by Gwynn White
“My princess is otherwise engaged preparing for the celebratory ball tonight. Tulle frocks tend to bring out the worst in her, and I’d rather keep my head attached to my shoulders.” Dominik didn’t even spare her or Dain a glance while he verbally bashed Taliesin. But then, the high and noble never did.
Ayda registered no surprise at the jab.
She kept her face passive and blank. From what she had seen of the princess’s dealings with her family, the king didn’t seem to care that Dominik despised his daughter. In fact, she sometimes thought he shared Dominik’s lack of regard.
“I hope to see you there tonight,” he said.
Ayda nodded once. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”
He sighed. “Well, I must disappear before my lovely betrothed sends someone to find me. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen me.”
Ayda huffed a laugh and nodded her goodbye. Dominik inched past and sauntered down the stairs. Ayda clicked her tongue at him, but continued climbing.
They were almost at the top of the tower when Caeda’s skin tingled. “You use iron up here?”
“To guard the Bone, yes,” Ayda said.
Caeda had no magic for iron to suppress, but just being close to the metal always set her teeth on edge. In deference to Ayda, who had to cope with all this iron one stair turn below her bedchamber, she only just managed not to scratch a particularly annoying itch on the back of her neck.
Ayda wasn’t so reticent. The Soul-Reaper scratched both of her arms and then dug dirty fingernails into her scalp and clawed her hair. It fell about her face, leaving her long, pointed ears jutting out like spires. For a moment, she looked almost wild. Mad, as so many claimed.
Caeda schooled her face to show no emotion, no judgment. Carrying that sword and all its souls clearly was no light thing.
“Neither of you have magic,” Ayda said, “so you may find the chamber where the Bone is kept disturbing.”
“As in creepy?” She stopped on the stair above Ayda.
Ayda smiled. “That, too, probably. But I mean magically. There’s an enormous amount of power in that room. Mind you don’t let it get to you.” She waved her hand for Caeda to continue walking.
She grinned at Dain over Ayda’s head as she hopped up the stairs.
They rounded another twist and stepped out into a small lobby. Ryo and Lane, both Royal Guards, and her and Dain’s drinking buddies, stood at attention outside a bolted iron door.
She grimaced. Both were covered in hives from the iron. It was the only known substance for containing magic.
They dropped into low bows for Lady Ayda and then saluted her and Dain. They returned the salute, but Ayda didn’t respond.
Sweat dripping off the end of her nose, Ayda muttered to herself as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. Trembling fingers fumbled, finally extracting a key. She clicked it into the lock and pushed the door open.
As Ayda had warned, a haze of magic gleamed across the doorway like light through a sheer curtain.
Still muttering, the Soul-Reaper pulled her sword out. It pulsed furiously.
She grimaced. Did it know it was about to feed the Bone? She scowled at her own stupidity. Even with magic, swords were not sentient beings. There was no way it could anticipate anything, regardless of its frantic flickering.
Ayda hefted it as high as her shoulder. With one powerful sweep, she sliced through the magic. The soft glow over the door sharpened into shards of light as they collapsed. Sword in hand, Ayda stepped into a circular room lined with cobalt-and-white pillars along windowless walls.
Pulse racing with excitement, Caeda followed, trying to keep her anticipation from bubbling through. She staggered back and bumped into Dain as a wave of power smacked her.
“I warned you.” A smile trilled in Ayda’s voice.
“But you sliced through it,” she protested.
“Those were the wards. Not the magic from the Bone.” Ayda strode deeper into the room, leaving her and Dain to follow.
Without magic, she wasn’t particularly sensitive to its wiles. Now, gasping to breathe, she rolled on the balls of her feet to center herself.
Ryo and Lane grinned at her.
It helped her bruised ego when Dain also stumbled.
She guessed their ungainly staggers would be the subject of much mirth when the four of them next shared ales together.
Only once she was sure that she wouldn’t humiliate herself by keeling over did she move out of the doorway into a low hum, echoing around the room like music.
