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

by J. M. Stredwick

  Kriath is silent as we tramp through the forest.

  “Well well,” a woman’s voice grips me hard mid-step. It is strange, hearing a person in the quiet of the jungle. Glancing to where I deem the voice to be, I see a streaming of red gilt hair, a woman wearing a dark simple dress coming out from beyond the trees.

  “Claire?”

  Gia comes out from behind the woman. Her hair is loose at her shoulders, eyes wide with shock. I think I am mirroring her because I did not expect to see her here. I look from her to the woman a few times before shuffling forward, holding my breath as I take her hand.

  “Gia,” I say her name, breathless.

  I feel so much relief at seeing her that I don’t even truly comprehend the woman next to her. She smiles at me as if it is painful for her. I revert back to my plan. I cannot stop. I was going to do this and then find her. This is a kink in my plan, but I feel such an undoing of my emotions that I cannot care. Things have been so chaotic, people fumbling around to get their hands on her and what may come. I have hardly had a moment to process the reality that she was my sister. She is my sister. Seeing her now it is like we are in France again, about to run through the trees in the orchard. I swallow tightly.

  She inclines her head to me.

  “I thought you and the Captain were dead…or had long left the island.”

  “I would not have left without you,” I tell her firmly. “Listen, I know you will not understand this, but…” I should explain these things to her. She should know what it is that is happening here. Just exactly how corrupt and asinine this situation is.

  “What on earth?” Gia stammers, stumbling back a bit, bumping back against the red-headed woman. She has spotted Kriath’s gigantic wings, the feathering gleaming and rippling across his body.

  “Worry not,” the redheaded woman tells her briskly. “He is a Ganayun. Relatively peaceful creatures, they are.”

  “Peaceful?” Gia utters. She adjusts herself, and I recognize that face. It is the face she makes when she is faced with discomfort. It’s the same expression she’d make in an awkward social situation, or when she was caught unaware. I look to the redheaded woman. She is almost protective of her, the way an arm has reached out, fingers skimming the back of her dress into order to express her nearness.

  “It is time for us to end this,” I speak strongly. “I’ll explain my plan.”

  “We are leaving this island,” Gia remarks, strength rising in her. “There is no other option.”

  “Claire, dear, let us join. I had hoped to leave this place quickly, to find safety for her until we can discover a way to undo this disaster,” the redhead smiles at me.

  What does she want? What is her motive? Reflexively I don’t trust her. I glance back at Kriath, who is merely waiting for this to be finished. His attitude is twitchy and irate, but I can pay him no heed. I have cut away Alphonse, plotted something I think could give us a leg up, and now, she is here. The pieces are falling like diamonds from the sky, right into my open palms.

  I give her a brief nod. We begin what must be done.

  Benjamin

  The men stand around, forswearing themselves and taking on a new life. One of loyalty to me and her. We stand in rows, each of us holding our selected prisoner near. She is glowing with uninhibited blue light, practically vibrating with excitement. Her mass of jet black hair tumbles down her back, and she shuts her eyes, chin tilted to the ceiling as she breathes in the scents and sounds of the offerings. Each time, it is as if she is drunk upon the ritual itself, the knowledge that her rebirth is coming, that enjoyment and fulfillment will crack across her body and release the old, supplying her with fresh layers of skin, fresh bones; revitalize all spaces within and around her.

  The moon is now high. We have waited for the opportune moment, as the whispers of wise men and magic seekers have written that during a full moon, the effect of magic is at its peak. I am disgusted with myself as I glance at the man I have chosen. He is normal in his appearance, dust hair and light skin, wrinkled forehead and frightful eyes. The gag in his mouth does not stop him from groaning his protests. The thrill of knowing I will never die is enough to keep me platonic. I cannot think of the other things. The things that haunt me in my dreams.

