Page 120 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“We’re making a pact of sorts here, Kaden. A promise of honesty. If I am forthcoming with our story, you have to do the same.”

Forcing the easy smile to stay on my face, I nod. “I will be as open as I am able to be.”

Gripping my hand, he shakes it once, firmly, then releases it. “We’ll start tomorrow. Tonight it’s too late, and we both need rest.” Standing, he grabs a piece of wood and throws it on the fire. “Get what sleep you can, Kaden. I’ll take first watch and wake you for the second.”

“And that one?” I ask, motioning toward Tahrik. Rannoch narrows his eyes and shakes his head in response.

“We’ll let him sleep. He’s struggling right now. I don’t think we need to give him more time alone with his thoughts at the moment.”

Staring at where Wren is curled up near the miller, I nod in agreement. “I know you said he’s trying, Rannoch. But…I think just be cautious. Sometimes our idea of what’s best for other people are in sharp contrast to what is real.”

I can tell he wants to protest, to defend the sleeping man as though my concern about him is a censure on the village as a whole, a commentary on Rannoch’s life and purpose, and feel a strange pity for him when he finally responds, sounding almost defeated.

“I hear you, Trader. And am taking your words to heart. Now. Sleep.”

But I am still awake hours later when Rannoch shakes my shoulder, calling me to the watch. And I know that, though he lays down in the dark silence of the night, sleep is not coming for him either.

FALLING APART AND COMING TOGETHER

WREN

The next morning the sun is bright, and the melancholy from the night before is washed off in the cold water of the crystalline pool. Tahrik, specifically, seems happier, as though he has shaken his homesickness through nothing but sheer willpower. He is smiling as he helps me pack up my few things, shooting little, playful looks my way.

“You’re all thumbs this morning, Wrenling!” he says teasingly, the openly cheerful cadence of his baritone oddly unfamiliar. It strikes me, for a strange, cold moment how much of our life together before this was spent in silence and secrets, shadowed whispers and hidden glances. He was possibility in a place where nothing was possible, and now we are somewhere new, surrounded by nothingbutpossibility; it’s no wonder he’s having trouble finding his footing. It’s no wonder any of us are; I smile back at his sunshine, at the peace that has settled on his shoulders like a cloak, not a weight. Holding his head despairingly, he frowns at me in joking exasperation. “Slow as tree sap. There’s no hope for you! We’ll be here ‘til acorns grow to oaks!”

This version of Tahrik is impish and light-hearted, and pulls at something deep in my heart where he has not been before.

“I’ll have you know,” I begin, with all the hauteur and grandeur Ican muster while dripping wet from a morning wash gone wrong, “that I don’t have as much experience as you doing heavy labor.”

He grins at me and my heart skips in dancing movements. Happiness is a cloth Tahrik wears well. “Thank Sun and Earth for that. We’ve few enough clothes to spare, and lose some piece every time you decide to wash them. Eh, eh, eh—” Holding up his hands to cut off my protests, he motions to the fire, indicating a small blanket and plate of breakfast. “I laid your table, M’lady. Take your soft hands to the warmth.” Shaking his head, still smiling, he lowers his voice. “Seriously, Wren. You’re still damp from the wash, and the cool of the night is lingering this morning. I can do this. Go eat. Please. And drink your fill. Who knows when we’ll be near such wealth again.”

I look at him doubtfully, and the amount of work we have left to break camp. “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping. I…I actuallylikehelping.” Surprise is clear in my voice and makes him laugh.

“You can help tonight,” he replies, motioning to the food again. “Go. Before it gets cold.”

The smell of hot bread and eggs is too much for me to resist, so I drop my side of the sleeproll before scurrying away.

“Sh’anks, Rik!” I mumble moments later through a full mouth, and he laughs at the sight of my puffed out cheeks. I chew, swallow, and look at my still surprisingly full plate. “Did you go hunting? This is more than I’ve had in a week!”

Rannoch’s curious voice breaks into our conversation. “No. We didn’t.” Stalking over to where I sit, happily eating away, he frowns down at my food. “Did you give her your rations again?” he asks Tahrik, chasing away the happiness from moments before.

A flash of darkness, quick as Storm lightning, crashes across Tahrik’s face, before the smile returns, though slightly more strained than it was previously. “I gave her some…” he begins reluctantly, and immediately I hold my plate towards him.

“I can’t take your food!” I cry, dividing what is left in half. “Here. We’ll share.”

“We already shared, Wren,” he says, sitting on his heels in front of me, cutting Rannoch from our conversation. “I drank too much watertoo quickly this morning,” he offers by way of an explanation, and I nod understandingly.

“In that case, I happily, though reluctantly, accept.”

Rannoch nudges me with his foot, trying to get my attention. “What do you mean?” he asks. Tahrik and I exchange knowing glances. It’s sometimes easy to forget that Rannoch is of the village, but notofthe village, both an insider and outsider. His family was wealthy, in land and water, and though Tahrik’s family was well-off, they did not have the private well of the Council to draw from. Rannoch’s family were growers and Councilmen, and everyone knew that the growers in our village would take a small amount off the top to help their families get through the winter Storms, before delivering the rest of the grain to the millers. So Rannoch had the double blessings of tables with extra grain, and near unlimited water from the Council’s private well. Everyone else in the village, and I meaneveryone, was rationed in careful measure, but each member of the Council could drink a family’s pour every day and still have water left over.

Tahrik’s family, as millers, worked in the grain mills, but did not grow the grain, and as such, had no extra rations they could sneak from the harvests. They had to weigh the grains before and after grinding, and had no space for mistakes, lest the Council hear. So while they earned more than many, and had some comforts others could not afford, they were the luxuries of softer beds, or larger homes, or heavier blankets. But food and water were the same for any member of the village. Any member other than the Council, the Renders, the Reapers, the Father, and the Justice that is.

As the BoneKeeper, though I rated more food and water than most, I did not have access to the private water the Council and their families had. I was fortunate enough to have extra rations, both of food and water, but even I had experienced the discomfort of drinking too much water too fast on an empty stomach — of drinking half a day’s ration in a wild, uncaring guzzle, chasing away a seemingly never-ending thirst.

Rannoch sees us rolling our eyes at each other, and bristles inannoyance. “What do you mean?” he asks again, frustrated, and uncomfortable at being left out of the joke.

“She means,” Tahrik replies, an edge to his voice and smile, “that you have never known the feeling of a stomach full to bursting from drinking water too quickly.”

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