The Bone Thief

by Breeana Shields

  “How far can new apprentices typically reach?” I ask.

  Master Kyra studies me, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and I have the sensation of being turned inside out and inspected. She always seems to see more than I’d like her to.

  “Everyone is different.”

  “How far can you reach?”

  The question is impertinent, and for a moment I think she’ll refuse to answer, but then she gives me a measuring look. “A few hours. A day at most.”

  The pressure in my chest lightens just a fraction. At least it gives me a reference point.

  Master Kyra lights the incense—lavender—and sits across from me. “I’d like you to attempt to see what will be served for the evening meal tonight.”

  It’s an impossible task—every meal looks the same except for the menu. I’ll know what I’m seeing, but not when. I swallow. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe Kyra suspects me, and she’s carefully designed this exercise to force me to reveal my abilities.

  “Are you cold?” Master Kyra asks, her head tilted to one side like a quizzical bird.

  I’m confused until I realize my hand has gone—unbidden—to my upper arm. My palm covers the mastery tattoo hidden beneath my sleeve. It’s an intricate knot design with three corners. One for each Sight.

  Heat creeps into my cheeks. “A little,” I say, pulling the cloak back around my shoulders, grateful for yet another layer between Master Kyra and the tattoo beneath my sleeve.

  “You may start whenever you’re ready,” she says.

  I take a deep breath and place my fingers over the bones. The room tilts slightly, and I squeeze my eyes closed. The familiar pull low in my stomach greets me like an old friend. I direct my focus to the dining hall, and a vision forms behind my lids. Servers carry large dishes filled with meatballs in a rich cream sauce, and platters of boiled potatoes and roasted vegetables. Small bowls of sugared berries sit at even intervals down the length of the table, along with pitchers filled with cider. I look around for some indication of the day, or time, but find nothing to suggest either.

  I nearly pull myself from the vision and tell Master Kyra that I couldn’t see a thing—it’s a much safer course of action than describing the meal only to realize I’ve reached too far forward or backward. But maybe there’s another option. Maybe with a little more focus, I can find out what day this is. I think back to the tour Norah gave me the morning after I arrived. To the enormous kitchen adjacent to the dining hall.

  With my shift in focus, the scene changes and I’m plunged into the middle of chaos. Undercooks stand on both sides of a long wooden table, chopping bundles of herbs and slicing vegetables. A small, round woman—probably the head cook, judging by the way everyone moves a little faster whenever she looks in their direction—shouts orders. On the back wall, inside the huge hearth, are three giant cauldrons bubbling with fragrant fish stew. Loaves of dark bread—dozens of them—cool on another table.

  Panic swims up my throat. This is an entirely different meal. Somehow by changing my focus, I’ve slipped backward or forward in time. The vision dims, fractures, spins. I feel as if I’m rolling down a steep hill, utterly out of control. I think of my mother’s lessons. Of her telling me to focus my thoughts as tightly as possible. To a single pinprick—one person or one moment in time. But I don’t know which moment I’m looking for. I have no sense of where I’m starting. This could be years in the past or years in the future.

  So I do the only thing I can think of. I focus on the cook—on her stout, round frame. Her gray eyes. The soft wrinkles of her cheeks. The vision stabilizes, though now the kitchen is empty and clean. The cook stands with her hands on her hips, her gaze sweeping over the room like a queen surveying her kingdom. I follow her into an anteroom adjacent to the kitchen. She stands near a small desk, her fingers drumming gently on the wooden surface.

  I failed. If the cook isn’t bustling around surrounded by help, then I’m likely far from any mealtime, evening or otherwise.

  What am I going to tell Master Kyra?

  The cook drops into the chair in front of the desk, and I wish I could join her. Sink into a soft seat and rest my head in my hands. She slides open a small drawer and pulls out a stack of papers. On the top is a small bit of parchment with a list of supplies written in delicate script: dill weed, flour, juniper berries. She glances at the document briefly and then shifts it to the bottom of the stack. Beneath is a crudely sketched table—columns and rows of squares, each with a menu written carefully in the center. My breath catches. It’s a calendar. The cook’s finger trails along the page, while I frantically search for anything familiar. And then, finally, near the bottom of the page, I spot a meal I recognize: smoked salmon, buttered greens, and crisp bread topped with cheese. I look at the neighboring square, and commit it to memory before I yank myself from the vision.

