s remains anyway.
The memory rekindles my anger. Which, I suppose, is better than the frozen awareness of Bram next to me—the pressure of his humerus against my own, the way our patellas brush together, separated only by cloth and skin. Anger focuses my mind. Fashions it into something blade-sharp and ready for action.
“What are we going to try first?” I ask.
Niklas sets the box down and stares at it uncertainly for several long moments. “I think the series of movements is the most likely.”
“So give it a go,” Talon says.
Niklas swallows. Cracks his knuckles. And then with his finger begins to trace a pattern on the surface of the bone—a quick swipe downward, a half circle back up, and then another. We all watch him, transfixed. It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s doing, but when I do, it makes sense. His fingers are tracing letters, moving slowly, deliberately. B-O-N-E G-A-M-E-S. As he reaches the final curve, we all lean forward, our breath held against our ribs with wild hope.
But nothing happens.
Niklas’s shoulders slump. He deflates a little.
“No worries,” Talon says, slapping him on the back. “We’ll try something else.”
And we do. We pass the box around the circle, each of us examining it from every angle. Testing out our fingerprints, looking for seams that might indicate a mechanism for opening, trying out different number and letter combinations: each of our names one by one, the sum of our ages, IVORY HALL, and even—courtesy of Talon—HELP!
Jacey tips her face toward the ceiling and exhales loudly. “This seems like a silly challenge. How does a guessing game serve any purpose?”
The statement makes me sit up a little straighter. “Wait. Maybe you’re onto something.”
She lifts her head, lips pursed. “What do you mean?”
“Norah said the purpose of the bone games is for us to learn to work together.”
“That’s what we’ve been doing,” Tessa says. “For hours.”
“But we’ve been taking turns trying to solve it. Maybe we all need to touch it at the same time.”
A ripple of optimism pulses through the circle as we each lay a palm against the silky surface of the box. For a moment, everything is still.
And then, beneath our fingers, the bone begins to move.
The box opens like a flower blossoming.
The top separates into individual segments, slender pieces that alternate between moving forward and moving back. At the same time, the sides divide and fall away. The slices at the top of the box rotate downward and weave between the others. It happens slowly, and we all gape, mesmerized. When the bone finally stops moving, it resembles a basket more than a box. Resting at the bottom is a velvet pouch containing a small set of bones and a single parchment folded in thirds and tied with a slender leather cord.
Tessa is the first to thaw enough to move. She lifts the document and places it on her lap.
“What does it say?” Jacey asks, her voice full of the same reverence I feel.
Tessa doesn’t answer right away. Her eyes roam over the page, her expression changing from excitement to dismay.
“What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“Our first task is here.”
“Yes,” Talon says carefully, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “We knew it would be, right?”
“I mean that we aren’t going to another town. We’re staying here in the capital.”
Disappointment seeps into me like cold. I hadn’t realized until this moment how much I was looking forward to exploring Kastelia. And judging from their heavy sighs and downturned expressions, the others feel the same.
My thoughts go to Rasmus—the bodyguard Norah said I’d need if I left the premises—and guilt worms through my stomach. I can only think of one reason why we’d have to remain at Ivory Hall while all the other teams get to travel to other parts of Kastelia.
“It’s probably my fault,” I say softly.
Beside me, I feel Bram tense. “Why would you say that?”
I tell him what Norah said about me leaving the grounds.
“No,” he says, “if she hadn’t made provisions for you to participate fully, she just would have excused you from the games.”
“But if I weren’t in your group—”
Tessa’s hand shoots out and grabs my forearm, making the rest of the sentence die on my lips. “Look at this.” She hands me the parchment. My eyes roam over the page—it’s filled with basic information about the task. Each of our names is listed in neat block print at the top, along with the location of the challenge (Ivory Hall) and the time frame we have to complete it (one week). Nothing that makes me feel the slightest bit better. My need for a bodyguard has probably ruined the games for everyone.
But Tessa motions for me to continue, so I keep reading. When I get to the bottom of the document—the actual instructions for our first bone game—my breath catches.
I was wrong. This isn’t a task that could be completed during regular training. This task makes me wish for the safety of working in the training room with Master Kyra.
“What’s going on?” Niklas asks finally.
“Yeah,” Talon says, “tell us about our first bone game.”
Game. The word hits my ear and I cringe. The title of this challenge couldn’t be less appropriate.
“It’s not a game,” I say. “There’s an actual trial being presented to the Grand Council next week.” I swallow the lump in my throat and look up from the page. “And the six of us have been assigned as the jury.”
Chapter Eight
A trial.
