The Bones of Broken Songs: A Historical Mystery Romance (Mortalsong Trilogy Book 2)

by J. M. Stredwick

  “What brought you to such a place?” Gia asks her.

  Red smiles knowingly, and glances over a coquettish shoulder to find me. I say nothing, only will her to shut her mouth.

  “I’d tell you, but,” she snickers, leaning near to Gia, “Those stories are a bit indecent. Stories that might make young girls like you blush. The essence of it? A wealthy girl ran away and began a life as a harlot.”

  Gia seems to writhe in discomfort, and works her hands together, clasping them at her front.

  “Becoming a harlot may not be so bad,” she is wry and speaks with intensity clearly pointed at me. “At least you have control over your future, in that lifestyle.”

  “Mm, yes. I no longer partake of that profession. Your lover here has made me a wealthy woman, wealthier than I could have been if I’d remained in the bawdy house.” She giggles a womanly, hearty giggle.

  Gia is parched of words and seems to struggle to expel anything, though I know she has much to say.

  “He is not…I am not…” she utters quickly.

  “Dear, I do not mind it. Benjamin is a lovely man. A woman would be a fool to not recognize it. You’re taking nothing that is not openly available.”

  “Red,” I admonish her.

  She wears a mask of innocence, and shrugs. “No woman may own a man like Brother Death.”

  “A man or woman is not something to possess,” Gia quips, turning away from us both, finding something far more interesting to look at.

  I feel contorted, strange, and oddly, pulsing with desire. I shake my head, making clear my disapproval. She cannot say anything more that would put a wedge between Gia and me. I’ve placed one there, large enough to ruin everything myself. But I’m still a man. I know what both of their bodies are like. I can imagine them both, and I hate myself, for my mind going there. Red has been one of those comforts on lonely nights for many years. When Gia understands everything, I will have to tell her. Why did I think this day would never come?

  Deciding that I will speak with her of Africa later before the ceremony, I take my leave.

  Alphonse

  “The past is dead,” Vauquelin tells me.

  We walk through a chaos of bustling deckhands. They work the ropes, patch the sails, scrub the wood. A strong wind ripples our coats, baring the starched linen of our shirts beneath. Vauquelin looks supremely French in his getup, the ruffles at his wrists and the hem of his coat looking out of place. A fluffy feather is perched in the groove of his hat, thinned and bowing in the gust.

  “I’ll not hold it against you,” he says knowingly.

  “Your Ganayun. Claire. They escaped. You are not worried about the repercussions of allowing this?” I question him. I made it look like the Ganayun did it all, of course, though I did not know if he would assume me guilty or not.

  He did nothing. But perhaps that is because he could not pin it on me. What should have been an obvious answer was made less so in my strategy of make-believe. People often do not know if what you say is truth if you approach the situation on the offense. Defensive, well, that is for foolish liars.

  I waited, watched Claire and the creature reach the shores, allowing them time enough to find cover. Claire would know how to disappear. I had faith in that. The image of her blonde head fading into the mist will haunt me for years. When I was sure they were gone, hours having passed, I broke past the men standing guard outside Vauquelin’s quarters.

  “Vauquelin! Vauquelin!” I roared. “They’ve escaped!”

  He was up and raring shortly, stumbling out of his quarters in half-dress. At first, his men tried to stop me, but then released me to take up arms.

  “How?” he seethed, his gray hair unkempt and swaying in his eyes; a madman with a cry for blood.

  The night shadowed his face. He stared at me with ferocity, a chilling rage that sent sweats to my skin. I maintained eye contact, staring with the same fierceness. I am not guilty, I tried to express.

  One of his men came back after having bolted to check, four others behind him dragging the corpses of the men that I’d killed, two on each side of the limp bodies. They dropped the dead at Vauquelin’s feet, shock twisting their faces. The one at the front held up the feathers, black feathers that glinted blue and green in the light as if this confirmed that their murderer was a bluntly-tied broken-winged Ganayun. The feathers I had taken from the creature, Kriath, without explaining much of why. Still, the beast winced and allowed it as I had cut his bonds and released his gigantic, crippled wings.

