I grab Tessa and Jacey and the three of us move in front of Bram to hide him from view in case anyone strolls by. I try to look casual, but I’m certain I don’t. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Talon snorts. “It was most definitely a bad idea.”
“Got it,” Bram says as the door swings open.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask.
Bram shrugs. “I have many hidden talents.”
“Impressive,” Talon says, clapping Bram on the back.
“Someone should stay out here and keep watch just in case,” Jacey says. “Anyone want to join me?” It’s a good idea, but it’s not going to help us if Latham is inside.
“I will,” Niklas says. The two of them walk to a stone bench on the other side of the street, where they’ll have a good view in every direction, while the rest of us enter the shop. My gaze sweeps over the space—empty shelving, glass cases covered in dust, cobwebs gathered in the corners. It doesn’t look as if anyone has done business here in years. I run a finger over the wooden partition that separates the customers from the shopkeeper, leaving a trail through the dust. But then my gaze is pulled downward.
“We didn’t leave footprints,” I say.
Talon gives me an odd look. “What do you mean?”
“This whole room is covered in dust,” I say. “Shouldn’t the floor be filthy too?”
Understanding dawns over Bram’s expression. “Someone is trying to cover their tracks. Literally.”
My pulse speeds. “Let’s split up and search.”
“What are we looking for?” Tessa asks.
“Anything that looks out of place. Seams in the wall. Trapdoors beneath us.”
We start exploring and it feels just as if we’re back in the Fortress, only this time we’re trying to get into a space instead of escape one.
“I think I found something,” Bram calls. I join him at the back of the shop, where a row of bookshelves rests against the wall. “Notice anything unusual?”
I examine the area carefully. Most of the bookcases come all the way to the floor, but one ends just a fraction above it. “You think it’s a door?”
“After what Avalina said? I think it’s possible.”
We run our hands along the frame, searching for anything that feels amiss, but it seems like just a normal bookcase. Bram and I trade places, and go even more slowly, trailing our fingers over every inch of the wood, looking for anything that might be a mechanism to trigger the door.
But there’s nothing. Maybe the room Avalina was talking about doesn’t exist anymore. And maybe this floor just doesn’t collect dust.
Tessa comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “We didn’t find anything. Any luck over here?”
“No,” I say. “We should go. Everyone in Ivory Hall will be awake soon, and someone will notice we’re missing.”
Bram searches my face. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know what other option we have.”
Talon leans his back against the bookcase and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry, Saskia.”
I shrug. “We only had a slim chance of finding anything. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Talon grins. “Maybe we should stop on the way back and get dessert? I bet a pastry would cheer you up.”
“Yes, if my death is imminent, I should probably take every opportunity to enjoy my life.”
“Excellent point. Let’s go.” Talon’s voice is full of grim sarcasm. He pushes off the bookcase.
And the bookcase follows him.
My breath catches. It really was a door. Bram and I must not have put enough pressure on it to engage the unlocking mechanism.
Talon spins around. His eyes widen as he takes in the gap behind the shelf. “Did I do that?”
“Yes,” Bram says, “I think you did.”
“Surprise,” he says, and then gives a little bow.
I attempt a faltering smile, and the playful expression slides from his face.
“Go ahead,” he says. “We’ll be right behind you.”
I hesitate, my hand clutched around the edge of the bookcase, bracing myself for the avalanche of disappointment that I’m certain will follow. Latham is like a ghost—appearing when his presence is unsettling but impossible to see when I’m trying to find him.
My knuckles have gone white. I gather my courage and push open the door.
A roar explodes in my head. My emotions careen from one to the next like a child’s toy, spinning from shock, to disbelief, to horror. But then the whole world goes silent and still. My emotions distill into a sharp, hot point. Rage.
The room is overflowing with bones.
And they belong to my gran.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gran’s bones are everywhere.
They’re spread across the long wooden table in the center of the room, piled in boxes near the door. I spot her left humerus painted with her mastery tattoo—a series of interlocking lines that look a bit like a tree, with branches reaching upward and roots reaching down. Her right hip bone with the tattoo—a bright purple flower in bloom—that she claimed appeared the first time she danced with my grandfather. Grief chokes my throat. I grab a box and start to gather the bones. We have to get out of here before Latham comes back.
But then something draws my eye and I freeze.
In the corner of the room are a set of shelves lined with dozens of glass jars, each housing a broken bone suspended in nutrient solution.
They look identical to the solution my mother and I used to heal Gran’s broken bone. But why would Latham break these bones on purpose? Especially when he worked so hard to get them. Questions roll around my mind, but the answers keep spinning away.
“Saskia?” Bram says. “Are you all right?”
I had completely forgotten the others were here. They all look stunned. Shaken.
“No,” I say, “I’m not.”
He cups my elbow gently. “Explain this to me.”
“I’m not sure I can.” My voice collapses. My knees feel weak.
Bram guides me to a chair, and I sit. He crouches next to me. Speaks softly, as if I’m a scared animal who might bolt at any moment.
“These bones … they belong to your mother?”
