A Lair of Bones

by Helen Scheuerer

  Roh explained the Queen’s Tournament and its new rule, sparing Odi no detail. She outlined all she knew of the previous trials, the savagery behind them and the ruthlessness of the competitors.

  ‘And I am forced to partake?’ Odi said bluntly when she was done.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In not one, but three separate trials?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Odi shook his head and ran his half-gloved fingers through his hair before jerking his chin towards the parchment. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Join the hunt …’ She read to him, wary of the music slowing as she did. ‘Dear competitor, at the seventh hour tomorrow, join the queen’s hunt. You may bring a weapon of your choice and a single pack of supplies. Each competitor’s human must be in attendance. More instructions shall be given upon arrival. Sincerely, Erdites Colter, Council of the Seven Elders.’

  ‘A hunt …?’

  Roh nodded, only half listening to him. She had no inkling of what the trial would entail, or how long it would last. Weapons … Where would she find those? And what of food? Drink? What if they were required to spend the night somewhere? She might know nothing, but she was willing to bet all the bronze keys in her hidden sock that Finn Haertel and Yrsa Ward had a wealth of knowledge that she did not.

  ‘What sort of hunt?’ Odi pressed.

  ‘Why? Are you any good at hunting?’

  Odi shook his head. ‘I’m a … craftsman. A shopkeeper of sorts. I spend most of my time indoors.’

  Roh gave a huff of frustration. ‘Of course you do,’ she muttered. ‘Follow me.’

  Her human hesitated a moment, as though he didn’t want to leave the musicians behind.

  ‘For Lamaka’s sake,’ she muttered, pulling him in the right direction, away from the chaotic notes and golden harmonies that were trapped in the cage of bones. If Odi didn’t get himself killed, she might well kill him out of irritation herself. Of all the additions to the tournaments over the centuries that she knew of, this new human element was the absolute worst. Humans … Their barely existing attention span, their tendency to freeze in tight situations, their complete and utter uselessness …

  Yes, Odi was likely to get himself, or both of them, killed.

  It was only when the crate of the pulley system opened up to the passage of the Lower Sector that Roh noticed Odi was shaking.

  ‘Well, I know you’re not cold,’ she said. ‘You’re wearing those ridiculous gloves.’

  Odi tucked his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched inwards.

  ‘Spit it out.’ The screech of the crate being drawn back up sounded.

  ‘They … they were in a cage.’

  ‘So were you. You could have been shoved back into one after what you just attempted.’

  The melody from the Great Hall had faded as they’d descended into the lower levels of Saddoriel, and Roh felt as though she were being spread out thin across two places, like part of her had been left in the Upper Sector with the Eery Brothers.

  As they started down a dark passage, Odi’s gaze scanned the wet walls.

  ‘This …’ he murmured. ‘This is what the place looked like to me at first.’

  Roh huffed a dark laugh. ‘Welcome to the Lower Sector,’ she grunted, heading for the workshop. ‘Where is it you’re from?’ she found herself asking.

  ‘Why?’ Odi retorted, considering her warily. ‘Are you going to take me back?’

  ‘No,’ Roh said.

  ‘Then it doesn’t matter, does it?’

  Roh’s eyes narrowed. ‘I suppose not.’

  There was a long pause as they walked the passage, the silence curdling. ‘What happens after?’ Odi asked finally.

  ‘After?’

  ‘After your damn tournament.’ Odi’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘What happens to us humans then?’

  Roh frowned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You mean you don’t care,’ Odi said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Roh didn’t know if she cared. She certainly felt sorry for the poor creatures who had been lured into the lair only to find themselves caught up in the biggest cyren event of the past five decades. But did she care? Had she even considered their fate beyond the next few moons? Not quite.

  When they arrived at the bone workshop, Roh was dismayed to find it full. She hadn’t thought to check the hour. Peering through the dirty window, she spotted Harlyn and Orson, bleary-eyed and sorting through yet another barrel of bones.

  ‘If all you were going to do when you got to the Upper Sector was return to us lowborns, then what was the point?’ Ames’ silken voice sounded.