  “Your orders, Captain?” the man asked.

  “How do you know this?” he questioned me, expression hard enough to break iron.

  “She…came to say farewell.”

  He looked to be thinking deeply. Beyond the malice and narrowed beads of his eyes, a waxy indifference took over, settling over the rest of his features. The depth of the night seemed to rumble around us, the sky whistling with wind and the early morning cold seeping into our bones. I tracked his expression, one second at a time. A minute having passed, he then relaxed his frame.

  “Life works in mysterious ways. I’d bet upon our meeting again. Let them wander. They’ll be back in my hands shortly,” he grumbled.

  His men seemed jilted, but my heart leapt in relief. I stood tall, taking a breath.

  “You’ll do nothing?” I argued. “They’ll be lost to us both. You think that Mademoiselle Claire can fend for herself out there? I joined you so that she did not die!”

  “She’ll survive,” he smirked, impervious to what I’d said. “And I never promised you her life.”

  I’ve spent my whole life living lies, why should this one be any different? I didn’t fear for her survival, nor for her abilities and resourcefulness. The only thing I truly feared was her getting caught between the Bone Woman and Gia. But, if I am quick enough, that will not have to happen.

  Redirecting my thoughts to the panoramic scene before me, I remember the sea and the men darting like mice all about the deck. The wood is firm beneath my boots, and years at sea have caused me to hardly notice the mild rolls of waves. My equilibrium never notices. There are white caps on the water this morning. Salt is in the air. The tide is drawn in and smashing on the sand, and the sharp black rocks that stud the cliffs and outer edge of the island are doused in rebel crests.

  “I forgave you long ago, you know,” Vauquelin sighs. “A young man, stealing possessions that you knew were most important to me. A man of many lifetimes. But I had to remind myself that you were young and did not yet understand the grand scheme of things.”

  It’s difficult for me to find much to say, so I remain silent.

  “What are your years now, thirty and five? Do you understand now?” he rounds off to face me, expression lazily enquiring.

  There is a bronze spyglass at his waist, tucked into the belt where his cutlass dangles. It winks at me in the foggy light. I really want some ale for this conversation. I’m tired, worn ragged by our time here. I feel beaten by the water torture, being trapped in a cave, and now this. I feel like there is some unseen force pressing down on me, squeezing the life out of me slowly and surely.

  “Yes,” I agree.

  “Good, good,” he groans. “I am glad at that. Your father was an excellent follower. I have high hopes that you will do the same. To be honest with you, it is difficult to find those of the right substance who will enter into this dream of mine. Though, truth comes with a cost. Secrets that only gods and myth remember will always find a way to cover themselves back up again. I am the bearer of light, Alphonse. I bring the unspoken into the understood, force the unknown to reveal itself.”

  Though there is heat, my skin clams as I listen to his archaic droning. So many questions, so many wonders. That part of me that lurches towards knowing what he could tell me reels in my head. When he said thirty and five I could hardly believe it. When I was young I aimed to never reach this age, wanting to do as Benjamin has done by halting his aging and remaining in youth. But now,
despite my haggard state, I feel strong. His words enliven me. There is so much more, so much more.

  “I want to know these things,” I confirm. “I will do as the cabal needs.”

  “Will you?” he nods as if this is an unusual thing for someone to say. “I suppose you have no choice.”

  “If I had a choice, I would choose this,” I round, and in this moment, it is true.

  “Good,” his lips pinch, and he reaches a hand out, draping long fingers over my shoulder as if we are comrades. Friends.

  “I’ll remind you of the terms of our reuniting. Retrieve Gianna for me.”

  I stiffen at the strange swerve of his tone.

  “Bring her to me. Alive, of course. None of that “accidental killing” nonsense.” In this, he mentions my father, who was in love with the Bone Woman. Did my father want to be a part of the cabal because of her, or because of him?