The words thrum through my mind and make it impossible to sleep. For a moment tonight, I hoped—we all had—that perhaps this was simply a mock trial. A test to see if we will choose the correct sentence for the accused. Kastelia doesn’t typically need outside juries. Town councils decide small local matters and the Grand Council decides more serious cases. Juries are only called if needed to break a tie. Maybe we’d hear the evidence, tell the Grand Council our decision, and afterward, they would be the ones to actually render a final verdict. Or maybe this case happened long ago, and the defendant is either living free or has been punished; our task is simply to see how well our judgment tracks with the Grand Council’s.
But then we checked with Norah and she confirmed our worst fears: The trial is current, and we are the only jury. A stand-in for the Grand Council, who has agreed not only to assess the competence of our opinion, but to stand by it whether they agree or not.
“People tend to be at their best when there’s something at stake,” Norah said, not unkindly. “Now why don’t you all get some sleep and revisit this tomorrow? I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
I think of all the times I thought it was unfair that my mother wielded power over my future—over the future of the rest of Midwood. When she performed readings, I used to imagine her as a puppeteer maneuvering the strings of a person’s future until they danced in a way that pleased her.
&
nbsp; But I was wrong.
I was no marionette. I could reject what she chose for me, refuse to move in the direction she preferred.
But this decision … the defendant can’t simply discard our verdict. He can’t walk away or refuse to dance.
We have to get this right. We hold a man’s fate in our hands.
“This initial statement is marked ‘preliminary,’” Bram says.
We sit around a table on the fourth tier of the library—the only level that was vacant—the document resting on the table in front of us. I’m bleary with lack of sleep, and a headache pulses behind my eyelids.
Talon traces his finger along the edge of the page. “Which means what? That the facts might change?”
Bram clears his throat. “Not necessarily. But it’s definitely incomplete. When the Ivory Guard is tasked with conducting an investigation, they do just enough work to decide if a trial should be held. The real work comes later.”
“We have to do the real work,” Jacey says, her voice bleak, “even though none of us are properly trained for this.”
An uncomfortable silence follows, as the words hang in the air between us like a chill. She’s right. None of us feel prepared for this. After poring over the document, we all agree that the facts of the case—what few we were given—are muddy at best. A man was accused of using unbound magic, and though there were several witness statements, it seems no one actually saw him do it.
Niklas pulls his ring from his finger and spins it on top of the table. “He was probably a leftover.”
Jacey’s mouth twists into a knot. “That’s a terrible thing to say. Just because someone can’t afford a kenning, doesn’t make them a criminal.”
Niklas snatches the ring and slides it back onto his finger. “I didn’t mean it like that. But he must have been someone with magical tendencies who didn’t get a kenning. Otherwise, how would he be able to use unbound magic?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“That makes sense.” Talon picks up the parchment and squints at it, as if he’s expecting new words to appear to congratulate us on guessing correctly.
“I don’t think we’ll know anything for sure until we investigate more,” Bram says.
Tessa reaches into the box and scoops up the pouch of bones and offers them to me. “A bone reading seems like a logical place to start.”
I raise my eyebrows in a question. “What makes you think doing a Second Sight reading is the way to go? What could I possibly see that would help us?”
Tessa shrugs. “The bones must have been included for some reason, and none of them need to be healed or broken, so they’re useless to both me and Bram. Niklas already helped us open the box, so I doubt they’re meant for him.” Her gaze flicks to Jacey then Talon. “And we don’t seem to have need of a Mixer or Watcher at the moment either. That leaves you. We can question the prisoner, and you can do a reading to see if he’s telling the truth.”
“You want to go to the prison now?” I say. “All of us?”
Tessa tilts her head to one side. “We’re supposed to work together.”
My secrets burn inside me, and my tattoo throbs like a pulse. I think of my training session with Kyra the other day. The slick, choking panic of not knowing if I was seeing the past, present, or future. But this isn’t a menu. It’s a man’s life.
The rest of the team watches me expectantly. I have no choice. I can’t avoid doing readings in front of them forever. Although—an idea starts to form—maybe I can give myself better tools.
“I don’t have any of my supplies,” I say. “I’ll need to stop by the training wing first.”
“Let’s go then,” Jacey says, already standing and gathering the documents into a pile. The others follow her lead. Talon stretches as he stands, and Niklas nestles the bone box back into the wooden one.
I shake my head. “No need for us all to go. I’ll get my things and meet you downstairs.”
I walk away before any of them can argue. I’m outside the library when I realize that Bram has followed me, and I startle.
“I thought you might need some help,” he says.
A pang of gratitude goes through me, followed immediately by a flutter of unease. Does he suspect that I’m about to bend the rules just a bit, if not outright break them? Not telling Norah what he saw months ago is one thing, but will he keep my secrets if he sees me break the rules again?
I push the thought away. Bram already knows enough to sink me if he wanted to. “That would be nice,” I say. “Thank you.”