A brilliant blue light dancing in rhythm. Like lightning, it flashed across a glass case on a stone pedestal in the middle of the room.
Within, a long femur bone lay on a black velvet cushion.
The Bone of Yatres.
Yellowed with age, it had been hacked off its previous owner—a king reputed to be the most powerful creature ever to live—a thousand years ago. All that magic hadn’t stopped him from being captured and then drawn and quartered by the first monarch of the Kingdom of Yatres.
“Ready?” Ayda asked in a voice so low, Caeda wasn’t sure if she was talking to her and Dain, or the Sword.
Dain almost fell over his feet to get to the closest wall. His powerful arms folded across his broad chest, as if that would ward off the magic. That he was nervous was strangely comforting. Dain normally feared nothing, so it decreased her own sense of inadequacy.
Ayda laid the Sword on top of the glass box. She murmured something as she unlocked an iron latch with her skeletal key.
Blue light snaked from the Bone.
She hissed as it shot straight for Ayda. It brushed through her hair before caressing the dried blood on her cheek. Another tendril wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to the box. She leaned down until she was eye-level with the Bone.
Goosebumps rose on her skin as Ayda crooned to the Bone like a mother with a child. Hungry light darted around Ayda, probing her face, her hands, the Sword. Ayda’s fingers curled around the hilt, entwining with the light throbbing off the steel. She hefted it and laid the tip in a groove carved in the Bone.
“Feast, feast, feast,” she droned.
Light latched onto the blade. It flickered between fiery red and sea blue as it coaxed the threads—individual souls—out of the metal. It snapped and crackled as the souls vanished into the Bone.
Devouring them. Devouring Laylea.
Strand by strand, the light peeled off the Sword until it looked no more remarkable than her own blade.
The sweat on Ayda’s forehead evaporated. She sighed as she tucked the Sword back into its sheath, closed the box, and locked it. Her fingers rattled the lid once. She bowed her head before the Bone. Hopefully to honor the dead and not in deference of that horrifying thing.
While Laylea’s death had hurt her the most, Laylea wasn’t the only familiar soul Ayda had just fed to the Bone. Nyhans hadn’t been the only corpses on that battlefield. At least a thousand Yatres soldiers had fallen in that battle, too.
After a moment, Ayda spoke. “Lieutenants Caeda and Dain, thank you for your service. You are relieved of your duty to me today.” She pointed at two stocky male guards, Jaz and Hamil, who had joined Ryo and Lane at the door. Caeda knew them well.
She winced. So absorbed in the Feeding of the Bone, she hadn’t even noticed their arrival. From their twitching smiles, she figured they’d seen her inattentiveness. More ribbing to be endured at the mess hall.
She deserved it.
Even a grass-green rookie would have known that losing focus—even to a creepy bone—was hardly acceptable behavior for a Royal Guard charged with protecting the life of one of Yatres’s most important luminaries. She and Dain weren’t grass-green rookies.
Ayda stepped between her and the guards. Voice low, she said, “I was never in danger. The Sword and Bone will always protect me. It is the one blessing of being the Soul-Reaper.”
Ayda had noticed, too.
Caeda b
owed her head. “Thank you, my lady. I still should not have become so engrossed.”
Ayda’s finger reached for her face, but dropped away before making contact. “As I say, my friend, beware. It is best not to let”—a vague wave of her hands—“things know of your interest. That never bodes well.”
She could not resist asking, “What things, my lady?”
A shadow crossed Ayda’s face. “I pray you never have to find out.” She turned her back dismissively.
She followed Dain to the door, but stopped to peek at the Bone one last time. The light danced inside the case, tapping on the glass as if trying to find a way out. As if reaching for her.
A living thing, no matter that the monarch who had once stood proudly upright thanks to that femur was long dead.
She shuddered, hurried from the room, and down the stairs.
But why did her skin crawl? Was the Bone still reaching out for her? And if so, what could it possibly want?
3
Caeda’s boot had just cleared the threshold of the Soul-Reaper’s tower when Dain challenged, “Race you to the showers.”