  His hand lays heavy still on my shoulder, and then he leans close, his breath hitting my ear.

  “Because, if you don’t, I will kill Claire. But not only kill her, I will torture her so perfectly, so absolutely, that she’ll sing for death with that pretty mouth of hers. Then when I am done with her, satisfied with my work, if you will, I’ll throw her to Sidra. You know what happens when Sidra consumes a soul, do you not?”

  My breathing comes in shallow draws. I cannot believe what I am hearing. It takes everything within me not to react. I drown myself in stone, feeling sickness cloying, congealing in my nose and mouth. My desire is to shatter him, to break his form into a million pieces. She is my weakness. No other person would matter, but her…my muscles shake thinking of it. My mind crackles and smokes.

  I give him a silent nod, my neck near immovable. Pretend. Pretend. Always pretend.

  “I’ll leave immediately,” I spit the words out like grit.

  “See that you do.”

  Gia

  Back in his chambers. Back always, to these chambers. The smell of the room is permeated with him, a decadent smell that seems familiar and oaky. My stomach churns after the interaction I’ve had with his previous lover. I’d recognized her as the woman from the celebratory dance a few nights before, with her haunting eyes always overly curious. Her friendliness sparked me as strange and yet, real.

  The sun is lowering, coming down from its highest peak. The dimming rays filter in through his windows, tinting everything in the room gold. The curtains whisper against the sleepy breeze. I am exhausted, and seat myself on his bed, the plush folding around my form.

  “Gia?” he says and enters the room.

  He’s followed me here. His black hair is tied at his neck, and his face is so intense with question. Without breaking contact, he slips his leather coat from his shoulders and tosses it to the floor. Something has disturbed him, concerned him, one of the two. I wonder, does he know the effect that this “Mary” has on me? That she, though she should not, incites a storm of jealousy that I know should not exist? How can I admit it to myself? Even allowing the word, jealousy, to enter my consciousness is painful and unwelcome.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him. “Shouldn’t you be with your men, assembling the prisoners?”

  “I had to speak with you,” he says, hesitant to come near to me. “We were interrupted.”

  “Yes, we were,” I agree.

  “I want to take you to Africa,” he reveals, and my mouth drops.

  “Africa?” I sputter. “Why on earth would you bring me there?”

  “To keep you safe,” he expresses earnestly. “I would not bring you there if I didn’t have a reason. Listen to me. There are people here, out there,” he waves his hand about, “that would like to hurt you. They want you dead.”

  I cannot fathom what he speaks of and think that he must be mad. This entire situation is ruinous. What have I done by allowing us that obscene closeness? But something flutters in my heart…what if he is right? I am not one for fear. When I lived in Maryland there were moments where I should have been afraid- stealing jewels from rich men, slipping a necklace off a drunk woman and pocketing it- those were times for fear but still, I had none. This place of monsters and undying men spurs me to caution, but not yet fear. Not the realest kind. All I’ve seen is the shadow of the Bone Woman. To me, she is still a phantom skimming reality.

  “Then take me home,” I ignore his words. “No one will find me there.”

  “Gia,” he lets out a balking breath. “If you knew…you’d be less stubborn about this.”

  “Then, by all means, explain it. Let me return to my homelands and your pretty red-headed Lady can go to her previous post as bed-warmer.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about her,” he says, the twist of his mouth lending him a fiendish tone. “I’ll only ever want you warming my bed.”

  I send out a critical laugh, fingers pinching my forehead. “Of course, Brother Death. As she said, no woman may own you.”

  “If a woman ever did, it is you,” he smirks as if he finds himself funny. His seriousness gives way to a playful smile, and I cannot help but mirror his mirthful self-satisfaction.

  As I sit on the edge of his bed, I relax my hands and we stare at one another as if this is an untouchable moment in time. Benjamin lowers himself, crouching before me. He looks up at me, filled with an aching desire so scorching that I can feel it in my bones, the heat of this want. He kisses the inside of my wrists, his lips like silk and water. I pull my hands away from him, and he tilts his head.

