Page 93 of The BoneKeeper's Daughter

“And are you?” There’s a curling curiosity, the hint of possibility.

The boy puffs out his chest, somehow seeming much more childlike. “She came to the Second Ring school and I got to talk to her there. I told her I wanted to be a Protector someday, and she didn’t say it was a hopeless aim. So she knows me a little I think.”Oh, he’s clever. Clever, clever boy.He’s telling the truth, but in a way that makes it…if not laughable, at least said in the way where adults will humor him, and then exchange rolled-eyed expressions over his head. “Maybe someday I’ll even be a Councilor, like you!”

The two men smirk at each other. “You want to be a Councilor someday?”

And Marrin, Gods bless him, nods his head seriously. “I’d like to do what you do, lead the village. I told my aunt that the BoneKeeper had spoken to me at the schoolhouse. She may have told someone else. She…she took me in when my parents passed, and it was a hardship for her. I think it maybe made her a little proud that the Keeper would take the time to speak to me. It was nice for her to be able to say that. Maybe he heard that the Keeper told me I could be a Protector one day.” He pauses, draws a line on the ground with his toe, looking much younger than his years. “She probably doesn’t say that to everyone, I think.” The conviction and hope are clear in his voice, and it is enough for those listening with careful ears.

“Ah.” The Councilor clears his throat, trying to hide his amusement, however disdainful. “Well. It’s a good goal, even for a Third Ring child.”

“Any further questions?” Silas asks again, and they shake their heads in unison.

“None, Father. The explanation seems…fair enough.” There is a telling lack of surprise on their faces, as though they knew Nickolas was barely contained and expected him to slip his leash at some point. In some ways it seems as though they’re almost relieved, and I wonder if it helps their cause at all to have one of the unstable pieces removed from the board. They couldn’t touch him for fear of Raek, but it’s clear he wasn’t a favorite. Neither is pushing back against the story at all; neither seems to want a different explanation. Nickolas is gone, and if it took four others to be rid of him, the price was evidently worth it.

“We’re sorry, child.” And now the second Councilor is speaking, the way forward clear. “The pressing Storms and the empty silos…the weight of his responsibility must have been too much for him. I hope you can accept our apology on his behalf. He is not the whole of the Council. And those who were with him, well. We apologize on their behalf as well.”

His gentle smile is meant to be comforting, I’m sure, but tiny bumps shiver down Marrin’s skin, though he hides it well. “Thank you, Councilman.”

“You’re dismissed now, Marrin. Thank you for your time.” Silas is abrupt, and Marrin hears the warning, leaving without lingering, not even looking toward Wren who seems almost forgotten in the corner.

Neither Councilor spares her a look as they exit, shoulder to shoulder with Silas, who walks them out, and she and I are left in a suddenly empty room, with too much space between us.

The silence is hollow.

“Wren…” Jerking her head up, she locks her eyes on my own, face tight. “My apologies. Keeper. Is there….can I do anything for you while we wait?”

She doesn’t answer, just stares at me for a long moment before dropping her gaze again. And so we sit in silence until Silas returns, and then silence for a measure more, until she finally speaks.

“Why am I here?”

The chill in her voice is enough to frost breath, and I can see the weight of responsibility settle on Silas’s shoulders.

“Did you…did you do this thing, Keeper?” He is harsh and hesitant all at once, two sides of a coin battling to be seen at the same time. It’s as he’s always been since the bones whispered his name to Wren’s father.

“What thing is that,Father?”

His jaw flexes at the honorific. From her mouth it’s more like a curse.

“Nickolas…how?…” He can’t seem to find the words to ask what he needs to say, pacing back and forth in the small room before finally sitting in a chair opposite her, burying his face in his hands. “Living bone,Wren.Living bone!” Silas’s voice is a whisper, softer than a whisper; he looks around us as though the very walls are listening. Perhaps they are. “Who else was there? Are there any other holes we’re missing that need to be filled? Rann says only the child and the Miller. Why in the world would he come out at full dark?”

She tenses. “IsthatwhatRannsays.” Her voice is flat, emotionless, and I feel suddenly like I somehow betrayed her, though I have no idea how.

“We’re trying to protect you, Wren. To somehow explain this away; if anyoneknew. Sun and Earth.Howdid you call living bone?” Her hands drift to her necklace again, but otherwise she shows no reaction. Silas frowns and leans forward. “We aretryingtohelp.”

Her shoulders curve in, her head drops, her fingers go white on her necklace, but still she doesn’t speak, and I am left wondering if maybe it’s not that she won’t, but that she can’t. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her look this tired, this empty. She is always floating somewhere, but now she is mist instead of fog, almost translucent, and seems to be having trouble focusing on us. Her eyes keep closing for longer and longer blinks, the only color on her face the vibrant crimson stains on her lids. Even her breathing is slow; Silas and I exchange worried glances.

“Are you…are you alright, Wren?” I ask hesitantly, and the question is enough to force her eyes open.

“I’m just tired, Councilman. Muscle tired, marrow tired. I don’t think I could Guide a soul right now if they burst into song in front ofme. But there is nothing you can do.” The admission is surprising, the words almost slipping from her mouth, and she presses her lips together in a tight line.

Silas rises to his feet, pacing back and forth again while I sit helplessly, then sinks to his heels in front of her, eyes darting between her necklace and her face, between her tightly clutched hands and her tightly drawn features, and comes to some sort of decision. Ignoring the alarm on Wren’s face, he leans closer to her and addresses the bones around her throat directly.

“Lorcan, I know you can hear me. Offer some counsel to our friend. She needs more than herself and bones right now.”

A STORY BETWEEN FRIENDS

SILAS

Wren’s fingers jerk slightly and her eyes flare in surprise. “Wha—” she begins softly, but I interrupt her. I’ve already earned an avalanche of enmity from her, what’s one more pebble on the pile?

---