  When I open my eyes, Master Kyra is watching me, her chin resting in her palm. She raises her eyebrows. “So?”

  “Meat pie,” I say.

  “Is that all?”

  My pulse races. I shake my head. “I couldn’t see anything else.”

  She studies me, her expression inscrutable. What if I got the menu wrong entirely? The cook must repeat meals often. Maybe I should have claimed I couldn’t reach as far as this evening. But then Master Kyra gives me a small, tired smile. “Well done, Saskia. You missed the spiced apples, but I’m impressed you were able to reach as far as the first part of the meal. You’re making excellent progress.”

  I suddenly feel weightless. Buoyant.

  I’m coming for you, Latham. And there isn’t anything you can do to stop me.

  Chapter Six

  Life at Ivory Hall falls into a comfortable rhythm. I continue to train with Master Kyra—holding back just enough to avoid suspicion while trying to perfect my craft, attend seminars in the workshop with the other apprentices, and eat meals in the dining hall with Tessa and her friends—they haven’t quite started to feel like my friends yet.

  Tessa keeps her word and doesn’t tell Norah about the spell book. Bram hasn’t either, but I’m still cautious. Declan’s betrayal is never far from my mind.

  But not having anyone to confide in is a slow acid that eats away at me and leaves an aching hole in the middle of my chest. Each night as I fall asleep, I imagine I’m talking to Ami. That we’re sitting on the banks of the Shard, dragging our toes through the water, as I discuss my problems. In my mind, I tell her about my options one by one, and she picks them up, examines them, and offers her opinion before setting them down again.

  I could break into Master Latham’s old office and search for clues there, I tell her. As far as I know, he hasn’t been replaced yet, and his belongings should still be there. Maybe I’ll find some clue about Avalina, the girl he fell in love with in his youth.

  My imagined Ami scoffs at the idea. If he managed to sneak into your bedroom to leave the spell book, I doubt he would be so careless as to leave anything incriminating behind.

  I could try to find a set of bones powerful enough to attempt a reading on him and discover his location.

  Ami shakes her head at this, too. And she’s right. With the protective magic he has at his disposal, seeing him in a reading is likely impossible.

  “Are you still awake?” Tessa asks softly. We turned off the lights hours ago, and my imagination has been so full of Ami that for a moment I think Tessa’s voice belongs to her. A wave of joy swells in my chest before crashing into disappointment.

  “I’m awake,” I say, turning on my side to face her, though she’s nothing more than a shape in the dark. “What’s keeping you up?”

  Tessa sighs. “I keep thinking about Latham. How you told me he wants you to know you’re not safe.”

  “Yes?”

  “What if you’re wrong? How do you know for sure that’s what he’s doing?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” I tell her. “I just know.”

  But her question unlocks something in
my mind. I understand Latham. As much as I despise him, I understand how losing someone you love—being prevented from living the life you imagined for yourself—might drive a person to unspeakable actions. In his mind, he’s trying to right a wrong.

  That’s how I know deep down that the key to stopping him isn’t searching his old office or finding him through a reading. I’ve known since he showed up in Midwood and killed my mother that the key to finding him is Avalina.

  What I don’t know is how to find her.

  I think of the first time my mother told me about Latham. I’ve thought about it every day since she died. My mother said Latham was friendly when they first met. Likeable. He was bone-matched with a girl named Avalina. From all appearances they were deeply in love. But halfway through the year, she abruptly left Ivory Hall, and no one ever saw her again. After that, Latham was different. He kept to himself and seemed to resent everyone around him. My mother hinted that there were swirling rumors. A scandal that changed Latham forever.