  Odi jumped and made to scurry behind Roh, but she faced her mentor. He stood leaning against the doorframe to the workshop, arms folded over his chest, waiting expectantly.

  ‘I need weapons.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of it. And she had used the common tongue of the human realms instead of New Saddorien.

  ‘Weapons?’ Ames’ expression was deadpan as he too spoke in the common tongue. ‘Do you even know how to swing a sword? Lift a shield? Have you ever even seen a cyren with a weapon before?’

  Although her mentor had made no comment on her choice of language, she did not miss his eyes sliding to Odi, forever assessing, analysing.

  Roh shifted from one foot to the other. ‘The Jaktaren … and the guards —’

  ‘The prison guards?’

  Roh’s gaze went to the ground.

  ‘You’re not thinking strategically,’ Ames said more quietly, checking over his shoulder.

  ‘How can I, when I know nothing?’

  Odi was fidgeting again, his fingers performing some sort of elaborate dance at his sides. Roh threw him a pointed look and he stilled.

  Ames glanced from the human back to her, curiosity piquing on his lined face for a moment before his voice turned stern.

  ‘I did not help secure you a place in this tournament only for you to return to whine before it even begins.’

  Roh’s face burned as she felt Odi’s inquisitive gaze flick to her. It wasn’t fair that she had to take him everywhere with her. He was here to see everything, hear everything. She had never had much privacy before, but this … With a human here to witness every humiliating moment … She ignored Odi, returning her focus to Ames, her mouth opening and closing under the pressure. ‘I …’

  ‘What is the use of a weapon if you don’t know how to wield it? What do you know how to wield? What do you know about the tournament? About your fellow competitors? There are lessons and tactics to be taken from all around you. If only you would open your eyes.’ Her mentor’s questions were relentless, and as always, struck a hard chord of truth. She knew nothing of daggers and swords. A cyren’s deathsong was the only weapon she needed, but Roh didn’t know a single note of her own. Whatever her song, it was buried deep within her, yet to be discovered. She inhaled through her nose and nodded slowly. What did she know? She knew about bone cleaning. She knew the workshop like the back of her hand. She knew every corner, every tool, every design, every damn bone splinter on the ground.

  ‘Is there something else?’ Ames’ arms were folded across his chest, the creases in his forehead deepening. ‘Is there some other reason you’re down here wasting my time and taking me away from the bone cleaners in my charge?’

  Roh couldn’t help it. Her eyes went straight to the workshop window and her friends who sat beyond it. Orson and Harlyn, sitting up straighter than usual, were doing their best not to look in her direction.

  Ames threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘Twenty minutes. And that’s twenty minutes too long.’ Shaking his head, his lilac eyes bright with frustration, he returned to the workshop. Moments later, Orson and Harlyn rushed out, scooping her up into their arms in a hard embrace. She breathed in their scents. It had only been one night, but … They had been together every day and night from the moment they had met. Harlyn released her, pulling back
to examine the new clothes Roh wore, the fresh shirt and loose pants, simple but of fine make, a far cry from the grubby, coarse fabrics of the Lower Sector. Roh’s shoulder was damp as Orson pulled away, her face wet with tears.

  ‘It hasn’t been that long,’ Roh quipped despite herself, trying to break the tension.

  But her comment only made Orson cry harder. ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’

  Fascinated as always, Roh watched her friend’s tears spill as she had many times before. Orson cried often – when she was happy, when she was sad, when she was angry … Her tears were an emotional outlet that Roh envied. Roh couldn’t remember the last time she herself had shed a single tear. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t wanted to cry – many a time – but somehow, the tears never broke. However, it did not leave her without empathy.

  Roh squeezed Orson a little harder. ‘For under these starless nights, we let no tears fall,’ she whispered to her friend. It was a lullaby for cyren infants, but whenever Orson needed comforting, which she did often, it was the only thing Roh knew to do.

  Orson gave a sad smile at the familiar words and sniffed. ‘You’re in it, Roh. And you might not walk away from it.’