My mother. A wave of nausea rolls over me. In my shock over seeing Gran’s bones, I hadn’t thought about my mother’s. Where are they?
I shake my head. “Gran’s.”
Bram opens his mouth to ask another question, but Tessa speaks before he has a chance. “Saskia, how did Latham get this?” Her voice is quiet, but it has an edge that sends a chill down my spine.
I stand. “Get what?”
Tessa holds up a vial of blood. “It’s marked with your name.”
My palm flies to my throat. I think of kissing Declan. Of pressing the numbing needle to his skin. The only reason Latham would need my blood is if he were reading my future. I press the back of my hand to my mouth. When did he get my blood? How? Whoever he’s working with at Ivory Hall must have helped him. Could it be Master Kyra? I prick my fingers with needles in her presence all the time. Maybe she’s found a way to collect my blood from the bones I used in readings. I shiver as I think of the challenge in the Fortress. The blood smeared on my neck after my vision of Latham. Did he gather my blood then?
“No,” I say softly. “No, no, no.” As if repeating the word will change reality. But it won’t. It can’t.
I thought I understood Latham’s plan. He needed to kill and collect the bones from three generations of Bone Charmers. He has Gran’s bones. He has my mother’s. Now all he needs are mine, and he’ll have unimaginable power.
So what is all this? What is he doing?
And why steal my blood instead of killing me? What is he waiting for?
“Is he doing readings on you?” Tessa asks.
I touch the pendant at my neck, grateful I’ve continued to wear it. “He must be.”
Talon shuffles his feet. “Wh
at do you need us to do?”
But I can’t form the words to answer him. My gaze keeps darting back to Gran’s bones—dozens of them—broken and suspended in nutrient solution. I think of the horrified expression on my mother’s face when just one of Gran’s bones fractured, of her desperation to find a way to heal it before both of my paths disappeared. Is that what Latham is doing? Trying to make people disappear? But who?
And why?
“Saskia?” Bram says. “What do you need?”
“I need some air.” I push past him and hurry outside. I lean against the side of the building and slide to ground. The backs of my eyes burn, but I don’t shed a single tear. I can’t. The sight of that shop has burned through me and tears aren’t nearly powerful enough for what I’m feeling. I’m just a dry, angry husk, ready for revenge.
Tessa comes outside and sits beside me. “You don’t have to do this today.”
I massage my temples. “Yes, I do. We’re running out of time.”
She rubs small circles on my back with the heel of her hand. “So let’s go back to our room and figure out where to go from here.”
She thinks I’m saying we need to get to Ivory Hall before all the other apprentices wake—and we do—but it’s not what I meant.
“I have to face this now. Latham will catch up with me soon. He’ll kill me.”
Her face registers surprise and then anger. “No, he won’t.”
She’s wrong, but I don’t have time to tell her because Talon and Bram both come out of the shop. Jacey and Niklas see them, and jog over to join us.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” Talon says. “We thought we’d better check on you.”
“Everything all right?” Bram asks.
The question turns my spine to steel. “No,” I say, “but it will be. One way or another, Latham is going to pay for this.”
I gather my courage and lift myself to my feet. I need to read those bones, see what paths they represent. Maybe then I’ll know what Latham is planning.
The need to get back to Latham’s shop is restless inside me—a hungry beast that will attack unless fed.
I take a deep breath. “I’m going back inside, but the rest of you should go back to Ivory Hall. I don’t want you to risk getting in trouble.”
“Not a chance,” Jacey says. “We’re staying.”
I try to argue, but none of them are having it. Talon agrees to stay outside and keep watch, while Jacey and Niklas follow us into the shop.
Even though I’m prepared this time, nausea still swims up my throat when the bookcase swings open.
Behind me, Jacey sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s like a workshop devoted to evil.”
I steal a glance at Niklas. His face has gone pale and tight. His gaze is fixed on a table shoved against the wall. It’s overflowing with Mason-made items—huge flutes, intricately carved boxes, weapons. My eyes settle on a sword and the blood freezes in my veins. I’d know that weapon anywhere. I’ve seen it a thousand times in my nightmares.
It’s the sword that kills me.
My throat closes.
Bram touches my shoulder. “Tell us what you need.”
I need Latham dead. I nearly say the words out loud, but I suppress the impulse.
“I’m going to try to read a few of the bones.”
“Do you need blood?” Tessa holds out her hand. “You can use mine.”
“No.” A lump forms in my throat.
“But how will you—”
“These bones are intensifiers.”
Tessa lifts her eyebrows. A silent question.
“Forbidden magic,” I explain. “Because Latham killed my gran violently, they’re especially powerful.”
A shadow falls over her face. She doesn’t ask how I know or if I’ve ever used such an abhorrent thing before, but I wonder if she’s thinking it.
I pull one of the glass jars from the shelves and twist open the lid. Latham has placed the two halves of the fractured bone so far apart that they haven’t begun to knit together yet. He must not want them to heal right away. The realization raises new questions that crowd my mind like cobwebs. But I have to sweep them away if I have any hope of focusing on the task ahead. Carefully, I remove both halves of the bone and lay them on a velvet cloth in front of me. A fist closes inside me as I notice that the edges are charred. Latham has already used these in a flame reading.
