Page 50 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“Any ideas as to whom?”

“She doesn’t know. The bones won’t say.”

Inhaling deeply, he glances her way before letting out a long, slow breath. “Alright. Inside. We’re attracting a crowd.”

And we are — a surreptitious group watching through subtle glances. The longer we remain outside the small cottage, the more people gather. The door creaks loudly as I open it, a loud, shrieking sort of sound that grates on my ears. “Someone should fix that…” I mutter over my shoulder to him quietly; she hears me and shakes her head.

“No. I like to know when my door is being opened.”

It is taking a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light of her cottage, but even so I can see Silas stiffen at her words, head tilting consideringly. He doesn’t address it though, just freezes, still in the doorway, as he takes in the room before him.

It has been ransacked. Blankets and pillows are torn apart, fabric ripped as though by the claws of some wild animal, and a long straight slice runs down the center of her mattress, the soft wool and hay inside pulled out and scattered. There is a small table flipped and broken, pots of kohl and white cream cracked and smeared on the walls. But theworst of it lays in powdery white piles on the floor. Every bone from the walls of her home, from her shelves, from her windows, has been pulverized, smashed into tiny pieces, ground into dust or broken into jagged shells. It is sacrilege, an atrocity of the worst sort.

“This is what she meant,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice. Silas is now beside me, staring at the floor with me, and makes a questioning sound, words failing him. “When she said it’s empty. That there is no one left inside. She didn’t mean an intruder. She meant…” I feel sick to my stomach.

Silas drops to the ground in a sudden collapse of movement and begins sifting frantically through the closest pile of sharp fragments, as if looking for something or someone.

“It’s pointless, even if you could hear them.” Her voice is cold, barren. “There is no one left here.”

“Keeper, wereallyour bones here?Allof them?” He’s trying to keep his voice calm and steady, but a swallowing sadness makes it hollow, and his shaking hands belie his emotionless tone.

She smirks.Smirks, lips twisting in an expression I’ve never seen on her face before, something dark and sharp. “You commanded I attend you, did you not? I was not given time to dress, to lock my door. Just pulled along like an errant child. Every bone that lived in this room is still in this room.” She pauses, empty mask settling back on her face. “Why. Did you know any of them? You have never visited my cottage to speak with them.” All of her words are questions and none are questions.

“I knew your Protector, BoneKeeper. Lorcan was a friend.” Still sifting the bone dust through his fingers, he finds a larger piece and turns to her, naked hope on his face, draining like water when she shakes her head.

“The piece is big enough to hold a soul, but there are none left on the floor. The bones that were in my home are empty. As empty as the room you’re trying to lock me in, thinking to tempt me withfurniture.” Shaking her head, she is about to speak again but is interrupted by a soft knock at the door. A young child I don’t recognize standsthere, eyes wide as he looks around the room, before locking eyes on the BoneKeeper. He’s trembling, but his back is straight.

“P—pardon for interrupting, Councilman. Father. BoneKeeper. But…I was out walking, near the Northern Arch, and saw your…your bracelets…outside the wall. On the rock fall where the Blood Tree was. I couldn’t go and get them; I’m not supposed to go outside the gate. But I thought you should know.”

“Was there a necklace there as well?” Silas snaps, but the child shakes his head.

“Not that I saw, Sir. But again, I couldn’t get a close look.”

“Rannoch?” He is already turning away from the room, heading toward the door, and I’m torn between staying and going with him. It feels unsafe to leave her here on her own, in a place where her things have been violated in such a violent manner, but she waves me away, clearly not wanting me to stay.

“Perhaps this young man would be kind enough to help me straighten and sort what is left of my things,” she asks, voice surprisingly gentle and considerate, a stark comparison to her tone when speaking to Silas, to me. The boy doesn’t hesitate, immediately getting to work, and I press my lips together in indecision.

She’s directing him quietly, asking him to straighten the grate in the fireplace and empty the cistern. He rights her chair then takes her hand, making her sit down before following her directions like a soldier. It is a struggle for him to get the fire started, and I step forward, intending to help, but they both pause at the movement, glancing at me as though I’m an intruder, as though they’d forgotten that I am here.

“I have it.” His voice is stiff, and he angles his small body between me and the BoneKeeper, clearly interpreting me as some sort of threat. “Thank you though, Councilman. I…I can stay, if you’d like, until you return. I don’t think anyone would return with a child in the house now.”

He’s right, or he would have been right a week ago. But a week ago I would never have thought someone would break into her home, would denigrate the bones, would ruin the grain reserves, would sendvillagers to Silence feeding the Blood Tree. I knownothingI knew a week ago, not even the feel of my own skin.

“Go, Councilman.” She hesitates, then, quietly “I’d consider it a kindness of sorts if my vertebracelets were returned to me.” It is an opening, however small, and I seize it, helpless.

Turning abruptly, I leave with no goodbye. Her words are a command that I can’t ignore. There is little space for stringless favors in her world; I can’t miss the chance to give her a taste of it. Closing the door tightly behind me, I pause for a moment, resting my hand on the wood, whispering a silent prayer of protection, when suddenly from inside the soft sound of sad laughter floats through the cracks.

I knownothing.

THE THREAT OF FLOWERS

SILAS

Her vertebracelets and two tiny curves of ear cuffs are displayed ostentatiously on top of the scar in the land where the Blood Tree was swallowed, pulled apart and stained pink from the still wet, metallic smelling dirt. They’re wrapped in the pale flowers and dark leaves of Henbane, a clear threat. I collect everything I can, then search the area for her necklace, feeling sick inside. If Lorcan is gone, this time to Silence, his loss is another tally on my soul, where there are so many cuts that it’s more lace than fabric at this point. My debts grow and grow the longer I am the Father of this godforsaken place, where evil has taken such deep root I’m afraid I’ll never be able to rip it out.

“Silas.” Rannoch’s voice is flat as he approaches.

“Rann.” There’s little enough life in my own, and I don’t bother to turn to him as I continue to sift through the rocks.

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