Dead Bones

by L. J. Hayward

  Gabe suppressed the urge to snicker. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Rafe looked up at him, terrified. “How did you know?”

  “Son,” he said, finding it very appropriate even though they were barely half a dozen years apart in age, “I know Second Estate when I see it. A noble as a private in the military is going to stick out like a two-cobre whore in a ballroom. If you want to keep your birth a secret, you’re going to have to stop being so polite, stop dusting off your seats and perhaps swear a bit more.”

  The young man lowered his head. “I suppose everyone knows, then.”

  “If that were the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be on the first airship back to your family. How long have you been pretending to be a soldier?”

  “Not long. Just since we boarded the troop carrier in Graciela.”

  “We?”

  “I have a... friend with me.”

  “How did you get on the troop carrier without alerting the officers?”

  “We bribed a depot sub-officer for the uniforms and then just mingled in with the soldiers.”

  “No recognition stamp?”

  “No, and that’s why I came to see you. I was hoping you would give me the stamp, just in case...” Rafe swallowed hard. “In case another accident happens and they realise I don’t have one.”

  “Coming to me and admitting that is either very brave or incredibly stupid,” Gabe said. “Procedure says I’m to march you into Captain Meraz’s command tent and expose your subterfuge. I’m afraid I’m going to have to go with incredibly, amazingly stupid.”

  Rafe stood, expression haughty, as if he had never been insulted before. Which he probably hadn’t. To his face, at least.

  Gabe ignored the arrogance and merely pointed to his own jaw, where the fading bruises of Tonio the Smith were still visible. “But we all do stupid things every now and then. Why did you and your friend sneak into the army rather than join the old fashioned way?”

  The affront slid off Rafe’s face, leaving him troubled. “Are you going to report me to the captain?”

  “Answer the question and we’ll see.”

  Rafe met Gabe’s gaze. “My father found me with my lover.”

  Knowing what was coming, Gabe nevertheless prompted him with, “And?”

  “And... Father wasn’t pleased.”

  “Common? Nameless? Paid?”

  Rafe snorted. “If only. No. He’s a man. My lover.”

  “Ah. I assume all sorts of threats were made by your father toward your lover.”

  Cheeks tinging a faint red, Rafe nodded. “And toward me. He wasn’t happy at all. Especially when I refused to let Dem go. He’s not just a lover. I love him and I want to be with him forever.”

  “Dem is the friend you ran away with?”

  “Yes.”

  Gabe patted Rafe on the shoulder. “I can see your dilemma.”

  It wasn’t unknown within Delaluz for people to take lovers of the same sex, but it wasn’t widely acceptable, either. A holdout from their shared history with Alarie and the Church of the One God, which strictly forebade such unnatural congress, opposition to such pairings was more cultural than spiritual now. And even that might just be wearing down, except in the exalted halls of the Second Estate where parents specifically made marriage matches for their children with an eye to the political power or wealth any resultant grandchildren might weild. Gabe himself was a child of such an arrangement, and it hadn’t worked out great for either him or his mother. He’d certainly never seen the emotion Rafe showed for Dem in his father.

  The burden of a shameful secret lifted, Rafe relaxed. “Father had an agreement with another family for marriage. A marriage that was his idea of perfect. I’ve met the girl and she’s lovely. I like her, but... I mean, she’s just...”

  “Not a man?”

  Rafe blushed harder. “I didn’t want to hurt her. If I did marry her, my secret would come out and it would hurt us both. I thought if I went away before I ruined anything for anyone, then it would be better.”

  “But why the war? Why come here when you could have sailed north to Gan? They’re much more liberal with sexual liaisons and you and Dem wouldn’t have to hide your relationship.”

  Rafe hunched his shoulders, his brigandine bulking out his otherwise narrow frame. “We thought about that, but neither of us want to leave Delaluz. She’s our home and our families... Well, Dem’s family is there and they’re not so judgemental and he wants to be able to see them. We thought if we could do a tour in the Valley, come out of the military as retired privates it would cover our true identities and we could live peacefully. When we thought of the idea, Dem was able to bribe a Sacerdio to give him a stamp. I didn’t have the chance before we escaped.”