I cover the bone with my palm and close my eyes.
Color bursts behind my eyelids as if the bones have been waiting for me. I understand now why the intensifiers were a temptation on my other path. I underestimated the thrill of using them—the crisp clarity, the way the vision is vibrant and alive. It’s unlike any reading I’ve ever done.
I hover—birdlike—over an array of paths fanned out in front of me like the branches of a giant tree. None of them are brighter than the others. It’s as if this bone represents small choices instead of large ones. What was Latham looking for?
I choose a path at random and begin to explore.
Suddenly I’m watching Latham as a young boy of perhaps seven or eight. I’m not sure how I recognize that it’s him, but the knowledge burrows inside me as certain as my own name. He perches on a windowsill, small hands pressed against the glass, waiting. His body vibrates with anticipation. When he sees his father coming up the path, uncomplicated joy leaps in his chest. He runs to the front door and throws it open, flinging himself into his father’s arms.
“Papa!”
Latham’s father chuckles and scoops his son off the floor. “How’s my little mouse?”
“I’m not little,” Latham says, attempting a pout, but unable to keep a smile from teasing at the corners of his mouth.
“Ah, then what shall we call you? ‘Big mouse’ doesn’t sound quite right. Maybe ‘my rat’?”
“Ew, no!”
Latham’s father sets him back down and ruffles his hair. “Then I guess you’re stuck with ‘mouse,’ little mouse.”
Latham’s father takes off his cloak and hangs it near the door. Latham follows him into the kitchen, where he plants a kiss on his wife’s forehead. Latham covers his eyes, and both his parents laugh.
“So what did you do today, Papa?”
“Council work. Mostly making lots of important decisions.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we voted on a new member of the Grand Council.”
“Who did you vote for?”
“A Bone Mason named Jonas.”
“Did he win?”
“Yes, he did. By just one vote.”
Latham’s father dips a spoon in the pot bubbling over the stove and brings it to his lips, blowing gently before taking a bite.
“When I grow up, I’m going to be on the Grand Council so I can make lots of important decisions.”
“That’s wonderful,” his father says.
I can’t tell if he’s responding to the sauce, or to his son. And before I can find out, the path abruptly comes to an end.
I choose another path. It begins identically, with Latham at the window, eagerly awaiting his father’s return. But here, his father comes home in a foul mood. He doesn’t call his son “little mouse.” He brushes off his boy’s questions.
“Are you mad at me, Papa?”
Latham’s father sighs. “No, of course not. Just a difficult day at Ivory Hall, that’s all.”
Latham perches on the back of a chair. “What made it hard?”
His father ruffles his hair. “A vote that didn’t go my way.”
Outside the vision, gooseflesh races over my arms. I explore another path, and then another. And they all end at the same moment: when Latham’s father describes who got voted onto the Grand Council.
My hands are trembling as I pull them away from the bones. The implications slide down my spine like ice.
Latham is trying to replicate what happened with the bone I broke. When this bone heals, only one of the potential paths it represents will be real. But
unlike before, these aren’t future paths. These decisions happened long ago. Gran used to say that the past is a rigid and unchangeable thing. But in my head, I hear my mother arguing with Latham before she died. Some things can’t be altered.
Remembering his response makes a slow beat of dread pulse through me. With enough power, anything can be altered. Latham isn’t trying to control the future.
He’s trying to change the past.
Chapter Twenty-Two
On the way back to Ivory Hall, I lag a bit behind the others, lost in thought. Every so often Tessa or Bram casts a concerned glance over their shoulder. I can tell they want to pummel me with questions but are fighting the urge. I’m grateful for the space.
Leaving Gran’s bones behind made me physically ill, but I had no choice. If I had taken them, Latham would know I’d been to the shop and we’d lose our only lead on his whereabouts. I’d never find my mother’s remains. Never be able to stop him.
I make a vow in my heart that I’ll go back soon to bring Gran safely home. And I’ll make Latham pay for this day along with all the other horrors he’s brought into my life.
As we crest the hill, I hear Tessa’s sharp intake of breath, and my gaze snaps up. A knot wedges beneath my breastbone.
Norah is standing at the front door, waiting for us. Her hands are on her hips, and her expression is enraged.
Niklas freezes. His arm reflexively tightens around the satchel slung over his shoulder, and I think of the bone-carved tools stashed inside. If he gets caught with them, he’ll be expelled. I move in front of him, blocking him from Norah’s view.
“All of you get inside,” she says through clenched teeth. “Now!”
A dull roar fills my ears as we file past her. She slams the door behind us, then turns to the handful of apprentices milling around the grand foyer.
“Find somewhere else to be,” she growls. They scurry away, and Norah begins to pace along the room, her boots clicking on the bone floors. Several tendrils of gray hair have escaped from her bun and flutter around her face as she walks. Finally she stops and fixes the full weight of her gaze on me.
“When you first arrived, was I unclear about my expectations?”
“No.” My voice sounds as small as I feel.
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