  I might have thought nothing of the story—young love gone wrong is unlikely to turn a man into a monster—but, before he killed my mother, Latham mentioned Avalina. He said they would be together if not for the Grand Council. Which makes me think that my mother was on to something. She clearly had a gut feeling about his motivations. If this woman was the branch point for Latham turning down a dark path, maybe finding her will give me the answers I need.

  Tessa makes a sleepy, disoriented noise at the back of her throat. I doubt she’ll remember much of this conversation in the morning. So, for just a moment, I pretend that Tessa is Ami. That I can trust her with my secrets.

  “Latham was in love once,” I say out loud. “With a woman named Avalina. I need to find her.”

  “Did she train here?” The words slur blearily together, and I can tell Tessa is drifting off.

  Still, the question makes my mind spark with possibilities. If she was an apprentice at Ivory Hall, there should be records.

  “Tessa, that’s brilliant,” I say. But she doesn’t answer. Her breathing is deep and even. Suddenly I’m homesick, not only for Ami, but for the Tessa on my other path. The one I knew, and who knew me.

  Is this my fate? To only feel close to versions of friends who don’t exist in this reality, while my one friend who does is far away?

  Knowing that I might be able find more information about Avalina without ever leaving Ivory Hall should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Because maybe searching for a plan gave me something to occupy my thoughts as I lay awake. I’m always exhausted, but terrified of falling asleep.

  Of dreaming.

  Of encountering a vision of a bleak future each time I close my eyes.

  Just when I think I have my training schedule figured out, fate—in the form of Norah—throws me for a loop.

  “Apprentices,” she says, from atop a small stage in the center of the workshop’s amphitheater, “the moment you’ve been anticipating since second term started is finally here. Everything is about to change.”

  The room fills with animated chatter, and I feel like I missed a step. I turn toward the girl sitting beside me—a girl with sandy-brown hair named Ingrid. She’s the only other Bone Charmer training at Ivory Hall.

  “What’s going on? What is Norah talking about?”

  “Bone games,” Ingrid whispers.

  Of course. They’ve been mentioned a few times, but I’ve been so focused on finding Latham and ignoring Bram, I haven’t given them much thought.

  But now a memory tickles at the back of my mind: tables spread along the length of the workshop, a pile of bones placed in front of me, a contest to assemble and identify them as quickly as possible. Bram’s face floats behind my eyes and my cheeks go hot. He was there. I can nearly feel the ghost of his fingers brushing against mine. Weren’t those games? It’s like a key in a lock that doesn’t quite fit but feels like it might if I just wiggle it a little.

  “Haven’t we already played bone games?” I ask. And then I catch my mistake. “Haven’t you already played them, I mean? Before I got here.”

  Ingrid shakes her head. “No, it’s a second-term thing. They started including them a few years ago. It was my brother’s favorite part of training.” She tilts her head to one side. “Are you thinking of bone races?”

  Bone races. That’s right. The words click into place in my mind, along with the rest of the memory from my other path. The hard set of Bram’s mouth as he worked. The triumphant expression on his face as we slid the last Bradypus bone into place and won the contest. But then something slips inside me. It’s not a memory. It was only a possibility and it never happened. Not for him.

  “Yes,” I say, “that’s right—bone races.”

  Norah brings a bone amplifier up to her lips and clears her throat. “If you’ll quiet down, I can continue.”

  Ingrid turns away from me and leans forward. She’s not alone. Every apprentice is perched on the edge of their bench, waiting to hear the details.

  Norah smiles as if pleased by the effect her words have produced. “Until now, you have primarily worked and trained within these walls. But this term, you’ll need to push yourselves further than you ever have before.”

  She paces along the length of the stage, her palms pressed together in front of her. It’s so quiet, I can hear each swing of the pendulum housed in the clock mounted on the back wall—a massive contraption made from the bones of a red-necked ostrich.