  As far as plans went, it was dangerous but good. Leaving the military with fake names would give them substance to a made up life.

  “I came to you because I thought you’d be sympathetic to my story. After the incident in Ibarra with the handmaiden I’d hoped you’d understand how I feel. And you’re not de Ibarra, not fanatically loyal to the duke or the war. Please, Mage Castillo. Will you help me?”

  Gabe stared at Rafe in shock. “What do you know about the incident in Ibarra?” As far as he knew, the duke had done his best to suppress it, keeping the details from everyone but those few who had been directly involved. Meraz, General Baez and Ismael were the only ones in the military who knew.

  Realising he was close to losing Gabe’s support, Rafe winced. “Not a lot. I only know it involved a woman you were close to and that the duke wanted no one to know about it.”

  Gabe couldn’t tell if he was lying. He was so shaken his magic wasn’t in any shape to discern a change in Rafe’s pulse or if he was sweating.

  “I’m sorry,” Rafe said earnestly. “I know it must have been very upsetting for you but you have to understand why I thought you would see things from my perspective.”

  He’d been stupid to think the hurt had lessened. It hadn’t. The ache was still fresh and bleeding deep inside. All it took to open the wound was a story of secret love and vehement opposition to it. Gabe did understand and was sympathetic. But it was against regulations and if anyone found out Gabe had stamped Rafe with a false name, he doubted all they’d do to punish him was extend his sojourn with Tejon Company.

  Yet, if he didn’t do it, he would be betraying Evellia—again.

  Gabe let out a long, slow breath. “What’s your name?”

  Rafe stiffened. “My name?”

  “The name you want to be stamped with.”

  With a relieved smile, he said, “Rafe de Ibarra.”

  “Company?”

  “You need a company as well?”

  “Knowing your name is one thing, but the bureaucrats like to know which company needs another soldier if you turn up dead.” It came out a bit harsh but Gabe wasn’t about to apologise. Rafe had basically blackmailed his way to getting Gabe to agree. “What company is Dem with?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Gabe sighed. “You can go to Halcon Company.” He motioned to the table. “Take off your jacket and tunic and lie down.”

  Rafe hurried to comply, shivering a little as his bare back touched the cold steel of the table top. Gabe took off his glove and put his left hand on Rafe’s chest. The boy was nervous, still uncertain if Gabe would do what he wanted or if an officer would bounce out of hiding and accost him.

  “Lie still,” Gabe said. “You might feel something like a feather inside your chest, but it won’t hurt.”

  Gabe let the magic in his hand free fall into Rafe, letting it seek out any damage. He was fit and healthy, though there were signs of early wearing in his right knee. Gabe spent a moment repairing the cartilage then delved into the blood stream. A few pathogens coursed through Rafe’s veins, nothing major and nothing his body wouldn’t deal with. Still, there was something not quite right, an oddity to some of the particulars of the blood. Gabe
burrowed deeper, going into the bones, seeping through the marrow. It was here the components of blood were made and if there was something fundamentally wrong, Gabe would confirm his findings. He was right. There was a problem with Rafe’s blood.

  Pulling back from the young man’s bones, Gabe quickly branded the false name and removed his hand.

  “Is it done?” Rafe asked.

  “The branding is, but I would like to do a test before you go.”

  “A test? Did you find something wrong?”

  Gabe turned to the work bench where Dina had organised his equipment in neat rows. He picked up a small, glass syringe with a fine steel needle and a tourniquet. “It’s nothing major. Just something I want to confirm.”

  Rafe all but jumped off the table when he saw the syringe. “You’re going to jab me with that and take my blood?”

  “Just a little bit, and look at it this way, it’s either this or I slice open a vein.”

  He let Gabe tie the tourniquet around his upper arm and when his veins had risen up under the pressure, looked away. Gabe put two fingers of his left hand over the vein, sending a small spurt of magic to sterilise the skin, then lowered the needle.