  Roh squeezed Orson’s hand. ‘I’m not going to let that happen,’ she said, suddenly filled with conviction at the sight of her weeping friend.

  Harlyn cleared her throat loudly. ‘Is anyone going to mention that there’s a gods-damned human standing here?’

  Harlyn was towering over Odi, a single talon poised at his throat.

  ‘Har, no!’ Roh exclaimed, rushing to Odi’s side.

  Harlyn’s brows furrowed in confusion as Roh pushed her off him. If Roh hadn’t been so invested in Odi’s safety, she would have laughed. It was a surreal sight – the three of them down in the Lower Sector of Saddoriel, with a human boy flattened in fear against the wet passage wall.

  ‘I have to keep him alive,’ Roh explained.

  ‘What?’ Harlyn spluttered.

  ‘I know. That’s the least of it.’

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Harlyn examined Odi critically. ‘Well, you’re doomed, aren’t you?’

  Odi’s amber stare implored Roh. ‘Is she going to eat me?’ he asked, backing away from Harlyn.

  At that, Roh and Harlyn did burst out laughing.

  ‘Eat you?’ Harlyn gibed, using the common tongue. ‘Why in the name of Dresmis and Thera would I do that?’

  ‘And what, exactly, would she eat? There’s barely any meat on you,’ Roh added, holding her aching stomach. Gods, it felt good to laugh.

  ‘Harlyn, Roh,’ Orson reprimanded them. ‘Don’t be cruel.’ She turned to Odi. ‘Do you have a name?’

  Odi threw Roh a dirty look before nodding. ‘Odi Arrowood.’

  Roh flicked her extended talons menacingly in his direction and shook her head at Harlyn.

  Orson, however, took a step towards the human. ‘What is it that you do in your realm, Odi?’ Her voice was gentle and her eyes warm.

  It was typical of Orson, really. She cared so much; human or not, her kindness shone through. And even though she was wary of the waning time she had left with her friends, Roh waited.

  ‘My father owns a shop,’ Odi answered cautiously, still eyeing Harlyn. ‘We fix instruments mostly. Sometimes we make them.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘With different types of tools and machines —’

  ‘As nice as it is, playing “get-to-know-the-human”, do we not have bigger matters to discuss?’ Harlyn drawled.

  Orson gave Odi an apologetic grimace. ‘Of course.’ She turned back to Roh, her bright eyes eager. ‘Tell us, how can we help? What can we do?’

  ‘What do you know how to wield? … There are lessons and tactics to be taken from all around you. If only you would open your eyes.’

  Ames was right. Roh knew things that no one from the Upper Sector would even dream of. That was her advantage. All those years of interrogating Ames about the tournaments. All those years of playing pranks as nesters. All her unofficial visits to Saddoriel’s prison …

  You may bring a weapon of your choice and a single pack of supplies.

  She was already running through a list in her head. Of essentials, basic items that would help her endure a hunt, whatever that might mean. But the trials weren’t just about enduring, they were about outsmarting the competition, about using a cyren’s cunning at whatever cost. The poison in Odi’s wine was only the beginning. A savage move by Finn Haertel, aimed at the weak link in Roh’s armour. Betrayal, sabotage, undercutting … There would be plenty of that before the tournament was done. Roh paced back and forth, her heavy boots grinding the grit beneath. She had to listen to her instincts, to her inner compass. Roh straightened as a slither of realisation dawned on her. She hadn’t returned to the Lower Sector because she belonged down here. She had returned because it was what she knew: the dark depths of Saddoriel were home to all she had learned in her seventeen years, and those lessons were her edge, her weapon against the competition.

  ‘Roh?’ Orson was reaching for her arm. ‘How can we help?’

  Roh nodded to herself, her gaze resting upon the flimsy old shoes Odi wore and recalling the thinly slippered feet of the highborns. Finally, her eyes met Orson’s. ‘There is something you can do for me …’

  Roh lowered her voice and told her friends what she needed.

  The seed of an idea had begun to form. It fed the nerves and anticipation already swirling in her gut. It would either be a monumental mistake, or the move that put her leagues ahead of her competition. Roh motioned for Odi to follow.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  Roh’s mind raced through the tasks she’d set herself and the moving pieces of the plan that was slowly forming. ‘There’s something I need you to do.’