  “How can I give myself to you, knowing nothing of what will come? You’ll keep me like a prisoner, telling me I have no choice, that I must go to Africa?”

  He looks at me, pain and jades in his face. He rises and shrugs.

  “I have no other choice,” he says, and turns to leave.

  “I’ll be back at a late hour,” he adds. “Then we will set out.”

  I turn away from him.

  How long has it been before I turn back to look at the empty doorway? Minutes? Hours?

  I peer out of the window that overlooks the sputtering village. He’s going to finish what he must. To tie his life to the woman of death. It seems calm, and no excessive noise billows out of it. The afternoon is strangely quiet. It is like the insects forgot to take their place, ushering in the night. There is no way for me to escape as we are far too high. There are no balconies beneath this window either. Just a drop of maybe one hundred feet. I am like a queen trapped in a tower.

  I watch Benjamin, his men, and the prisoners march through along the pathways and file through under the cover of thick leaves and jungle vines. His confident stride leading the procession. It angers and wrecks me all the same. I think, why should I care? I have known him for as long as three weeks. Still, an echo of anguish swirls in my chest as I see him go.

  I wonder, how does she do it? Does she eat them alive? How does this exchange happen? I wish that I were not here, that he would have brought me with. At least then I wouldn’t be as in the dark as I am now. Now, I am saturated in shadows. Never knowing, never understanding. His words remind me of things that I have never known, and stir up nostalgia, or rather, déjà vu. His kisses cling to me, causing my skin and lips to be sensitive even now. My body aches in places it has never ached before.

  Wondering where Claire and Alphonse have gone is something that has slithered to the back of my mind. They must have escaped. There is no sign of them anywhere that Benjamin has told me. Perhaps they’ll return for me, come to save me from this damned place. Then what will my life be? Will I be an old woman in a home of my own, remembering him fondly as my first lover, or hating him for what he’s done to me?

  I go to the mirror and undo my hair, releasing the many pins that keep it in elaborate style. I glance down for a moment, letting the pins drop on the lacquer. When I look up, I jolt.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he says.

  It is the Captain Alphonse. Benjamin’s brother. I whip around to face him.

  “Where’s Claire?” I ask him. “Is
she with you?”

  He shakes his head, placing a finger at his lips. He is unkempt, unshaven. His clothing is tattered and stained by earth. This can only mean one thing- that they had never left. That they’d remained on the island and now, when the majority of Benjamin’s loyal men are gone, they’ve chosen to come back for me. Though, Benjamin would not have left me alone here. He would have left his recruits, those who are proving their loyalty and dedication to him before he brings them into the inner circle of those who offer human sacrifices. Did Alphonse bypass these men without being seen?

  “She’s waiting for you on the ship,” he tells me, voice low.

  “Ship?” I repeat.

  This is my only chance. I know this. If I do not escape with Alphonse, Benjamin will take me to Africa and shut me up in a place he deems safe. My head and my heart are in a continuum of war. But I have to be smart. I was always smart. Attraction for a man should be nothing in the scheme of things. Only a foolish girl would stay and try to make it work with a man whose plans are so different from her own.

  “We don’t have much time,” he is urgent. “You must come with me. Now.”

  “What happened to you? Where did you both hide?” I ask.

  His lips thin and eyes darken, grimness settling in the lines of his face.

  “I can tell you everything, later. When we are safe,” he says. His earnestness is ripe in his stance, and he waves me over to the door.

  “We will have to be silent if we want to escape with our necks unsevered.”

  The men here would not attack me. I wonder if he knows this. I wonder, why did they hate him so much? Aside from everything else. What lies beyond the grudges and vows of vengeance?

  “I will go with you,” I agree.

  I’ve no other option.

  There is a knock at my door. A gentle, trill of knuckles rapping. Alphonse freezes, lit with horror. His face has paled. He hides against the wall, and I nod. His maneuvering is silent, and I go to the door swiftly.