  I go to stand on a rock that is a giant sort of pedestal. Looking at them all, the ones who will live and the ones whose souls will be taken from them, I wonder: why am I in this position? I should not be their leader. I should never have come back. The chill of this mountainous realization always disturbs me, causing sweat and adrenaline to course freely. But I have to. Not forever, only for now.

  “We gather here to continue our lives. To pay the price that comes with immortality. A life for the inability to die, for the alleviation of death. Do you, my men, accept these terms and the consequences of the choice you have to continuously make to achieve this result?”

  There is a thunderous roar that echoes across the cavern. It vibrates, electric with desire for life. They will always agree. They don’t think about how this has come to be, its origins. How something like this exists is unimaginable. Yet they never question. They blindly follow. Am I the same as them? Even if I know the difference, question it all, if I choose what is wrong, if I choose the same as them, does it make me any different at all? The burning hatred I have for myself and my choices ripples against my thoughts. I am no different than them. I have allowed myself to give in to the temptation. I had my reasons, but was any of it really right? I want to be an honorable man. I want to do the correct things. But correct to whom? Is there a set law between right and wrong? Or is there none, as I have been told before?

  “Bring your offerings to me,” Sidra utters, her mouth practically watering as she loosens herself, swaying, reveling, in the moment.

  One by one the lines assemble, and I hop down from my place, reaching out for my sacrificial soul. I want to tell him that I apologize in advance, that the earth demands his death. The earth, or the universe? If it were me in his position, I would not feel so settled. The one with the upper hand always thinks his position is right. The position of power, of Kings and Queens, has always been seen as obscenely divine. Inherent to the person. But is someone, say this prisoner, who is awaiting his death with fear and trembling, born to die in such a way? Is his position divinely chosen? Born to live a miserable life and to die a miserable death. My overwhelming reaction to this question is: no.

  The familiar noises, the taking of life forms, the sucking of souls saturates the air. There is sickness in my stomach. Why now do I care, more than ever? Because of her. I know that she waits in my chambers, and knowing that she still exists, that she is alive and well, haunts every choice and path I’ve taken. It was said that she was once a Succubus. Still, she has more morality than me. Once I thought I was good on that count. Now, I am nothing. Defeated and broken in my own twisted state of mind. Because part of me likes the dark. Part of me craves it as if it is something delectable to be tasted.

  I cannot hold back. Not now. Not when I am so close to the resurgence of my designs. I can battle my demons later. What has been chosen must come.

  As I watch my men, those I have chosen to allow near to Sidra, bring their offerings and take the life as she gives it, they breathe in fresh breaths. It never fails to bring immense satisfaction, the feeling of your body reworking itself and becoming invincible. As you do it, everything becomes heightened, and everything is then renewed. Your age, your mind is free of occlusions or fog, your body feels lithe and quick, you can feel fresh blood revamped and pulsing through your entirety, and your soul is raw and aches with goodness.

  I will take my turn at last, as I always do.

  But there is an interruption. At the entrance, filtering into the cave, are men who are not mine. They tramp forth through the wet pools of water and across the stone, dark eyes darting.

  “Sidra,” I call to her.

  Her face contorts to confusion, but then her lips twist. It is unmistakable, sh
e is happy at this.

  “Ah, I did not expect this,” she says to someone.

  When I look back to where the men have gathered, I realize who she is speaking to. It is Vauquelin, coming out from behind his men. The man my father worked with, who turned my father under the pedal of his shadowed wants. I recognize him from the time I had seen him in my father’s flat. He looks no older. Sidra’s face betrays nothing, but I search it regardless. What does she think, seeing this man after so long? Will she arc into madness and bury us all in the dust?

  “Where is she?” this he asks of me.

  She. He asks of Gianna. I want to slit his throat, to watch the life pour out of him. But that would do nothing for me aside from buy us more time. Maybe that is what I need.

  I release my sabre from its sheathe, and it glints in the air, upright and ready.

  “Come here,” I beckon him. “Let’s settle this as men.”

  Vauquelin snorts, chuckling darkly. My men have gathered near me, tense and glancing from me to the intruder. They will be confused.

