The Bone Charmer

by Breeana Shields

  “Keep moving forward, apprentices!” Norah shouts from somewhere in the distance. “Don’t dawdle.”

  The workshop stretches on and on. We pass shelves lined with thick leather-bound books, tables spread with maps of Kastelia, and a large display on the wall, papered with diagrams of the body.

  Norah finally comes into view. She’s standing on a stage in the center of a small amphitheater. “Find a seat in the appropriate section,” she says. “Hurry, now.”

  The benches are painted to match the cloaks we wear. Huge swaths of blue and green for the Healers and the Watchers, moderate sections colored black for Breakers, purple for Mixers, orange for Masons. And dead center is a tiny section in red, where no more than six apprentices could sit together at any one time.

  This year there are only two of us.

  A girl who I can only assume is the First Sight Bone Charmer sits at the edge of the red paint. Her sandy-brown hair is plaited to resemble the skeleton of a herring—small delicate strands interlaced to form a beautiful pattern. As soon as she sees me, her hazel eyes go wide and she grins. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Ingrid.”

  “Saskia,” I say, sitting down beside her, “and I’ve been looking for you, too.”

  We chat while the rest of the apprentices fill in the seats around us. I discover she’s from Nyburg—a town twice as big as Midwood; they had over two hundred candidates at their last kenning. She’s the youngest of four siblings and the first Bone Charmer in her family.

  “Did you get sick that first night?” she asks. “Because I was miserable.”

  I laugh. “Yes, my roommate was ready to go find a Healer.”

  “You did better than me,” she says. “I collapsed the moment I came through the entrance.”

  Something bright and warm grows inside me, like I’ve stepped in from the cold to hold my hands above the fire. It’s so nice to talk to someone without an undercurrent of resentment or suspicion. This must be what it feels like to belong.

  Norah claps her hands three times and the room falls silent. Ingrid squeezes my hand before she turns to face forward. My gaze sweeps across the room and lands on Bram. He and several of the other Breakers are seated together, and I can tell from their body language that their conversation has just broken off. He looks relaxed, as if he’s known the other apprentices his whole life. I press my lips together and turn away, angry at how my eyes always seem to find him no matter what I’m looking for.

  When I was little, my mother used to give me false readings. She’d tell me about multiple paths and then lie about which one she chose, knowing it would nudge me the other way, which she actually preferred. It didn’t take me long to catch on. I noticed the self-satisfied smile she wore when I chose the opposite path. I wasn’t a fool.

  But I hated how well my mother knew me. How easily she could manipulate me, even when I tried to resist.

  Now I can’t help but wonder what kind of mind game she played when she spoke Bram’s name at the kenning. Who did she really see on my path? Where was she actually trying to guide me?

  And am I resisting her plan or fulfilling it?

  Norah’s voice slices through my thoughts. “Welcome to your first day in the workshop, my friends. You’ll be spending a lot of time here this year.”

  I let all thoughts of home, my mother, and Bram slip away and focus my full attention on Norah. I’m determined to learn everything I can at Ivory Hall so I can master bone charming once and for all.

  Then everyone around me will be safe, and no one but me will ever control my fate again.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  Truth serum smells terrible.

  I grimace as I bring the horn up to my lips. Partly because it turns my stomach and partly to buy myself a few more seconds while my thoughts are still safely locked away. Tell the truth as cleverly as you can, my mother said.

  Like she did.

  We’ve been in the council chamber for hours. Hours that feel like days.

  Master Oskar laid out a convincing case against my mother—how I came to the bone house for essence of horse hoof, how I refused to tell him what she was using it for, how I’ve been spending an unusual amount of time with his new apprentice, how I often visited when he was away and he only found out later that I’d been there at all.

  And of course, Ami’s testimony confirmed everything he said. Yes, I did seem to purposely visit when Master Oskar wasn’t there. No, I hadn’t told her why my mother needed supplies. Yes, I had brought my intended along on one of my visits even though he had no business at the bone house.

  The entire time, I watched my mother’s face for any sign of worry, but her expression remained serene even as the other members of the council looked more and more concerned.

  Declan’s interrogation was the shortest, but the most painful. Anders asked him if he’d visited the bone house and for what purpose. Declan’s answers were short and confident. He said he wanted to know where I was spending my time, wanted to get to know my best friend, wanted to be with me as much as possible.

  “How well do you know Saskia?”

  His gaze found mine and held it. “Very well,” he said. “I’ve known her since we were children. And we’ve …” He abruptly stopped talking and his eyes went wide, like an animal who has just found itself caught in a trap.

  “And you’ve what?”

  Declan swallowed. “We’ve been seeing each other since before the kenning.”

  Anders’s expression grew sharper. Inwardly, I flinched. Pairing up before the kenning has always been frowned upon. It creates problems when a candidate is bone-matched to a partner who is in love with someone else. Anders paused for a moment, seeming to consider probing further, but then seemed to decide to let the line of questioning drop. Still, it wasn’t an ideal moment for me to be perceived as a rule breaker.