Without waiting for her to reply, he broke into a run.
Typical Dain to break the tension with some light-hearted fun. Maybe he had been disconcerted by the Bone, too, and needed some relief.
Laughing, she skidded across the icy courtyard after him. But her delight sounded forced, at least to her ears. It would take a lifetime to forget the Bone feeding on those souls. And still Laylea and the other dead seemed to reach out to her. If it wasn’t so fanciful, she could believe they called to her. Not that she could do anything to help them.
Dain reached the stone archway leading into the barracks first, but instead of vanishing down the long passageway leading to the washrooms, he stopped.
She rolled her eyes, not foolish enough to believe that he waited for her. More likely some pretty recruit had caught his eye. With his rugged good looks, Dain had already charmed his way through the beds of every other woman in the barracks.
Except hers, of course.
His brown eyes and golden shoulder-length hair didn’t set her heart alight. Dain had long since accepted that she would never become a notch on his headboard and had happily settled into being friends with her. It was why she liked him so much; he didn’t push.
She sailed around the corner and slid to a halt. As she suspected, a woman had snared him.
He grinned sheepishly. “Just setting up my plans for tonight’s celebration.” He waved at his target.
The Fae’s sultry smile was more suited to the boudoir than a fighting barrack. Her silvery hair, pulled back into a braid, was even longer than Caeda’s. As tradition dictated that female Fae only cut their hair once a year, she had to be a couple years older. Although she wore a crisp Royal Guard uniform, her casual confidence didn’t suggest that she was new in the regiment.
Intrigued, Caeda blurted, “You’re not from around here.”
The Fae waved languidly. “Spirited in today from Trikarlock.”
Her eyebrows quirked before she could stop them. Trikarlock Academy was the most prestigious school for mages in the king’s army. “You’re a magic instructor? What branch?”
The Fae swept her arm across Dain’s body. His hand shot to his blade, but not before the smooth, tanned skin on his sharply pointed face wrinkled and darkened with age spots. His broad shoulders hunched as if he were a Fae five times his age.
She laughed. “You’re an Image-Meddler! That’s amazing. If I had magic, that would be high on my list.” She patted Dain’s shoulder. “And a very apt disguise. It should ward off some of his more innocent, unsuspecting conquests.”
Dain frowned. “What—” He looked at his hands and swore viciously. “What in the Bone’s name have you done to me?”
The silver-haired Fae pointedly ignored him. She said to Caeda, “You’d choose Image-Meddling? Really? Most warriors want to toss fireballs or lightning flares.”
“Overrated,” she replied, enjoying Dain’s discomfort—it was about time a woman with a brain put him in his place. He really did think the sun shone out of his butt. And as she would never have magic, she’d long since given up dreams of throwing fireballs like the Fire-Weavers did.
“How refreshing.” The Fae’s voice registered surprise. “I’m Izanna.” She held out her hand.
“Caeda.” She clasped Izanna’s perfectly clean hand, aware of how grimy she was.
It was time to rescue Dain’s plans for the evening.
“Dain and I are headed for the showers.” Her stomach grumbled. “And then the mess hall. You care to join us for a meal?”
“First she needs to change me back,” Dain growled.
Izanna’s fingers settled on his grimy forehead. She gently trailed them down his perfect nose, stopping at his bowed mouth. The glamour—if that’s what Image-Meddling was—washed away like water. She gave him a foxy smile. “You really are pretty, aren’t you?”
“Pretty? Don’t you mean handsome?” Dain huffed. But his eyes smoldered as his fingers curled around Izanna’s wrist. His lips puckered against her white skin. Izanna preened. Clearly, Dain’s evening was falling nicely into place.
Caeda had her own reasons for wanting to spend time with Izanna. With Ayda’s refusal to talk, she needed to find another source of truth. If anyone could tell her what the Bone had done to Laylea and the other souls, it would be an instructor from Trikarlock.
