Of Bone and Ruin

by T. A. White

  “Finally,” Gabriella muttered as the Kairi moved out of her way.

  She joined Tate as the guard escorted her to the Shodon’s chair, where he surveyed the room like a king on his throne.

  Once there they waited as he looked the two of them over. Gabriella drank her drink in one long gulp. Given the disdain Tate had heard in the other woman’s voice when explaining who the Shodon was, she wouldn’t have guessed Gabriella would be nervous now.

  “So now that you’ve invited yourself to this conversation what do you plan to do?” the man asked in a deep voice.

  For a minute Tate thought he was addressing her, then realized he meant Gabriella.

  “Why would she need to do anything?” Tate asked, forestalling a response that was almost guaranteed to insult him.

  “Little dragon, I have not decided what to do with you yet. It would be wise to keep that in mind,” he told her.

  Tate refused to be intimidated. She had no plans to be antagonistic, but she wouldn’t let him scare her either. “I did not realize that you could do anything with me.”

  “I am a powerful man who has not yet determined whether you are friend or foe. It would be better for your continued well-being to make sure you land on the friend side of the coin.”

  Tate studied him, taking note of his rod straight back, his elegant clothes and smooth hands. Yes, he was a powerful man. She could see that at a glance. Did she care? Not really. It just wasn’t in her nature. She was no more capable of bending and scraping then she was of holding her breath for hours on end.

  Besides, she had a feeling he would lose all respect if she were to default to that behavior. He’d probably push back if she was overly aggressive just from a matter of principal. How to strike a balance between the two responses?

  Saviors toss it. She wasn’t a diplomat.

  “I’ve never been accused of being very bright,” Tate said. “You do what you’ve got to do, and I’ll deal with the consequences.”

  There was a long beat while Gabriella looked faintly horrified and the guard just the slightest bit amused. It was hard to tell. His face was pretty expressionless, so Tate could be misreading a case of gas for all she knew.

  A dry chuckle came from the man. “You do not disappoint.”

  Tate was so glad he was amused. Not.

  “Umi was my granddaughter.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tate stilled.

  Danger. Danger all around. Too bad she couldn’t go back in time and unsay her words about accepting consequences.

  “How did she die?” His eyes were steady on hers. Tate had the feeling he would be able to tell if she lied.

  “Kadien killed her at the Red Lady’s order,” Tate said.

  She still had nightmares about it sometimes. She felt responsible, even though Umi and Kadien had been the ones to betray her first. Umi, though an irresponsible spoiled brat determined to get her way, had not deserved to die that way.

  “Did she go with dignity?”

  “She never saw it coming. There wasn’t time to do anything but die.” Tate didn’t know if that was a comfort or not.

  To Tate, death was never dignified. It deserved to be raged against, fought against, even if you had to sacrifice that vaunted dignity. Life was meant to be clung to, survived, even when it was hard and easier to just give in and let death take you.

  After all, it’s how she survived—the thought trailed off before completion. She couldn’t remember what she had survived or how, just that she had. Sometimes she’d get half a memory—really just a thought that came out of nowhere and led to nowhere.

  She buried it until she would have time to examine it.

  The Shodon’s face was expressionless at the news.

  A door opened and a man announced, “The Duke of Spiritly and his daughter.”

  A middle-aged man with sandy colored hair and bright green eyes stepped through, his eyes surveying the crowd with the intensity of a hawk deciding which mouse might taste the juiciest.

  A woman clad in a gown the color of the sky right before daybreak—a deep indigo that made Tate think of new beginnings—stepped up beside him. Her light brown hair was in a complicated braid around the crown of her head and down her back, her almond shaped brown eyes peering curiously at the crowd.

  Roslyn.

  She hadn’t realized Roslyn’s family was quite so high reaching. What was she doing attending Daiske’s lectures if she had such an elite status? Surely she could afford private tutors if she needed them.

  Roslyn’s eyes fell on Tate and she blinked. The duke moved away, calling a greeting to Jost. Roslyn looked between Tate and her father before following her father.

  “Friend of yours?” the Shodon asked, his eyes on Tate’s face.

  “I haven’t decided,” Tate said in a distracted voice.

  “That’s probably best. Spiritly’s daughter has proven a disappointment so far. She’s been unable to forge a connection with any of their family relics. I suspect it’s a large part of why Spiritly funded this discovery. He hopes by finding unclaimed artifacts his daughter might have a chance to bond with them. She’ll be as vicious as a badger when it comes to earning her father’s approval,” the Shodon said, his attention drifting to where Spiritly pushed his daughter toward Jost. “Friendship won’t mean much to her until she has it.”

  “What are these family artifacts, and why is it important that she can’t forge a connection?” Tate asked, wanting information more than she cared about exposing a weakness.

  He studied her with a careful gaze. Tate kept her expression politely interested as if it was perfectly normal for her not to know.

  “They’re weapons mostly,” Gabriella said, not letting the Shodon answer. “Some do other things like heal but for the most part they’re great and powerful magic that our people are unable to replicate.”