  “We both know that battle will never end. We are both under her blessing, are we not?” he smirks, practically growling.

  I whip back to face Sidra, who lifts her hands in indifference.

  “You told me he did not come back for you,” I seethe.

  “If I were loyal to you alone, I would get nowhere.”

  She has magicked herself a prettier face with finer features. A face that looks as if it could do no wrong. Her smile is so light, so innocent, that I think perhaps she truly thinks that this is nothing. Either that or the promises that she’s made me, what she’s said about choosing me regardless, were not true. None of it could be, anyway. I have slipped under the veil of lies. Everyone here is all for themselves alone. Myself included.

  “I thought your brother would fail me. That is why I am here to collect…” Vauquelin speaks briskly. “Where is she?”

  “She?” Sidra’s interest is piqued, incredulous. “As if to say, she is here?”

  Vauquelin’s teeth show as he grimaces.

  “You’d have known it if you did not make deals with him. I arrived only a few days before. The obvious answer was that she had been taken here. So, what must be done? A man must assume all others will fail. I captured her sister and his brother once. They know.” He eyes her as if this is a grave thing to say. “Tried to play a game of cat and mouse before they finally escaped, and I took them to my Frigate. I made an attempt to sway Alphonse to our side again, and I think that he may be still, if he’s not here…and she is not here…”

  Sidra’s face has dropped its glamour, and her anguish and salient expression is like daggers of melancholy that could merge into tremendous bloodlust at any point. A hand is at her chest as if her heart is aching.

  “Claire and Alphonse made it, did they?” I snap. “If he touches her I’ll kill him too. I already murdered my father. What is Alphonse to me?” I rage.

  But before Vauquelin can respond, Sidra reacts.

  “She is…here,” her voice is breathy and unstable.

  “You!” she turns on me, raging, flying across the room to grab hold of me. “You lied to me!”

  I lay the point of my sword out to fill the space between us. She ignores this, and in her strength, wrenches it aside, fingers itching for my throat. I grit my teeth, allowing her hand to close.

  “Fucking do it,” I utter. “You can do nothing to me yet.”

  “I have made you everything that you are,” she hisses, eyes wild and wicked. “You are mine.”

  “I belong to no one,” I retort. “You knew I still loved her. Why would I tell you? Give you this missing piece? You lied that you’d not seen him in years. I lied that I hadn’t seen her. Seems obscenely fair from where I am standing.”

  Even though I am currently immortal, unable to die, the magic has been lessened after so long without sacrificing. She is strong. I can feel the pressure, the pain that could come if she gave all of her force to my windpipe. The pain would be immense as my body struggles to rebuild, the dregs of magic piecing me back together slowly.

  “Where is she?” she shrieks. “Where?”

  I say nothing. Vauquelin’s hands are on his hips as he watches our interlude, eyes narrowed. I wonder what he thinks of this. I see so much anger in her eyes, and beneath this, a film of sadness for betrayal. But she can not feel this, as she has done the same to me. There was never an accord, only the mask of one.

  Sidra blinks, fury blinding her. She presses slightly, the desire to kill so close at hand I can taste it in the air and smell it on her breath. For a second I think that she will do it. But then she releases me. What has caused her to do this?

  “You are so gentle with him,” Vauquelin remarks bitterly. “I wish you were so gentle with me.”

  She gives him a teasing smirk, and clasps her hands before her, looking me up and down, surveying my body, my face, my structure.

  “You know I cannot hurt him,” she whispers, tone as faint and somber as a phantom.

  Vauquelin comes closer to us. I raise my sabre, threatening him. Though we could not die, I would try. I would try to wipe away the magic’s ability to help him resurface. How long would that take? Would it even be possible? I would try. Tearing him apart bit by bit in any way I could.

  “You could,” I jerked my head towards her. “You have many times. But my death would please you more. Go ahead. Wait until the magic has left my body. Indulge in me as you’ve wanted to do for so long.”