  “When you leave Ivory Hall, you will be assigned to various villages across Kastelia. Many of you will serve on town councils. You will be required to work with other bone magic specialties to solve complex problems. In the past, we found our apprentices were well trained in their own magic but ill prepared for leadership and problem solving. So, several years ago, we devised a solution.” She stops pacing and turns to face us. “Those of you with siblings who attended Ivory Hall have no doubt heard all about it. But for the rest of you, I’m excited to introduce you to the bone games.”

  Another chorus of whispers ripples over the assembled apprentices. My gaze wanders around the room, over the benches painted in various colors to match our cloaks until I land on a sea of black. Bram sits with his back to me, talking to the other Breakers. He leans forward, seemingly absorbed in the conversation. I watch him for several moments, still confused by the pull I feel toward him. He turns and meets my gaze and my heart lurches. I can’t let myself be taken in by emotions from my other path. I harden my expression and let my eyes slide right past Bram, as if I never saw him at all. From the corner of my gaze, I see his brows knit in confusion. A pang of longing hits me square in the chest, but I don’t look back.

  “These challenges,” Norah says with a tone that silences all the chatter, “will require you to work in small groups of five or six—roughly the size of a town council—and will take you all over Kastelia. The games will be graded on a pass-or-fail basis, with the same score given to the entire group, so choose your teammates wisely. You’ll want a good blend of specialties and a variety of talents. If you fail the games, you fail your apprenticeship. Now go. Make good decisions.”

  The room erupts into chaos, and Ingrid is immediately overwhelmed with requests to join a team. There are only two Bone Charmers available, and no one wants the girl who just started training. A pit opens in my stomach as I think of childhood games of Dead Man’s Prisoner. I remember the nagging worry of being chosen last and bearing the shame, not only of being declared the least worthy but having an audience for the humiliation.

  A tap on my shoulder makes me spin around, and relief floods through me at the sight of Tessa. Her arm is looped through Jacey’s.

  “Can we join your team?”

  My gaze skips between them. “I think the more appropriate question is, can I join yours?”

  Jacey laughs, her dark eyes bright. “You’re going to be in high demand,” she says. “Trust me, no one is clamoring for extra Healers and Mixers.”

  “Well,
in that case,” I say, sweeping my arm over the empty space beside me, “yes, join my illustrious team.”

  Tessa grins. “Excellent. Now, if we can find a Mason, a Watcher, and a Breaker, we’ll be one of only two teams with all six specialties.”

  At the mention of a Breaker, my traitorous eyes go searching for Bram. And like a homing pigeon, I locate him immediately. He’s standing near a group, but I can’t tell if he’s part of a team yet. And then I see Norah approach him. Touch his elbow. Whisper something in his ear. Bram nods. He lifts his head to search the room.

  And then aims straight for me.

  Hot shame races up my neck as I think of Norah’s words when I first arrived. I’ll do my best to make sure you have friends here.

  Did she tell him to join my group? Does she think I won’t have a team otherwise? I don’t want Bram’s pity. His obligation. His false friendship borne from duty.

  “Hey,” he says as he approaches us, “do you have room for a Breaker?”

  Tessa grabs his sleeve. “Yes, that’s perfect!”

  Bram’s gaze flicks to me, but I look away.

  All I want—all I’ve ever wanted when it comes to romance—is a choice. To choose who to love. For someone to choose me. It’s why I begged my mother not to give me a reading for a bone-matched partner.

  Latham has stolen everything from me, and only one good thing came out of all that loss—my bone-match to Declan died with him, so I recaptured the ability to love who I choose. And even though I vowed to keep my distance from Bram so I could protect us both from Latham, each time he looks in my direction, my resolve slips like a shawl over bare shoulders.

  I can’t help the foolish hope that keeps blossoming inside me. It’s a desperate kind of wanting that feels as essential as breathing. But is it my choice? Am I drawn to him because of what I saw on my other path, or because it’s really how I feel here and now? The worries have been twisting together inside me since Bram showed up in Midwood, making me feel as hopelessly tangled as the box of silver chains Gran used to keep on her nightstand table. I would sit for hours trying to separate them, but only managed to knot them more tightly together.