  “This isn’t going to hurt me a bit,” he said soothingly and slid the sharp point into Rafe’s arm.

  Rafe hissed and his body tensed, but he didn’t move and Gabe drew out the blood quickly. When he was done, he healed the small hole.

  “That’s it?” Rafe asked.

  “That’s it. Barely hurt, huh?”

  “I suppose.” He eyed the syringe holding his blood. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Gabe removed the pewter cap from the stump of his little finger on his left hand. Seeing the open wound, the rim of pink flesh around the white bone and spongy marrow, Rafe paled. When Gabe set the tip of the needle to the exposed tissues of his finger and dispensed a drop, the young man gulped audibly. Putting aside the syringe, Gabe replaced the pewter cap.

  “It’ll take a moment to absorb your blood. Then I’ll be able to find out what’s going on.”

  Rafe dressed and by the time he was adjusting his sword belt, Gabe’s magic had finished with Rafe’s blood.

  “Is it bad?” he asked.

  “Not yet. What you have is a primary production problem. When your marrow makes the components of your blood, there’s just one thing it doesn’t make quite right. What this does is give you some faulty elements. Right now, you’re young and healthy and a few malfunctioning components means nothing. The trouble will come later in life, when your body is unable to compensate for the low functionality of those components.”

  The explanation did little to ease Rafe’s worry. “How much later in life?”

  “Mid-thirties to early forties you will probably start to feel the effects.”

  Rafe let out a relieved chuckle. “That’s so far away. I thought you meant in a couple of years.”

  “Still, it means you’ll have to start seeing a Bone Mage regularly. The fundamental issue that causes this is one we can’t heal. It’s part of your blood line, inherited from either of your parents and that we can’t change. But a good Bone Mage will be able to ease the symptoms and help you cope.”

  “Is it a common thing? Will other Bone Mages know what to do?”

  “It’s not vastly common, but it’s widespread enough to be something we all learn about. I’ve encountered it mainly amongst the Second Estate, due to all the inbreeding I believe. I had a very similar case in Ibarra before I was sent here.”

  Gabe led Rafe out of the hospital and they found Dem leaning against the wall, arms crossed. When he saw them, he straightened and his gaze flickered over Gabe before settling on Rafe. The young man smiled and nodded and Dem relaxed.

  “Good luck finding your peaceful life,” Gabe said to Rafe.

  “Thank you, Mage Castillo. I swear I’ll find a way to repay you one day for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Gabe grimaced as he walked away. “Just don’t show up on my table again. That will be thanks enough.”

  Chapter 7

  The Roque manor in Ibarra City was situated in the north-east corner, reflecting the duchy’s location within Delaluz. It was surrounded by wide gardens, filled with the plants of Roque, including one rather unhealthy, though lovingly tended, blue rose bush. The manor was constructed of white stone brought down from Mayola and followed the Roque style of flowing lines, graceful arches and open spaces. It was roofed in tiles the exact marine-blue of the sea off Roque.

  Sol was of mixed feelings about the manor. He liked it as much he could like a building and found it comfortable and welcoming, especially in a place like Ibarra City, where personal space was sacrificed for expediency. Houses built so close together they shared walls, buildings expanding upward because they couldn’t go sideways. Streets cluttered with waste and rubbish and so narrow a single overturned cart blocked traffic for hours. And the traffic! Sol couldn’t understand why so many people had to be somewhere else and be there as quickly as possible. They walked, rode, sat in two wheeled cabriolets. Minor crashes happened almost constantly, resulting in shouted insults or even fist fights.

  Escaping the constant hustle of the city to the quiet, calm, relatively expansive grounds of his manor was always a relief. At the same time, however, it reminded him of home, of the white buildings of Roque City sprawling about his palace in lazy abandon, every home with a garden of green, red and yellow, touches of blue here and there; an amazing visual cacophony of different coloured roofing tiles, glistening in the brilliant sunlight. Wide boulevards of speckled cobbles kept clean by a team of workers who rose before the sun. The ocean beyond the golden sands was an endless, peerless blue tipped in white waves, fishing boats floating here and there, the patrolling dragon-ships of the navy standing sentinel on the horizon.