  A rippling, high-pitched laughter is expelled from deep in her chest. She reaches her spindly fingers out to grab my arm as if to laugh with me at this jest. As if it were a jest. I am sure now, knowing that they’ve worked together the entire time, she has thought it better to do away with me. Why has she not? What could I possibly give her, aside from the endless amounts of sacrificial bodies? She could have anyone do this for her. It was years of gambling, hoping that I’d be here to intercept and learn of Gia’s whereabouts.

  “It is so much more than that,” she says. “I thought you understood this?”

  I do not understand this. All I can think of is what I am going to do, how to ward them off so that I can get her off this island. The fear pools in my gut. I should have left with her earlier and forgone the sacrifices. I glance around at my men. Idalgo and Reki are standing at arms, as I am. They search my eyes for answers. What do we do? They ask me. On your command. But there is nothing they can do that will fix this situation.

  “You won’t kill me?” I ask her, half-smiling. Vauquelin sighs out through his nose.

  I stab her with my sabre, pressing it in through the glowing white-blue flesh. She makes a disgruntled face but pushes herself through. It is like slicing through fruit, with no response or reaction. She smiles wickedly at me and takes my face in her hands.

  “Does this make you angry?” I hiss at her. How far can I push her?

  “I would suck the soul from you if I could, but then where would I be? You are the most precious part of me.”

  The men look on in horror, the prisoners shrieking with the gags in their mouths. I don’t understand what she’s said.

  “We should take him and go to find her. Or keep him here. It is no matter. Let us be done with this chase through time,” Vauquelin states as if it is a normal thing.

  “The most precious part of you?” I balk, extremely confused. “What does that mean?”

  She fixes me in a gaze of fire, the light of purpose dancing in her eyes.

  “I think it is time you know,” she speaks lightly. “You are the part of me that gives life. Your soul. What you once were…had you never made that connection? Why would I want you here? Why did I lure your father in and keep him? We knew that you were his son. I wanted you here, to keep you safe. You are my pure half.”

  My men shuffle, whispering amongst themselves. I grow rigid, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I could have never guessed. I would have never…now that I know my mind wo
rks together with each small thing she’s said, the endless hints, the possessive words, the way she views me as a prize of sorts. She had said that two creatures created her. The Succubus…and me? Giselle and myself. In some odd way, contorting through my mind, I feel that this is right. How could I not have known this? It comes to me easily now, the flow of realization. Of course. We are tied to one another because of this. Because our love conjoined in blood. When we created her, did we love one another even then? How did this come to be? I question it all now. I let the sabre slide from her body and throw it to the floor.

  “Your Gianna was never meant to be in the joining. It was supposed to be only you, my darling,” she says, and smooths my face with her fingers as if attempting to soothe me.

  I knock her hand away.

  “You’re telling him too much,” Vauquelin warns her softly. “He does not need to know.”

  “I want him to know. It is better this way,” she smiles, pleased with herself.

  “You can exist like this,” I say to her now, wanting, hoping, praying, that somehow Alphonse and Claire have found her. That Alphonse has not joined Vauquelin, that Claire is strong enough to make him work with her and get her on a ship, to take her away as I should have done immediately.

  “Exist in this…state?” she lays out her hands and twirls. “I am dead. I am always dying. Never feeling the best of what could be. If it were your blood alone in my veins, then I will no longer feel the pain, the endless death. If I consume her soul, that part of me will evaporate into the universe, and what is left will simply be me and you. I want that so badly. Do you not understand this?”

  “You want that for yourself and to create more of you,” I postulate. “You told me this. That you’d create a new type of person. How will you do that? Through the magic? Your blood?”

  Vauquelin makes a noise of disapproval and shakes his head. He does not want her to speak.

  “They will drink of my blood, and the magic will flow through them. This is how we will give humanity their immortality again,” she explains as if divulging a sensual secret. “This, and there will be so much more. A new age of creations. We will bring magic into the world again.”