  “Remnants of the time before the Saviors,” the Shodon said. “The great families, those whose origin is owed to that dark time, have kept and maintained them through the ages. Spiritly’s family owns three great relics and several minor ones according to rumor.”

  “Only one of the great relics are in use right now,” Gabriella said. “The duke is the only one in the current generation to wield a great. The rest of his family have bonded with the minor artifacts. Roslyn showed potential early on. Everyone was convinced she’d bond with one of the top three, and if not that, at least a minor. Instead she’s approaching her twenty third birthday and no bond to her name. They call her the duke’s dud.”

  Harsh. Now Tate could guess why she was in Daiske’s class. She hoped to unlock some knowledge or ability that would enable her to achieve her goal.

  “You are surprisingly well informed for one who spends her life traipsing about the wilds,” the Shodon said.

  Gabriella arched an eyebrow, her lips tilting in a cunning smile. “Most of our young are taught to know the snake in the brush. It’s the only way you’ll know whether it’s poisonous or not. And if it’s poisonous, it’s best to stamp it out early before it has time to corrupt others.”

  The Shodon gave a small incline of his head. “Your people and mine have something in common then.”

  Tate bit back her normal retort. She didn’t need to say it. They were getting along. No reason to antagonize them.

  “Something you can both relate to—knowing your potential enemies. Before you know it, your two peoples will be bosom buddies,” Tate tried instead.

  Gabriella looked like she’d bitten into a sour fruit at that statement. The Shodon’s eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit at the corners. Tate was sure. It wasn’t just her imagination.

  Tate looked back at Jost, the duke and Roslyn. She frowned at the sight of another man standing at the duke’s side. Something about him was familiar from the back. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the broad back and black hair.

  Turn around. Turn.

  His face turned just the slightest bit toward her. Ryu. It was him. She�
��d recognize that arrogant profile anywhere.

  What was he doing here?

  She sipped her drink and half-listened to Gabriella and the Shodon’s argument about the best way to confront an enemy of overwhelming strength.

  She wanted to go up to him and ask him what he was doing here. She didn’t though.

  She’d learned from her last adventure. No going off half-cocked. Some actions couldn’t be taken back. If Ryu was undercover or working some game, he wouldn’t appreciate her blowing his cover. Come to that, neither would Jost.

  Though it wouldn’t really be her fault given that they both knew she’d be here and could have told her to pretend not to recognize him if she saw him.

  Yes, if she did inadvertently break his cover, it would be his fault for not properly explaining things to her. Again.

  Before Tate could make a move, the doors to the room burst open and a man staggered through. His server uniform was askew and his hair stood on end.

  He didn’t seem to know what to do once he was inside, his eyes darting about the room. Several people turned to look at him, curious as to why he’d interrupted the gathering in such a loud matter.

  Dewdrop approached from the corner, making a calming gesture with his hands. Tate kept an eye on things as the man’s voice rose.

  “What’s going on?” Gabriella asked.

  Her guess was as good as Tate’s.

  “The servants here are not well trained,” the Shodon said. If he’d been anyone else, Tate would have attributed the accompanying sound to a sniff, but he was much too refined for that.

  Jost turned to give her a look and nodded his head at the man and Dewdrop.

  She gave both of her companions a small smile. “I’ll check it out. Please continue your conversation. I don’t think either one of you has laid out a convincing argument yet.”

  She strode away before they could respond with more than a sputter.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the servant through gritted teeth.

  She didn’t like how much attention they were attracting. They needed to take this outside. Preferably five minutes ago.

  “I need to get my lord. He needs to come quick.” The man’s voice trembled. He took a step toward where Jost entertained the duke and his daughter. Tala had just joined the discussion.

  Jost looked over and made a small gesture to take it outside. Tate nodded, catching the man’s arm. “That won’t be necessary. Let’s step outside so we don’t upset anyone else. You can tell me whatever it is that’s got you bursting in and disrupting things.”

  She started herding him back through the doors he’d abused when he’d made his entrance.

  “I don’t think— I really need to tell my lord.” He twisted in Tate’s hand as if he was going to try to do just that.

  She jerked him forward. Dewdrop grabbed his other arm, pulling him in their wake.

  “No need for that. He’s already delegated this matter to me.” She shut the doors, cutting off the sound from those inside the room. Tate released the breath she was holding, hoping Jost would be able to keep his guests settled until she could find out what was wrong.

  “Tell me why you felt the need to burst in there like the place was on fire,” Tate ordered.

  “There was a man.”

  Tate’s eyes narrowed. He had better not have caused all that fuss for something minor.

  “And?” Her voice made it clear there had better be a pretty good reason.

  His voice fell to a hushed whisper. “There was so much blood.”

  Tate’s body stilled.

  “Show me.”

  The man gave a jerky nod, setting off with Tate and Dewdrop on his heels. He led them down several hallways and up a set of stairs. His hands shook as he pulled open a pair of oversized wood paneled doors painted a soothing blue.

  “I found him in here. I thought he was just resting away from all the activity so I shook his shoulder. I didn’t expect it.”

  “Expect what?” Tate asked, following him into the room.