  “Have you noticed any change in Saskia’s behavior recently?

  Declan bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t speak for several long moments.

  Anders cleared his throat. “Well?”

  “Yes,” Declan said softly.

  “In what way?”

  “She’s been less … herself since the kenning.”

  “Less honest?”

  “I don’t know that I’d put it that way.”

  “How would you put it?”

  Declan shifted in his seat. “She’s been more distant. Less open.”

  “Like she’s keeping secrets?”

  Declan’s brow furrowed as if he was willing himself not to reply. But eventually the answer spilled from his lips like poison. “Yes.”

  The room went silent and still.

  “Just one more question,” Anders said. “Did you ever venture beyond the antechamber of the bone house?”

  “No,” Declan answered simply. “I was with Saskia and Ami the whole time.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Anders said. “You’re excused.”

  Anders turned to my mother then. “Della, I hate to do this …”

  “Of course,” she said breezily. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

  She downed the truth serum in one swallow. Anders didn’t bother to open with easy questions as he had with every other witness: “Why did you need essence of horse hoof?”

  My mother’s voice was bell clear as she answered. “One of the kenning bones fractured. I wanted to repair it.”

  I stopped breathing. Blood roared in my ears, but the other council members didn’t seem alarmed. It must have been the way she prepared the bones that was the problem. But Anders wouldn’t know to ask about that, and her clever answer made it seem as if she were just repairing a small crack—not weaving two versions of the future back together.

  “Why keep it from Saskia?” Anders asked. “Why couldn’t she explain to Oskar what you were planning with the supplies?”

  “I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her to feel guilty.”

>   “Why would she feel guilty?” My mother’s gaze slid to me and it took her a moment to answer. “Because it was her fault. Saskia broke the bone.”

  The words sliced me to the core. Because she said them with accusation in her voice. She said them like she’d lost the ability to lie.

  For the first time since the kenning, I realized that she resented me for something I didn’t even remember doing. I stared at the ground in front of my feet for the rest of her testimony. I only looked up when Anders called my name.

  Tell the truth as cleverly as you can. My mother told the council the truth—that the bone broke, that she wanted to repair it—but not the entire truth. Not that she’d infused the bones with extra magic. Not that the bone broke during the kenning instead of afterward. Not that she was trying to trick the bone into thinking it was inside a body.

  She answered every question as if she had nothing to hide, even though she was hiding plenty. By the time she left the witness chair, even Master Oskar looked as if he felt bad for accusing her.

  But I’m not my mother, and I can’t be trusted with her secrets.

  The horn trembles against my lips as I take a sip. Bitterness hits the back of my throat and I gag. I should have gulped it all in one shot. I drink the rest of the serum and pass the keras back to Rakel. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I try to cool them by pressing my palms to my face.

  “Are you ready?” Anders asks. His voice sounds faraway, like he’s shouting from the bottom of a pit.

  I manage a nod.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Saskia.” The answer practically leaps from my mouth—like an unexpected sneeze.

  “How old are you?”

  This time, I’m more prepared. I avoid answering for a beat, but it’s still irresistible. More like a cough that I can hold back for a little bit, but not forever. “I’m seventeen.”

  “And were you matched at your kenning?”

  “Yes.”

  “To whom?”

  “Declan.”

  “And are you keeping secrets from him?”

  “Yes.” As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I realize that I shouldn’t have said it that way. I should have said, I don’t tell him everything, but I’m sure that will come in time. From the corner of my eye, I see Declan flinch.

  I don’t have time to think about it though, because the questions keep coming: “When did you find out your father’s bones were missing? Why do you visit the bone house so often? Did you know what your mother planned to do with the essence of horse hoof?”

  And then a question I can’t answer. “Why did you break one of the kenning bones?”

  This time the words aren’t waiting on the tip of my tongue. The absence is both a surprise and a relief. Like an itch that vanishes without being scratched. Maybe I have some control over the answer because there isn’t an answer.

  “I don’t know,” I say finally. And then after a beat: “It was an accident, and I feel terrible.” My eyes cut to my mother and she gives me a sad smile. I’m not sure if it’s genuine or if it’s for show.

  Anders expression softens. “I’m sure you do,” he says. “First your gran’s damaged bone, and now this.”

  A wave of grief washes over me and pulls me down to the same dark place I’ve visited so often since Gran and my father died. Anders words are the same ones that have echoed in my mind over and over for the past few years. And now this. And now this. And now this.

  I’m not sure how many more fractures I can withstand until I crumble.

  Declan, Ami, and I wander through town, all of us lost in thought. The only sounds are the crickets chirping and the click of our boots against the cobblestones. We’re vaguely aiming in the direction of Ami’s house, but none of us seem in any hurry to get there.

  The council excused all the witnesses, and is now meeting in private to discuss the next steps. Despite interviewing everyone who’s even come within spitting distance of the bone house since my father’s death, they’re no closer to figuring out what happened.

  The events of the day cling to us like moss to stone.

