Page 19 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“No, I…it wasn’t…Ceridwen…” I risk her name, but her eyes are locked on the curve of wall behind me, wide and unseeing, and the few seconds of Hattie’s laughter has faded.

“That is not a name I enjoy, Councilor, and that I did not give you leave to use.” Her voice is storm cold. “The night is rising–”

“What history do I need to learn?” I ask, talking over her. I don’t like the change in her, and it makes me short. “I know the history of our village.”

“You knowahistory of our village,” she replies sharply, then steadies her tone, and looks around. “It’s too close to full dark, Councilman. It’s time for me to get home.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“I don’t think it necessary,” she hedges, but I shake my head.

“It wasn’t a request, BoneKeeper.” I say firmly, and she sighs.

“It never is.” There is a hint of sadness in the steel that is undeniable.

I want to argue, to tell her it is to keep her safe from whatever hands bruised her, from the creeping terrors of the night, from whatever would harm her. I want to take her hand in mine and lead her down the dirt path to her home, to follow her in and sit by her fire, and feel some measure of peace beside her. But I am not made for peace, or soft words, or gentle things. And all I would bring to her world would be more darkness, more trouble, more sorrow. So it is best I leave her with her anger, and not take it from her, when she so clearly needs it to survive. But as we walk in silence, only the sound of the wind and the encroaching night breaking the silence of the village, I sing her a song in my heart, making empty promises I would give anything to keep.

IN THE AFTERMATH

WREN

By the time I’m back in my little home, my anger has faded and I’m left mostly with confusion at Councilman Rannoch’s attention. I can’t deny a small amount of amusement pushes through, unwisely tilting up the edges of my lips into an almost smile when I think about his face when Hattie spoke to him. But the confusion rushes back when I remember her sudden shift, and her odd request to come back and speak with her alone. Bones don’t often make requests for themselves — not like that anyway. They will say they miss their families, or whisper of desires from lost lives, but to ask such a direct thing? The only ones who ever do so are imprinted on my skin.

Speaking of which, I frown, a shadow of a thought suddenly becoming tangible. Reaching up, I gently run my fingers through my hair, rousing the Hunter’s bones, and then reach around my neck and pull Lorcan forward, over my shoulders.

“You two are awfully quiet tonight. I thought you’d have more to say about me fraternizing with a Councilmember.” I’m teasing, but also, even though Lorcan and the Hunter tend to be quiet, for them not to say anything at all is unusual.

The silence is alarming, and I call to them both a little more strongly. Lorcan rouses first.

Little Keeper?

He’s on alert, but sluggishly so, sounding more like the skeletons in the walls of our city than my Protector, and my brows knit together in concern.

“Are you alright, Protector?” I ask cautiously, but don’t get an immediate answer. The Hunter speaks next, seemingly confused, but then focuses in.

Ah. It’s past the first of the month, BoneKeeper. We did not think to…You have been preoccupied.

His voice, even in bone, even faded, is apologetic, and I want to slap myself.Of course! How did I forget such a thing!They haven’t had to remind me in years at this point. I am not myself lately, feeling pins and needles along my skin. I’m too much in the waking world and getting distracted from my purpose, wasting time on long lost dreams of friendship and fireplaces.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I whisper frantically, checking the lock on my door before shedding my bone armor, my heavy dress and cloak, and my undershift. Fumbling in the dark room, I light a single candle, just enough to see by, and grab the Guiding Knife from my kit — no other knife will do for some reason, and I have tried many.Many. I don’t like the feel of the jagged, sharpened bone against my skin, and the way the first line of blood is absorbed almost greedily by the Silent blade. It makes me uneasy every time, and even now, after so many years, I have to quell the shiver that runs through me.

Lorcan, as always, notices, despite my best efforts. When he speaks, his voice is stronger, more purposeful.

We are fine, BoneKeeper. Wait a few more days. We’re fine.

There is a pregnant pause before the Hunter, regret clear, contradicts him.

We are not, Keeper. I’m sorry. To have left you alone with a Councilmember…Iamsorry, but we are fading.

“Of course. Ofcourse,” I whisper back. The darkness of my room isnot a place for human voices; it is for bone only — even my words feel out of place in the thick air. The bones can hear me if I address them directly, even if I don’t speak, but it is more draining. “A moment, Hunter. Lorcan. Jeweler? Are you there?”

Lorcon sighs, a funny sort of sound that usually makes me smile. Bones do not often get frustrated, but it is Lorcan’s main emotion toward me.You know he won’t take your offer, Little Keeperhe says, and I shrug.

“Youknow I won’t stop offering,” I reply snarkily, voice shaking only slightly as I lower the knife toward my parchment pale skin.I hate this part, I hate this part,I think on repeat, but out loud only say, “Next time please remind me before it gets this far. I can’t believe I–”

Enough.Lorcan is firm, and I stop speaking.

My Guiding Knife shimmers in the candlelight, catching the pale glow on its paler surface. I have to move the candle closer to make sure I’m not cutting over well-used territory, and as soon as it’s within a warmth’s distance from my skin, it dances along row after row of hair-thin lines running from my knee to hip. The scars vary in age, but each is a pale, straight echo of the one before it, shimmering white, precise, and etched in excruciating detail. Smaller cuts run in delicate designs between each longer line, connecting them, little raised lace patterns on my skin. Once I realized how often I would have to do this, between my sacrifices to keep the children from the Offerings, and the monthly ritual with my personal bones, I decided to make the necessary pain into pointless prettiness. Of a sort.

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