Page 116 of Mistress of Bones
The Witch leaned in, unable to hide her curiosity. “How so?”
De Gracia made a sweeping gesture. “Anchor seeps into the land, Conjurer of Dreams, and the land feeds us. We all carry vestiges of the gods within our bones—some more than others.”
Sergado de Gracia wanted to make a god. The idea was too absurd. And yet, he mustknowit could be possible; otherwise, why continue with his plan? He must be able to sense which bones carried the gods’ essences within. A new god, made from human bones. And what of the gods’ powers? Would this new god have them too? Was that his true aim? To somehow become a god himself?
And why was he speaking so honestly about his plans?
It came to her notice, then, that two armed guards had slipped into the room behind her, and the answer to her last question became alarmingly obvious: She would not survive this meeting unless she thought fast.Faster.
“If this is your aim,” she said, uncaring of the panic betrayed by her hurried words, “you should make sure it does have a mind you can take over, one that supersedes the gods’ will, or they might decide to steal your body away from you. How else would you make sure it remains under your control?”
De Gracia frowned and the Witch thanked the gods, the moons, and every piece of Anchor she had ever seen at court.
“If we work together,” she continued, “we could make these godly bodies—or simply the one, I do not care for godhood—and rid ourselves of our current shells. A body with the possibility of thought would be easy to claim for yourself, wouldn’t it? Think of this, De Gracia. Think of the possibilities death and dreams could achieve if we work together.” Offering her hand, she allowed a faint smile. “And I will even tell you where Azul del Arroyo has gone.”
THE PRESENT
Two Blue Bastards waited outside Almanueva’s main entrance, their shoulders leaning against their pikes in boredom. They barely paid the Witch any attention as she was ushered inside. De Gracia took his sweet time to receive her, and when he did, he simply asked if she had taken care of making the arrangements for their travel.
She had, the Witch assured him, somewhat peeved at De Gracia’s lack of awe and gratitude that she had achieved so much in so little time. It had been two days since the marquess was escorted back to Almanueva and ordered to remain within. Didn’t he realize how much effort went into arranging horses and carts with Manzar’s thoughts hammering her mind the moment she stopped thinking for too long?
She had checked on her body, the pathetic carcass that used to host her mind. A body so useless the midwife would have thrown it into the river if not for her mother’s pity. She had covered the remains with a sheet and paid her servants for months in advance, making sure they would not open the door if they wanted their blissful dreams to continue.
Now the Witch and De Gracia were ready to leave. De Gracia had told her they could not stay in Cienpuentes, not with Del Arroyo around, not until he found a way to nullify what she could do to his “studies.” And while the Witch wasn’t privy to what had transpired inside De Gracia’s second house, she couldn’t help but feel there had been more to the story than Del Arroyo and Virel Enjul calling the Blue Bastards on him.
But it didn’t matter, did it? The Witch would figure it out. She would figure him out, same as she had figured out everyone else, and then she would know how to own him. The excitement and hope at the thought of a new body had faded into cautious optimism, but the curiosity—ah, that remained in full force.
Four horses were brought out—for her, De Gracia, his mainguard, and his treasure trove of bones—and then off they went, out in the streets and toward Bremón.
The blue tabards charged with keeping Sergado confined to Almanueva didn’t blink when their four horses trotted out right under their noses. Didn’t try to stop them, didn’t even twitch.
The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Even Manzar faltered in his incessant hammering against her mind.
And then a new voice, a melody of a female voice that brought meadows and wildflowers and sunny skies andgodsto mind, spoke within the Witch’s head.
Well, well. What do we have here?
EPILOGUE
A FEW WEEKS EARLIER
“They’ve taken the younger Del Arroyo into custody,” Ambassador Diagol de Mial, head of the Cienpuentes envoy from Sancia, announced in a somber voice.
Nereida wanted to snort—with the older sister gone, was the chit stillthe younger, or simplythe only remaining?—but she couldn’t forget the sight of Isadora del Arroyo crumbling into dirt right in front of her eyes.
A person—flesh and bone one moment, nothing but soil the next.
Impossible. And yet, Nereida had witnessed stranger things than this in Cienpuentes. She had witnessed her brother’s voice speaking someone else’s words. Someone who lived for the kind of scheming that only the Cienpuentes court could do justice to. Someone who thought of everyone else as puppets to play with.
Nereida went right to Sío’s quarters after learning that the Witch had taken over his body, but he’d had the mask on. Sío wore the mask every time she’d tried to reach him. Nereida even tried to grab the thing more than once, and the Witch had laughed because the mask would not come off no matter how hard she pulled. She wrote letters and received no response. She went to the Temple and swore under the Lord Nightmare that she’d make the Witch’s life a horrific dreamunless she freed her brother. Yet how could she follow through when the Witch never left Sío alone?
“What will happen to Del Arroyo?” another member of their group asked with obvious concern.
“I don’t know. It’s customary for there to be an investigation in cases of strange deaths. They have called for an emissary.”
The room gasped. Emissaries of the Lord Death—the god’s will made human flesh, here to drag you from your hiding place to face death.
And the reason Nereida was here.