My heart beats faster as we reach the training wing, and I ease open the door for one of the bone charming rooms. But Master Kyra is nowhere to be seen. Relief sags out of me. I move quickly, gathering a burner and a bundle of incense, a piece of flint, a velvet cloth.
Then I turn to Bram, dipping my head toward the back of the room, where a few stone basins sit on a narrow wooden table. “Would you mind grabbing one of those?” I hope he misses the tremble in my voice, the way my eyes slide away from his.
Master Kyra and I haven’t worked on using flame in readings—it’s an advanced technique that she hasn’t introduced yet.
But I already know how to do it. My mother taught me not so long ago.
I think of the desperation in her voice when she offered to train me. Teaching you would violate my code of ethics. Yet she had done it anyway. She risked everything to protect me.
Bram doesn’t hesitate before hefting the heavy basin into his arms. I chew the inside of my cheek as I watch him. I can only hope that none of my friends are aware that I’m not supposed to be doing flame readings yet. Since I know very little about the details of their training, I doubt they know the intricacies of mine. But when I think about how much trust I’m putting in Bram, a wave of apprehension goes through me. Why would he follow me without being asked?
“Why are you helping me?” The question comes out more harshly than I intended, and a flash of irritation darts across his expression.
“Um … you’re welcome?”
I sigh. I wish I could find a way to break down the barriers separating us. To bridge the gap between what I know and what he does. At least then I could test my feelings to see if they’re real or just a relic from a life I never lived.
“You just don’t seem the type to help for no reason.”
He flinches—it’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible, but his mannerisms are so familiar that I know I’ve wounded him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “You don’t even really know me.”
And now it’s my turn to flinch.
It was like this on my other path too—a tension between us until we finally saw each other clearly. I search my memory for what finally made the difference. Maybe I can use what I know about my other path to connect with Bram here?
“Do you remember that time the prison boat docked in Midwood when we were children?” The question seems to catch him off guard and he shifts the basin from one arm to the other.
“Yes,” he says, his tone guarded. “What about it?”
I swallow. This is going to be harder than I thought. “I was unfair to you back then. The prisoner frightened me, and”—I stumble over the exact words I said in my other path—“I was scared, and I made assumptions. I’m sorry.”
He gives me an odd look. “Don’t worry about it. All is forgiven.”
A sharp stab of disappointment goes through me. “That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say? That I hate you?” He gives a dark laugh. “It was a long time ago, Saskia. People make mistakes.”
A stone drops into my stomach. I was stupid to think that the same apology that brought us together in my other reality would work in this one. But at least now I know for sure—my other path doesn’t matter. Bram and I are different people here.
I massage my temples. “Forget I said anything.”
He pulls on the back
of his neck, and lets out a long sigh. “I’m helping you because we’re on the same team. And because your mother helped me when I needed it most. I feel terrible about what happened to her.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
His eyes slide away from me, and his expression shutters. “Anything else you need?” He’s not wearing his cloak and the fabric of his sleeve strains over the muscles in his upper arm, which are flexed to support the basin.
Heat prickles my cheeks, and I quickly look away.
“No,” I say, my voice catching. “I think I have everything I need.”
The prison is adjacent to Ivory Hall, in a nondescript structure that lacks all the majesty of the main building. Both are made of bone, but the prison is fashioned from rough-hewn bricks, unlike the smooth, gleaming surface of Ivory Hall, which must have taken hundreds of Masons and many years to craft.
A female Breaker meets us at the entrance. Her black cloak has thick white stripes on the sleeves that designate her as a member of the Ivory Guard.
She frowns. “It takes six of you to question a prisoner?”
“We’re supposed to be working as a team,” Talon says.
Her expression sours even further. “You won’t have long. Use your time wisely.”
We all nod our assent, and she leads us through a small side door into a decidedly mundane room. A cluster of prison guards stands in one corner, engaged in a quiet discussion. Other members of the support staff rush around shelving boxes of bones, poring over thick stacks of parchment, assembling trays of food. Only a few of them glance up long enough to notice as we file past.
“Watch your heads,” the Breaker says as she directs us to a narrow stone stairwell.
As we descend, the air chills. Turns dank and musty. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, but slowly the space comes into focus. A passageway stretches out in front of us with a row of cells on either side. A pair of Breakers stands at each end, and another paces up and down the corridor.
“Your man is the last one on the left,” the Breaker tells us. “Make it quick.”
I push ahead of the others and hurry toward the cell at the end of the passage. A man sits in the corner, shackled to the wall. His clothes are filthy, his beard unkempt, as if he’s been incarcerated for many weeks. His feet are bare, and his head is bent at an odd angle. My stomach drops to my feet. Is he hurt? But then he lets out a deep, shuttering breath and I realize he’s sleeping.
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