Page 139 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

There is a murmur of agreement; it seems to be enough for Kylabet and her brother, because she immediately turns to me and tells me to mount back up on the horse beside me. I try to, truly I do, embarrassment writhing in my stomach like snakes, but the horse is less patient now with the crowd pressing around us, and skitters away from my ungainly attempts over and over.

“Oh for stars and sky,” Kylabet bursts out in exasperation after multiple failed attempts. The Riders are too well disciplined to laugh, though several clear their throats in obvious attempts to avoid doing so. “You need a different mount. This is ridiculous.”

“See to it,” Axton commands, waving his hand dismissively in her direction. “And take care ofthatin whatever way you see fit.” He points to the body on the ground in front of us, then turns and walks away. Kylabet’s face is set in an inscrutable expression watching her brother go; none of the Riders around us move though, obviously waiting for her orders. When Axton is out of eyesight, she directs her attention towards me, brow raised, lips twisted in wry amusement.

“We need a matron’s mare for you, Binder.” With Axton gone, several of the men closest to us laugh openly at her words.

“No ponies available, Flank Commander. And no mules.”

She grins back, though it is more savage than smile.

“Perhaps a child’s saddle?” Shaking her head, she rubs a hand across her eyes, and studies me again, before sighing. “Or do we just give up and put her in a wagon?”

The last sends a wave of astonished amusement through the Riders, relieving the tension that has built around us. Even those with suspicion still covering them like flesh over bone snort in response.

“Awagon,” one calls, mirth and ridicule dancing in his voice, mirrored on the smirking faces of the men around me, and they all laugh again. Evidently riding in a wagon is an unheard of insult, and the fact that she is even considering putting me in one has me bristling, though I try not to respond. I understand, or at leastthinkI understand the game she is playing to keep me safe. But like everything else here, I am unsure.

“What would you like us to do with this one, Flank Commander?” One of the men approaches respectfully, edging away from me but not obviously so, and motions down to Dagan.

Staring down at his body consideringly, she nudges it with a toe, then shrugs dismissively. “Leave it,” she replies carelessly. “We don’t honor those who don’t keep the code. He did little good in life, in death at least he can give the beasts of the land full bellies. But strip him of anything useful before we go.”

Nodding, the man and several of his companions make quick work of it, and it’s only a few moments before the crumpled form is left almost bare to the sky and the Riders leave without a second glance to their fallen companion.

“Too much time wasted now,” Kylabet says, suddenly serious, looking around at the Riders. “Mount up and move.” Around us is a flurry of activity, of instantaneous response. As the gathering dissipates, she purses her lips thoughtfully, then calls out, “Teo, you have your packhorse maybe?” I can’t see the Rider she’s addressing, but there’s an answering sound of assent, and she nods. “I’ll take it if you’re not using him, and figure out some compensation should anything go wrong. Come along, Binder. Leave your ride. Someone will take him and bring you an easier creature.” With all the grace of adancer, she swings up into her saddle, and smiles coldly down at me. “You’ll have to walk a bit until we have time to waste on you.”

She waits for me to walk to her stirruped foot, until the Riders have all disbanded, until the area around us is humming with movement and motion, then drops her voice, bending her head toward me. “Well, Binder,” she says, satisfaction barely disguised in her tone, “you’ve managed to make it through the first hour, more or less. If we can keep you alive until the end of the day, it will be a miracle. But the BloodLetter has said you’re to be taken to the Elders, so I have my marching orders, whether or not I agree with them. Still, you’re entertaining if nothing else. Just try to avoid being stabbed next time. I didn’t like Dagan much, so his blood on my blade was a welcome whetting. There are others I won’t move so quickly against, you understand?”

“I understand,” I reply tightly, and she laughs again.

“You really are a curiosity, SoulBinder. It’s almost a shame you have Demon blood. Things will be boring once you’re dead.” She is so certain, so sure, that the panic from earlier returns, and I stare up at her, waiting until she focuses on me, a single brow raised in curiosity. “What, Binder?”

“My death doesn’t release you from your vow, BloodLetter’s sister,” I say as firmly as I’m able, and her eyes widen in surprise.

“My vow?”

“To keep Rannoch and Kaden from harm. Sworn in blood, so you are not released from your word even with my passing.”

She tilts her head, staring down at me consideringly, then nods once, sharply. “Just so, Binder. But you should be more worried about your neck than theirs at the moment.”

Shrugging, I look away from her. “That is not my way. As long as you hold your promise, I am content. Death is an old friend. It doesn’t scare me.”

“Does it not?” she asks thoughtfully. “Then I suppose we shall have to find something which does.”

And I suddenly, terrifyingly realize I’ve made a disastrous misstep.

THE LONG JOURNEY

AXTON

She is infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. And nothing like she’s supposed to be, or like I expected her to be, which makes everything worse. Fingering my blade for the fifth time in an hour, I stare after her, watching the way she sits on her horse, the way she sways in her saddle. The first few days were easier, when I could mock her awkwardness silently in my head, when I could laugh at her attempts to make it through a day on the road. When I waited for her to give up.Wantedher to give up. But she remains mute and uncomplaining, and though she struggles to stay on her feet when we dismount, she makes sure to carefully take care of her horse before herself, feeding and brushing it with exhausted, trembling hands. She’s unusually gentle with it, hesitant in a way none of our people are with their horses, double and triple checking its harness and water before disappearing for the night. A Binder shouldn’t be so…so soft.

And she’s too compliant, lulling me into a false sense of security with her obedience. Since the first night, after one of my Rider’s gave her terse, annoyed instructions, she has set up her own tent, though it takes three times as long for her as for anyone else. She gets her own rations, under a Rider’s careful watch, packs her own gear, tacks up her own mount, and keeps her eyes on the ground the entire time.Even her riding has gotten better, some natural gracefulness lending her ease in the saddle, making it harder to scorn her in my head. Instead, I find myself fighting against some kind of reluctant approval of her, and it sets my teeth on edge. Even some of those who have switched out guard on her have come away less aggressive in their hatred of her, less alarmed by her presence.

She is larkspur, fragile, delicate, beautiful, and deadly. And the longer she is with us, the more she seems like a frail flower, the less like a SoulBinder. I wonder if I should just take some of my Riders’ advice and “arrange an accident” along the way so we’re not all weighted down by her presence.

“I can see your scowl from here, Axton.” Teo’s amused voice breaks into my dark thoughts; he is an absolute nuisance.

“You can’t. I’m helmeted.” And I am, bone horns fastened firmly to my head. It’s rare I wear them this long outside the boundaries of the Crimson Walls, but there are too many watching eyes, too many considering looks, so the reminder is overt, but necessary.

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