She faked a laugh. “Okay, enough, or I’ll have to tell you both to find a room.” She pulled out a handful of coins. “Why don’t you grab us some ale? We’ll join you as soon as we’re decent.”
“I’ve a better idea.” Izanna latched arms with Dain. “I’ll watch him shower. Last thing I want is for him to slip away.”
Dain puffed out his already impressive chest.
Caeda snorted. “Getting rid of him tonight is more likely to be your problem.” She didn’t add that by morning, Dain would be done with Izanna. Easy come, easy go, that was Dain’s motto. It was just one more reason why she could never consider a relationship with him, no matter how much she enjoyed his company.
Izanna pressed her lips against Dain’s grimy ear. “I heard tell that you two guarded the Soul-Reaper today. That means you were at the Feeding.”
She stiffened. It wasn’t as if they weren’t allowed to talk about their service to Ayda, but it was considered bad form to quiz her guards. Even if one of those guards intended to quiz said enquirer with her usual tact—or lack thereof.
Dain’s eyes narrowed. He shoved Izanna away from him. “And if we did?”
Izanna’s sultry smile brazened. Her hand, still clutching Caeda’s coins, shot out. “I’m sure you didn’t invite me for drinks because you like the color of my eyes.” They were a warm blue. “You want something from me. And I want something from you.” She leered at Dain, “And then, tonight we can have our own celebration while the lieutenant guards the princess.”
She knew that Caeda wouldn’t be celebrating tonight?
Not that the guard roster was a secret, but what the hell? Her hand drifted to her blade. “You know a great deal about our plans.” What would her odds be against an Image-Meddler? Probably good, given that she had cut down at least three Fire-Weavers during the battle.
“Whoa!” Izanna’s palms flew up, but no magic shot out of them. “I mean no harm. For years, I’ve studied the Bone and the old magic attached to it. King Kaist invited me here to further my studies. I should have been at the Reaping, but circumstances delayed me.”
“Circumstances?” she demanded.
Izanna huffed, and her shoulders sagged. “I’m not a Spiriter. I had to wait for Lord Sundamar Dakar.”
She relaxed. Lord Sundamar was Dominik Dakar’s father.
“We were at the Feeding,” she said. “If you tell me what you know about the Bone, I’ll tell you my experience today.” She glanced at Dain, not wanting to speak for him. “What he does is up to him.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Sex works.”
Caeda snorted. “In that case, my condolences.”
Dain elbowed her hard. She tossed him a smile.
She didn’t even pretend to understand Izanna’s motives. Nothing in the world was important enough to her to make her trade her body. Her sister had chosen that path, selling herself for coin in the Woocerk gambling district, much to her parents’ dismay and her disbelief.
The lightning-blue flame flickering across the Bone intruded on her mind like an unwelcome guest. She shivered. Clearly, the Bone had persuasive powers she hadn’t ever considered. Maybe she wasn’t trading her body, but why, after so many years of total disinterest in magic, would she be seeking answers on the fate of the souls fed to the Bone? “My ballroom shift with Princess Taliesin starts at nine tonight. Meet us in the mess in half an hour, and we can talk.”
Izanna’s eyes burned with disconcerting hunger. “I will be there.”
“And so will I.” She sped to the wash room.
Regardless of Ayda’s warnings, for Laylea’s sake, she had to discover the truth, no matter the cost.
4
Three mugs of ale, three platters of stew, and a chunk of bread waited for Caeda and Dain at the table in the far corner of the mess where Izanna sat in the shadows.
Caeda gnawed the inside of her mouth.
Why didn’t Izanna want to be seen? A view supported by her strange use of a Royal Guard uniform. Instructors from the Trikarlock Academy wore black robes.
She chose to be cautious.
Dain slowed ten or so feet from the table. He tugged on her arm.
She stopped and raised her eyebrow quizzically. “You feeling it, too?”
He nodded, then whispered, “When a woman throws herself at me, I’d be an idiot to turn her down. But I admit, I’m a bit leery of this whole deal. Let’s just keep this brief. To the point.”
“And what point would that be?”