  The room was obviously in the servant’s wing. The paint and furnishings were nice, much nicer than Tate’s current lodgings, but nowhere near as nice as the rest of the mansion.

  “That.” The man’s voice was haunted as he pointed at an armchair next to a fireplace.

  The back of a man’s head was barely visible over the chair’s modest back. It was hard to tell what color hair he had with only the light of the fire and the candles on the side table to see by.

  Tate stepped closer. “Sir. Are you alright?”

  No answer.

  She took another step closer. Dewdrop followed, his face grim and watchful. His hand dropped to his waist where a knife was hidden.

  It made her feel slightly better to have him at her back.

  By now she was close enough to the chair to touch the man. Cautiously, she stepped around and lightly touched his shoulder. His head lolled on his neck as he slumped sideways at her touch.

  Now she knew why the servant had said there was so much blood. It was everywhere. Down the front of the man’s shirt, pooling on the floor. She suspected it had soaked into the fabric of the chair as well.

  Worst of all, Tate recognized him. It was her dinner companion, the stiletto wielding Kairi that Tate had disarmed. He’d looked considerably better earlier in the evening. Now, his skin was a pale, ashy color, and the light dusting of golden scales had faded to a light blue.

  Damn, she wished the servant had interrupted the gathering for something petty like running out of whatever appetizer they were serving. She could have yelled at him for panicking over such an insignificant matter and moved on. Instead, this body was going to cause her a lot of problems in the near future.

  Dewdrop joined her as she stared at the body.

  “That’s a lot of blood.”

  “Yup.”

  “I mean a lot,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “How does a body have that much?”

  “Maybe the Kairi are special and produce more blood than humans.”

  “You really think so?”

  “No.”

  A human male had approximately 4.7 to 5.5 liters of blood depending on weight. While Tate couldn’t accurately guess how much of it was decorating the walls and floor, she would guess the Kairi contained a similar amount in their bodies.

  It looked like someone had shoved their hand in his chest and then ripped out his heart. The killing blow had been swiped across the man’s throat, leaving four wide open gashes. Looked like the killer had managed to puncture several arteries which would account for the massive blood loss. The kind that left this much mess. Wounds like these bled like a geyser.

  The servant chose that moment to stagger away from them. The sound of retching reached her. Dewdrop flinched and looked like he might join. He looked every inch the youth that he was at that moment. His competence and stubbornness often made Tate forget just how young he really was.

  Maybe not by street standards. People tended to grow up fast when they were street rats, but she figured given his occupation he hadn’t gotten up close to death.

  Tate, by contrast, was curiously unmoved. There was no urge to hurl, no flinching from the blood. Nothing. As if she had been witness to similar scenes too many times to count. She didn’t feel particularly good, but there was definitely a detachment from the current violent murder. It was as if someone had flipped a switch on her emotions, allowing her to operate efficiently.

  “Summon Jost,” she told Dewdrop, wanting to give him an excuse to leave the room. “Don’t let anyone from the party know what we found.”

  “Like that’s going to be easy.” Dewdrop seemed to recover a little of his normal spark.

  “You’re resourceful. I’m sure you’ll find a way.” Tate waved a hand around. “Distract. Misdirect. Obfuscate.”

  “Obfuscate. Right.” He shook his head as he walked away.

  Tate was glad she’d managed to distract him
from the dead body. Sometimes she wondered if he’d have been better off if he’d never met her.

  The servant made as if to follow Dewdrop.

  “Not you.” Tate’s voice rang with authority. The servant froze. “They’re going to want to question you about this.”

  “My lady, I told you. I discovered him already dead.” The man looked everywhere but at her and the chair.

  She had a feeling if it hadn’t been the height of bad manners, he would have covered his eyes and started rocking back and forth. As it was, his gaze darted from floor to ceiling to far corner, glanced at the body and her before he gave an audible shudder.

  “Wait there until someone can question you.”

  She believed him when he said he’d simply discovered the body, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed anything. He might not even know it.

  Tate looked around the room. There was no murder weapon that she could see, though there were scuff marks on the wood floor. An end table was on its side, and books and other objects littered the floor as if they’d been knocked aside during a struggle.

  She glimpsed something out of her peripheral vision, a scrap of fabric at the window. She frowned and took a few steps forward so she could see better.

  There it was again. Just a small flutter of movement.

  Tate stepped closer, opening the window and pushing it out. She bit back a gasp as her heart leapt into her throat. A man was pinned to one of the flag poles just above the window. Blood dripped down the wall.

  She forced herself to take note of the details surrounding him. His face was slack with scandalized surprise as if he couldn’t believe the sheer gall of the pole sticking out of his chest. He was familiar. Where had she seen him? That was it. He was the human that had pressed his agenda with Jost earlier. One of the ones with the Academy. Ronald.

  The last thing she took note of was the faint markings in the stone and wood around the window. Markings that had a lot in common with the ones Night left with his claws around her window during his nightly excursions.

  She ducked inside and stood staring at the window for a minute, before turning to look at Ithor with new eyes. Those gashes she’d noted earlier. They looked an awful lot like the sort of wounds claws would make.