  But most of all, the lack of a baby crying—though a relief in one sense—the lack of Aracelle wearily rolling out of bed to feed Sebastian, the absence of them both pleasantly interrupting his work day, was the biggest problem. Three days between holding Sebastian for the first time and then having to leave him and Sol couldn’t work out precisely how completely his life had changed in that time.

  He wished he was home, far away from the inevitable bickering and squabbling of his fellow councillors. He wished with a pang of faded grief that Selestino was still alive and required to represent Roque, though that would also mean Aracelle and Sebastian wouldn’t be his.

  “You ready to go?” Sergio asked, coming up behind him.

  Sol leaned against the library door opening onto the lily garden, with its trickling waterfall and pond of floating flowers. The soft scent of lilies drifted in, filling him with memories of home and, conversely, with memories of the times he hadn’t been able to smell the lilies his mother had planted in the palace garden.

  “In a moment,” he said, stepping out into the garden.

  Hoping Sergio remained inside, Sol went to the pond and looked down at the brightly coloured fish flitting about amongst the water weeds and lily pads. The waterfall tumbled down a manmade miniature mountain dotted with ferns and moss. Behind it was the magic-powered pump that cycled water from the pond, up a series of pipes and spilled it out to tumble back down to the pond. In the dark alcove made by rocks and pump, the ground was bare, never getting enough sunlight to let grass grow. Rich brown dirt was exposed and in this small, hidden spot, Mage Eloisa Madriguera de Mayola crouched, hands pressed to the earth.

  “Anything?” Sol asked quietly.

  “Nothing, Your Grace. Perhaps Abbess Orellana hasn’t found anything new.”

  Sol swallowed the urge to say perhaps she had and that the message had been misdirected and was now sitting in Ibarra’s message-hub, waiting to expose Sol and Roque as traitors.

  “All right,” he said instead. “We leave for the Council meeting in a few minutes. Meet us at the front doors.”

  He headed back inside. Sergio was at the desk, looking over some papers.
<
br />   “I heard this morning that Feliciana couldn’t make it from Valdes,” Sergio announced.

  “We suspected that already.” Sol patted down his jacket pockets. “Who’s taking her place?”

  “Marquis Peblo Alonso Sarabia Bergos de Valdes.”

  Sol nodded, digging in the pockets of his pants. “He’s taken her place before. Decent fellow, level head and where the damn is it?”

  “This what you’re looking for?” Sergio asked, holding up a single-shot pistol small enough to hide between his hands.

  Sol took it with a sour grimace. “Old habits,” he muttered.

  Sergio shook his head, hand resting on the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. Its hilt appeared ceremonial but the blade within the scabbard was all business. “You have me and four constables with you. This isn’t Alarie, Sol, you don’t have to rely on yourself for safety anymore.”

  “I trust you and your constables,” he assured Sergio. “But…”

  His cousin stared at him, then sighed. “I give in. One day, you are going to tell me just what happened in Alarie to turn you into this paranoid pessimist.”

  “One day,” Sol said, not meaning it.

  They left the library and in the foyer met with the constables in full dress uniform—leather armour, swords, rifles and dramatic cloaks of Sevastian green. They fell in around their duke and marquis, marching them in quick time out the front doors and down the stairs to the waiting land-yacht.

  It wasn’t Sol’s. Duke Ibarra had provided it, lavishly announcing each visiting councillor had one for personal use during their stay. Sol hadn’t yet given in to popular demand and purchased a land-yacht for himself. He still enjoyed riding, liked being in control of the horse, of feeling it as a living, breathing creature that required care he himself could give, rather than having to rely on an Engineer or Fire Mage. After Alarie it felt imperative he be in complete control.

  Mage Madriguera was already seated in the back of the contraption, in her page’s uniform. She carried several satchels and a leather bound tome with Saint Sevastian’s dragon emblazoned on the front. Her hands were free of any signs of dirt, her green jacket and black trousers pristine. She was the image of the perfectly prepared page.