Page 31 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“This villager needed help finding his sister. You know that is what I do. The bones pull at me if I ignore them.”

This villager.This villager.

Here is a secret that no one will ever know. Wren’s eyes went almost white on her 12th birthday. There is just the palest ring of blue, so pale that unless you are close to her, in the right light, you would never see that it exists. And no black is there at all. The Council believes she went blind so she could hear the bones better. And she never corrected them, never protested. Though she was the first BoneKeeper in history to be kept in a caged room for herprotection, she has never said a thing. But I know, and she knows. It is not even a grave secret that the bones would whisper about. It is something beyond that. A secret of ash and dust.

“Can he not find his sister on his own?” The words cool, just enough that my skin prickles in warning. There is such a thin line between life and death in our village, thinner than anywhere else, I think, and the Veil between the two are the Council’s words and wishes.

“Could you?” She is truly curious, I think, a sound I am not used to hearing in her voice. “Take me to your Old Mother,” she commands, stretching out a hand, tapping the wall beside her. Whatever she hears makes her laugh, just the smallest birdsong of sound, and I can tell he is pulled into her orbit, as we all are when she is near. “They think it’sfunny, and ask that you join me. We are on a new hunt now. Where is your Old Mother?” Her smile is a flash of lightning, and he grabs the reins of his pony, shaking his head.

“You know I cannot,” he replies ruefully. “You know the bones shift.”

“But this man should find his sister on his own?” she chides gently, only because he is smiling, only because he is in a good mood. “You know he cannot. What is my purpose if not for the bones?”

Nodding, though he thinks she cannot see him, he moves toward her hand. “I am taking your hand now,” he says, just before his fingers wrap around hers, and I am reminded that, for a Council member, he is not as bad as the rest. They all would just grip her like a sword, a weapon to be wielded. She pauses, and reaches her free hand back toward me to take mine — an awkward chain of connectedness.

“I must go. Here, here she is.” And she puts my hand back in the hole, resting it on a single fingerbone. “She’s glad you’re here. You can whisper her all your secrets and she will keep them safe for you.”

I know this is her way of saying that Car will tell her any messages I leave, so I thank her in our way, saying the words we all say, the only words we usually say, to our BoneKeeper. “Thank you, Keeper. May the bones be quiet and calm for you.”

A sad look flashes across her face before she can help it, and she whispers, almost against her will, “The bones are never quiet, Tahrik. They sing to fill every silence.”

There is a pause, a sharp intake of breath. There is too much affection in my name, too much weight, too much emotion. Eyes widening, she shakes her head as though waking from a dream, and touches the bone wall again, covering her misstep. “I…of course their song is a blessing, though. She is calling your name on repeat. It is resounding in my head. Enjoy your time with your brother, Cara.” Then, turning to the Councilman, tilts her head, feigning a look of interest. “Alright, Councilman. Lead on. If you’re up for the challenge.”

He is caught, trapped like a fish, and smiles. “Always, Ceridwen.” Then, more cautiously, “If the bones aren’t pressing you too hard.”

I hate the sound of the name on his lips, as though he has a right toit, a right to some other part of her that is not his. But he’s arrogant, and I can’t help the smirk that presses against my lips; his calling herCeridwenshows how little he knows of her, and he misses the way her face tightens at the name.

“I didn’t mean to imply…I misspoke, Councilman. Nothing more. Their song is never pressing. It is always a gift. I would…” she swallows, hesitant, before continuing, “...it would be a favor to me if we would not speak on it again.”

“You have my word. And the Miller would never, I am sure.” There is a warning in his tone, which is laughable. As though I would speak of anything that would hurt her. As though I would not cut out my own tongue to feed to the Earth before I would say a single word that would harm her. But I nod, and press my fingers to my lips, head bowed.

“There is nothing to say, Councilman. Of course.”

His eyes narrow in satisfaction, then tosses me the reins he is still holding. ““Miller. You’ll stable my mount.” It’s not a question, and he does not pause for a response before putting her hand through his arm. “Come now, Keeper,” he says to her gently, comfortingly. “Come and laugh with the bones at how I can’t even sense my own family.”

She looks down at her hand, trapped in his elbow, and sighs, before turning her face up to him. A curious look breaks through her worry like a sun through a cloud; she seems almost unsure of what to do. He covers her hand with his own, locking her in more tightly, then gently pulls her forward. They walk away together, her hand dragging along the bone wall next to her, his lips moving as he speaks to her quietly, and I press my face to the hole in the bones.

“Oh Car,” I whisper. “This cannot continue. But it cannot end.”

And I realize that I, too, am trapped.

THE ORANGE AND THE MOTHER

WREN

Rannoch’s face softens the moment we walk away from Tahrik.Tahrik, Tahrik, his name is a song, his name is a promise, his name is a dream. Tah-REEK, Tah-REEK, the sound of the sunrise, the promise of dawn.

I keep my face placid, my eyes unseeing, but Rannoch’s sharp lips turn up at the corners. The sweetness is unexpected, though he has been more gentle with me recently than I have seen him be with any other before. “Your meeting is done unexpectedly early,” I offer as an opening, trying to find my footing, and he frowns.

“It was a waste of time. It usually is.” He’s gruff, clearly frustrated. “Nothing but chickens squawking. They love hearing their own voices.”

I make an indeterminate noise — I can’t tell if he’s looking for a response, but I have none to give him in any case. My whole life I have tread only on safe paths, where I know the ground is sure and steady. These new moments with Rannoch are like trying to climb shale cliffs, slippery and uncertain.

Lorcan?I ask suddenly, and he flares into awareness.

Here, Keeper.

I’m…I want to say I’m scared, that I’m suddenly petrified by the changes that have been happening, but I don’t know how.

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