Page 55 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“Do you plan Labors for me, Flame? Some sort of trials to earn your trust?” Stepping back, he flexes his muscles playfully. “Is there a flower on the crest of the mountain I can pick for you to show you my worth? Or perhaps a wild beast I can tame?”

In truth, I barely hear his words. I am not a woman impressed by flesh, but he is not a man like I have known in my life. It is…surprisingly difficult to think. He is too playful, too happy, too large, too bright. This Trader is overwhelming, and is making me uncautious. His face falls, just slightly, and he apologies, the words tumbling from his mouth like a rockfall. “I’m sorry, Flame, I forgot. Your eyes.” There is a rueful humor in his words, almost self-deprecating. “I was trying to impress you with a display of my manliness.”

He catches me off-guard, and I laugh again, a snorting sort of sound that horrifies me, but pulls a deep, rumbling laughter from him.

“Come.” Reaching out my hand towards him, I am rewarded with a lightning flash of victory in his smile, and shining eyes, and I lead him toward the Garden path.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says after a moment, courteous and cautious.

“More than you already have?” I say, teasing again. I do not recognize this version of myself.

He chuckles, then, “How do you know where you’re going?”

I shrug, not wanting to say anything about the bones. “I grew up here. It is not that big, and I know my steps. If I get off balance, I find a touch point to guide me back. But the sounds and lines of the village do not change.” Making a face, I point vaguely off to the side. “You cansmell the tanner, yes?” He nods. “And then…” tilting my head, I listen, and point in a different direction. “You can hear the smithy. And then, as we get closer and closer to the Garden walls, the sound falls away. It grows cooler in the shadow of the mountain. The ground changes underfoot. The paths where I walk are smooth and clear of stone. If I hit too much gravel, I have gone off-track….” I am babbling slightly, each word tasting like a lie in my mouth.Because theyareliesmy mind whispers. But I owe this Trader no truth, when lies buy my freedom.

We are close to the curve where the path splits, the high walls of the Council House visible at the fork, though we can’t see the square in front of it, and he looks up, up, up, at its black stone face, at the weathered white bones around it, at the stark ivory stairs leading to its large, obsidian doors, shining smooth in the pale sun. Four large columns rise to either side of the doorway, each elaborately carved and topped with three glaringly white skulls — the original Council, still overlooking their village. Those bones are some of the only ones I have never touched, never questioned. They are too high above me; there is no way to climb to hear their whispered words.

It is not a welcoming place, by any means.

“Here you should be able to see the Council House,” I murmur.

“And…what is that?” he asks, still staring up, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“It’s where the Twelve live — The Councilmen, the leaders of our village. And then the six Renders, six Reapers, if they wish. The Protectors — twelve again, and again, only if they wish to reside here. The Father, of course. Oh. And the Justice,” I add as an afterthought, lips twisting in a caustic smile, the feel of it much more familiar to me than the pure happiness from moments before. “When we have one.”

“When you have one? You have no…Justice?” he asks curiously, tilting his head like a bird.

His question hardens my smile into a thin line, cold and smirking. “We do not. There is no justice in the village.”

I know he hears the double meaning, but doesn’t know how to ask, or maybe more accurately, doesn’t knowwhatto ask. He settles for, “Why?”

I shrug. “The Bones,” I answer vaguely, and he frowns.

“The Bones?” he asks, confused, but there are questions I cannot answer. “It’s eerie here…” The words are quiet, almost a breath, but I am used to listening to the dead, so it is no strain to hear him.

“In the shadow of the Council House?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“No. We have buildings three times the size of this.” It is hard to imagine. “In the shadow of the bones,” he says, shivering, and I frown, pulling away from him.

“There is nothingeerieabout our dead, Trader.” I was a fool, giving into his smile and sunshine. I should know better. And for him to find the bones,mybones, offensive….my chest tightens.

His face darkens, jaw clenched. “By putting them into walls? Not properly honoring them?” he rebuts, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I…I was told the ways you…honor…your dead are different than ours. It is hard to see. I’m sorry. It was insensitive of me.”

“You should not speak so confidently of things you clearly do not understand.” My words are cold, all camaraderie forgotten. To insult the bones is…it’s unthinkable.

“You’re absolutely right.” There is no hesitation in his voice, just open apology. “It is a mistake I won’t make twice. You have my word.” I’m not used to men admitting fault in our village, but I hear no mocking in his words, only sincerity. “Can we go back, Flame? To when my foot didn’t fit so completely into my mouth?” His tone is pleading, playful.

I don’t understand the expression, but nod cautiously. “Do not insult the bones again,” I warn, and he nods, before jerking his head up at a rumble from the mountains above.

“What is that?” His fear is unexpected.

“A stone-song, nothing more. Just the mountains saying the village has grown loud. A warning, if you will.”

“They should listen to the warnings, but fools will be fools.” He glances in the direction of the town square, where music is echoing down the streets, strange instruments I have never heard bouncing offstone walls in staccato patterns. Shaking his head, he sighs. “Will they ever learn?” It is about more than the mountain’s call.

“You can squeeze a stone to dust before it gives water.”

He cocks his head curiously, as though he hasn’t heard the expression, but I may be misunderstanding his movement. “Water is a scarcity here?”

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