  I wonder if the others are as afraid to speak as I am—if they worry that the serum hasn’t worn off yet, if their secrets feel like unbridled horses inside them, snuffling and stomping and just waiting for an opportunity to break free.

  “Are either of you hungry?” Ami asks.

  We’re passing the Tib & Fib—a tavern named for a patron who got so drunk that he took a tumble and broke both of those bones in his leg. I’ve always been surprised that the place could stay in business with such an unlucky name, but maybe people drowning their sorrows in strong drinks don’t care. Maybe they feel like fortune has already abandoned them.

  “Not hungry enough to eat there,” Declan says. A customer opens the door as we pass, and raucous laughter spills out into the street along with the smell of grilled meat.

  Ami smiles. “The Sweet Tooth was closer to what I had in mind.” She turns to me. “What do you think?”

  I nearly tell her no, but, on second thought, I have the overwhelming urge for something sweet, to let a bit of sugar melt on my tongue and drive away the taste of the last few hours—the bitter truth serum, and the even more bitter look in my mother’s eyes when she blamed me for Gran’s broken bone.

  “Yes,” both Declan and I say at the same moment. All three of us laugh, and a bit of my tension ebbs away.

  We make our way to the end of the street—past the White Dragon Inn and the Healing House, with its hundreds of bottles of bone remedies lined up inside the windows. When we arrive at the bakery, Ami pushes open the door and the smell of sugar wafts toward us.

  We order enough for ten people—tiny sweet buns filled with almond paste, bits of fried bread rolled in cinnamon and sugar, squares of velvety cheese topped with purple elderberries. The baker wraps our treats in cloth and layers them in a small wicker basket that he holds out to Ami.

  “Enjoy,” he says.

  It takes Ami a moment to answer. Her expression is anxious, as if she senses danger in responding to something even so innocuous as common pleasantries. And then, finally: “Thank you. We will.”

  We eat as we walk, each of us snatching another dessert from the basket slung over Ami’s elbow the moment we’ve finished chewing the first. Eating mouths can’t be talking mouths.

  Of the three of us, Ami lives closest to the town square, in one of the friendliest houses in Midwood. On warm days, the door is always open and the smell of baking bread floats on the breeze like an invitation. Flower boxes in the top windows spill out colorful blooms that trail down the facade so that it looks as if the house is weeping petals. When we were small, our homes seemed more alike to me. Both were bursting with love and noise, both were filled with family—parents and grandparents who adored us. But slowly, my home emptied—grief squeezing into the hollows death has left behind—while hers has stayed the same.

  The juxtaposition is a constant ache.

  By the time we make it to Ami’s front door, the day is almost over. The sun melts into the horizon, leaving behind a shimmering puddle of orange light.

  Ami turns to me before she goes inside, and folds me in an embrace. “I’m sorry.” Her voice catches on the words.

  “Ami, don’t,” I say. “It’s not necessary.”

  But her eyes fill with tears. “I made you seem guilty,” she says, “when I know you’re not. But the answers just came and I couldn’t … I had no control. It’s like I couldn’t clarify or put anything in context.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I know. It was the same for me.” I glance over my shoulder at Declan, who has backed off to give us privacy and is studiously examining the plants in the vegetable garden at the side of Ami’s house. “You did nothing wrong. But I understand the urge to apologize. I think I have some explaining of my own to do.”

  Ami gives me a sympathetic look. “You were just being honest.”

  “Yes,” I say, “which mak
es it all the harder to explain away.”

  She cuts a glance toward Declan and then back to me. Her voice lowers, conspiratorially. “You’ll have to fill me in later on what secrets you’re keeping from him.”

  I try to laugh, but it comes out forced and stilted.

  Ami bumps her hip lightly against mine. “Unless you’re keeping secrets from me too.” She sounds playful, but I know her well enough to hear the note of insecurity in her voice.

  “Ami …” I want to explain, but I can’t find the words. And what if the truth serum is still in effect? What if I start talking and accidentally say too much?

  Her expression falters and a chill falls between us.

  I’ve lost so much. I can’t lose Ami, too.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow. I promise.”

  She nods once, but her expression is wary. She hands me the basket full of treats. “You need these more than I do.”

  My feelings are a tangle inside me as I walk back toward Declan. He stands up and brushes the dirt from his palms. “Is Ami all right?”

  “Yes,” I say, “just a little unsettled from the truth serum.”

  “I think we all are.” Something shifts in his expression, and I suddenly understand that he’s been acting for Ami’s benefit. He’s obviously more hurt than I realized.

  “Declan—”

  “If you don’t want to be with me, why not just reject the match?”

  “Of course I want to be with you.”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t have a relationship with someone who keeps secrets from me, Saskia.”

  A coil slips around my heart and cinches tight.

  This is all my mother’s fault. She should have never given me a matchmaking reading. I had already fallen for Declan before she said his name at the kenning and filled me with doubt. But a bone-matched partnership that fails never bodes well for either party. I need to find a way to fix this.