Page 103 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

It’s a pain everyone in the village knows, and even now, suddenly desperate with thirst, I force myself to swallow slowly.Pure water. Not brackish. Where are we?

Her hands are replaced by larger, warmer ones, rough with callouses. “We’re going to try some broth, friend. Water is all well and good, but it won’t help you recover, and we can’t stay here much longer.”

I know that voice. How do I know that voice?

Something heavy and savory is poured down my throat and fills my stomach.

“Slowly, friend. Slowly. Tahrik, correct?” The question clearly isn’t for me, and is

answered with a low murmur of sound. I’m already fading back to sleep when he pulls the bowl from my mouth, and only catch the end of his sentence. “...move tomorrow, though. Here, we must watch and not stay still too long. We’re not safe in the walls of your village anymore.”

Rannoch and Wren snort in unison at the comment, but I’m lost to the waking world before they answer.

This timeI’m roused by a velvet soft muzzle, and it’s easier to open my eyes, the needle-sharp pain having been replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. Everything around me is quiet, other than the sweet, hay-filled breathing of the pony and the low crackling sound of a well fed fire. It takes longer than it should for me to be able to focus in the dim twilight, but as soon as the color of the sky registers, I sit up in panic.We need to get inside! Where’s Wren?The pony shies away nervously atmy abrupt movement, and suddenly she’s beside me, hands grabbing my own, forcing my eyes to lock on hers.

“Tahrik!”

“Night!” It’s all I can manage, fear thick in my throat, and she makes a soft, comforting sound, almost a mother soothing a child.

“It’s alright. It’s alright! Night is different here.Everything is different here.” Something…new…is in her voice. Something I haven’t heard before — a kind of excitement or energy thrumming low, a strange, bright music dancing. It sits uneasily in my chest.

“Where…where is here?” I don’t recognize my own voice, scratchy and rough, and I wonder vaguely how long I’ve been asleep.

Behind her, a massive tree trunk of a man approaches carefully, a small, steaming bowl in his hands. “Hereis the Corpse Bridge, the wet plains and low mountains between the lands of my people and those of the Lower Kingdom.”

“I know you,” I reply stupidly, and he smiles at me, friendly face open and welcoming.

“More or less, friend. We met in your village for the Trade. Or lack-there-of,” he adds sardonically under his breath. “Kaden. I’d shake your hand, but save your energy for the soup, hmm? You’ve been balanced precariously between life and death for a few days. Anything we can do to keep you on one side and not the other is worth a weight of gold to these two.” Nodding his head toward Wren, I notice Rannoch mere steps behind her.

“Not me as much,” Rannoch mutters, earning him twin, almost amused looks from Kaden and Wren.

“Of course,” she replies seriously, but there is affection warming her words in ways that make my blood cold. Trying to shove the thought to the side, I focus on Rannoch’s frowning face.

“I think I owe you a debt of sorts, Councilor,” I say, trying to infuse my voice with as much gratitude as I’m able to. “I certainly didn’t walk here on my own feet.”

He shrugs, not responding until Wren throws a little stone or nut at him, and then sighs, moving next to me and sitting almost shoulderto shoulder by my side. “I oweyouanapologyof sorts. I made you a promise.” His voice is flat, almost bland, and I reply in kind.

“You did.”

“As it turns out, when it came to it…I didn’t have the mettle in me to keep it.” He is staring at his hands, not looking at me.

“What promise?” Wren asks curiously, and then, when we don’t reply, more darkly, “Rann?What promise?”

Rann? Rann?

“Who can say the worth of bargains made in darkness,” Kaden interjects, drawing her attention to him, distracting her.

“That sounds like a saying?”

“It is, to my people. It’s a bit different in our language, but the meaning is the same. If we translated directly to the Common Tongue it would be more…hmmm. Something like ‘a covenant unseen by sunlight is sea fog’. Or similar. There are words we have that the Common Tongue doesn’t.”

Wren is almost wistful when she replies. “I wish I spoke another language.”

“You do,” Rannoch offers beside me, smirking. “One of bone.”

“You know what I mean,” she teases back gently, and again strange teeth gnaw at my ribs. Something happened while I was asleep that I’m missing.

“Oh, Miller, I almost forgot—” Rannoch turns to me and presses a small pouch into my hand, before getting to his feet and stretching. “Keep it close, in case of need.”

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