  Odi eyed her suspiciously. ‘Oh? And what’s that?’

  The jewelled hairpin as a makeshift lock pick flashed in her mind. ‘Can you steal?’

  ‘Steal?’

  Roh gave a single nod. ‘That’s what I said. Let’s hurry – I don’t know how much time we need, or how much we have.’

  ‘No.’

  Roh’s blood turned to ice. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, no. If you’re tasking me with errands, ones that will no doubt put me in deadly peril, then I deserve to know the plan. The full plan. You have to tell me.’

  An unexpected smile tugged the corner of Roh’s mouth. Perhaps she had underestimated the human. As he was now obviously underestimating her. But whatever expression she wore had silenced him.

  ‘First,’ Roh said quietly, flicking her talons towards Odi’s throat, ‘I don’t have to do anything. You do not say what goes on here. A mere boy does not command a Saddorien cyren. Secondly’ – Roh motioned for him to walk on – ‘I can do better than tell you. I’ll show you.’

  After the briefest of hesitations, Odi shut his mouth for once, and followed her into the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  Between the bars of bone, Roh watched her mother, Cerys, slice through tendrils of her own hair with jagged, bloodstained talons. The matted midnight curls that had once hung well past her mother’s waist were now severed, fanned out around her on the algae-covered stone. Painfully thin, wearing a grime-covered shift, Cerys moved with an eerie sense of tranquillity, carefully considering each lock of hair before cleaving through it and discarding it: an ancient cyren who indeed had lost her grasp on the passage of time.

  Roh’s skin prickled, and her own talons shot out as Cerys’ gaze slowly lifted to hers. The eyes that met Roh’s were bright and intense, gleaming with a sea of words that Cerys was unable to speak aloud. Roh yearned to know what went on in that manic mind and if her mother recognised her as the daughter she’d birthed in that very spot. The daughter who had been taken from her hands while she lay bloody on the cold stone. The thought made Roh’s stomach churn. Ames had told her the story precisely three times as a nestling and then refused to repeat it.
The story of her birth had always felt like it had happened to someone else. And yet here she was. The creature in the cell before her was her mother, a part of her, and always would be. She could close the distance between them in a single step, but there was far more than a barrier of bones separating them.

  Ignoring the scraping of Odi’s shoes across the gravel as he fidgeted nearby, Roh continued to watch Cerys, unnerved by the sight of her with her hair hacked away and strewn about her, the walls scratched with new stone carvings. Illustrations of strange masks … Did they mean something? Or were they merely the carvings of someone whose mind had been addled by centuries of isolation and confinement?

  Ames’ words returned to her. ‘There are lessons and tactics to be taken from all around you. If only you would open your eyes …’ Roh had her eyes open, alright. But the cell before her offered no bolt of inspiration, no insight into the trials ahead. She glanced in Odi’s direction, acutely aware of his presence in what was usually a very private space for her. The human was marvelling at the dead water warlocks behind her, pacing down the row of them. Like a child, he didn’t have the ability to look and not touch. His hand reached for a brooch pinned to one of the warlock’s jackets.

  Roh bit back the sharp objection on her tongue. She didn’t want him here at all, but at least there was something shiny to hold his attention while she talked to Cerys. If she could find the words. Most often these conversations were only one-way. Her mouth suddenly dry, Roh licked her lips before shoving her hands in her pockets and facing the cell once more.

  ‘It’s begun,’ she said slowly, her voice sounding foreign in the echoing chambers. ‘The Queen’s Tournament, it has started. I’m a participant.’

  For a split second, Roh could have sworn she saw the corner of her mother’s mouth tug upwards. A hint of a devious smirk, as though she knew about the card game … and the fact that Roh would censor the tale for her benefit was amusing. The hairs on the back of Roh’s neck prickled, but she couldn’t stop now. She had risked her waning time before the trial to come here … For what? Knowledge? Support? She suppressed a scoff.