The Bone Shard Daughter

by Andrea Stewart

  I knelt. Mephi sat beside me.

  “Jovis of Anau, former Imperial navigator, I offer you the position of Captain of the Imperial Guard. Know that this position carries with it great responsibilities. You must swear your fealty to me, to the Empire, to all the known islands. For you are not a leader of men, but a servant of them.”

  I focused on my feet, blinked and then gathered the courage to look her in the eyes.

  Her eyes – heavy-lidded, but rimmed with lashes so thick and long – stared back down at me. There was something familiar in them, something I recognized. It was like a word I knew but couldn’t remember.

  “I swear it,” I said. The words didn’t seem to come from my mouth, but from some deeper place inside me. They resonated into the silent crowd. Even as I said the words, I knew I lied. I’d promised Ranami I’d infiltrate the palace, that I’d send them information. I couldn’t be loyal to both the Shardless Few and the Empire.

  As Lin nodded, as she placed the medallion over my neck, I realized what had been bothering me.

  Her eyes looked just like Emahla’s.

  49

  Sand

  Maila Isle, at the edge of the Empire

  Nisong sent Shell and Leaf out in the rowboat over the next several days. They scouted the reefs, trying to find the passage the boat had traveled through. The blue-sailed boat had arrived and departed over and over without crashing upon the reefs. There was a way in and out.

  Leaf sketched out the reefs onto pieces of bark with charcoal. They’d set up a camp on the beach where they’d taken the boat. Here, their minds seemed to fog less. There was something about the routine back at the village that lulled them back into a stupor. With the boat in the cove and the salty spray hitting their cheeks, they knew the truth. None of them had been here for ever.

  “The passage is narrow,” Leaf said. “But if we are careful, and we work together, we can sail safely from Maila.”

  “And go where?” Coral asked. She didn’t say it as a reprimand; she sounded genuinely curious.

  “South,” Nisong said. “South and west.” She’d seen it in one of memories – a map. A brief flash of it, but she’d noted where Maila was. If they went south-west, they’d spot another island.

  Leaf nodded, jotted something down on his piece of bark. Nisong wasn’t sure how she’d become the leader of this group, but somehow she’d slid into the role. It seemed to fit her the same way her new name did, comfortable as an old cloak. With the name came a conviction: there was a place for her outside this island. A place where she lived in a palace and her words held import. She closed her fingers around the shard in her pocket, knowing now what it was.

  She was a construct. They were all constructs – built by the Emperor’s hand. The memories she couldn’t explain, but their inability to think of or enact violence she understood. They’d been made this way, commanded by the shards within their bodies. And one had torn free of hers – the one that allowed her to tear free of the fog and to bring others with her.

  She hadn’t told them yet. She’d have to at some point, but she wasn’t sure when was the right time. And she didn’t know their limitations, or her own.

  Rain pattered against the roof of their makeshift hut. A few drops made their way through, sizzling as they hit the stones around the fire.

  “Should we take any of the others?” Frond asked.

  Nisong shook her head. “We can’t keep them out of the fog. They’ll keep falling back into it, and on a boat, that could be dangerous.”

  “But we don’t know what’s causing the fog,” Coral said. “It could be the island itself.”

  It wasn’t, but she couldn’t tell them that.

  And then the world seemed to tilt. It took Nisong a moment to realize the world wasn’t actually tilting. Something in her perception was shifting. Leaf fell. Coral put out a hand to the wall of the hut to balance herself. They were feeling it too, this shockwave emanating from the center of her being.

  As quickly as it had come, it stopped.

  “What was that?” Leaf said. He scrambled to his feet.

  Nisong still felt herself, yet something had changed within her. She wasn’t sure what, but she knew it as surely as she knew she was missing two fingers. She waved away their concerns. “I don’t know. But we should keep planning.”

  Despite the apprehension on their faces, they obeyed. “What should we do with the creature who was sailing the boat? It’s still trapped beneath the boulder and it hasn’t died,” Coral asked.

  “We kill it,” Nisong said. The words fell from her without hesitation.

  They all stared.

  She tried again. “We kill it.”

  “The fog is gone,” Frond said.

  He was right. For the first time in her memory, Nisong’s mind felt bright. She couldn’t sense any cloudiness threatening on the horizon. For a moment, they just sat there in silence, all of them lost in their own thoughts. Nisong could think of violence. She could think of it with a clarity and intensity that surprised her. She wanted to hunt down whoever had left them all here, whoever had abandoned them to live these automated lives until death. She wanted to put her hands around their throat. She wanted to squeeze until their eyes bulged and their face purpled. Until they gasped out one last breath, bloody tongue protruding. The thought sent a flush of heat through her chest.

  She swallowed.

  The one who created them either was dead or had released them from their commands. She could think about violence now. She could easily remember that she had not been on Maila for ever. She had no urge to collect mangoes.

  Coral cleared her throat. “The others—”

  “Bring as many as we can,” Nisong interrupted. “Shell, figure out how many we can take aboard if we plan for rations for thirty days and nights.”

  “Nisong.” Leaf touched her arm, his dark eyes concerned. “If we get out of here, we can always come back for the rest.”

  “We will come back for the rest, but right now we need as many as possible,” she replied. In her memory, she’d made a construct. There were others like them, built for one purpose or another, and now they’d all be without their commands pressing on their minds. They’d all be without a leader.

  “What for?” Leaf said.

  She could feel the weight of them watching her, waiting for her response. She breathed in deep.

  “We’re building an army.”

  Acknowledgements

  It’s been a long road. And like most (successfully concluded) journeys, I did not undertake this one alone. I owe a debt of gratitude to many, many people, without whom this book would not be published, including:

  James Long and Brit Hvide, my editors at Orbit and the whole Orbit publishing team. You’ve helped me put a fine polish on this book and to make this longshot dream of mine a reality. I cannot thank you enough.

  My agent, Juliet Mushens, who through her notes, has taught me oodles about character, plot and pacing. Your insightfulness, hard work and dedication are awe-inspiring and unparalleled.

  All of the Murder Cabin crew: Thomas Carpenter, Megan O’Keefe, Marina Lostetter, Tina Smith/Gower, Annie Bellet, Setsu Uzume, Anthea Sharp/Lawson and Karen Rochnik. Your feedback has been invaluable, and our yearly get-togethers are always invigorating (and a little frightening; it IS the Murder Cabin after all).

  My beta readers for this book: Greg Little, Steve Rodgers and Brett Laugtug. I pored over all your notes and really appreciated your reassurances that this book might actually be… good?

  Alvaro Zinos-Amaro, for being a listening ear and offering suggestions when I was puzzling through a couple of plot points.

  My writing groups in Sacramento: WordForge and Stonehenge. You never stopped believing in me through all the books I’ve written, and that belief helped keep me going. I could never disappoint such wonderful people.

  Kavin, Kristen, Mom and Dad, who all read various versions of this book and picked out logical inconsistencies. Your
enthusiasm has meant the world to me. Stewarts! Stewarts! Stewarts!

  John, my husband, whose endless support could buoy a lead weight in stormy seas. Celebrating the sale of this book with you will always be one of the highlights of my life.

  And Mrs. Schacht, my fifth-grade teacher, whose praise of my story about a clay falcon come to life made me think, “Maybe I can be a writer?” May every daydreaming child have a teacher as wonderful as you.

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