The Bone Thief

by Breeana Shields

  “And yet you pull a stunt like this? I’m trying to protect you, Saskia.” She presses a wrinkled hand to her brow, and it reminds me so much of Gran that a wave of remorse goes through me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Do you have a death wish?”

  The question makes everything inside me go silent and still. I can’t find the words to answer.

  “I don’t want to frighten you, Saskia, but your life is in danger”—she pulls in a deep breath—“and I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”

  “We weren’t far,” Talon says. “We just went into the city.”

  She purses her lips and gives him a look that could slice through stone. And then her eyes travel over the rest of the group, lingering a bit longer on Tessa and Bram, who both squirm under her gaze. Neither of them utters a word.

  “I’m so disappointed in you all,” she says before turning back to me. “Saskia, I’m afraid I have no choice but to assign Rasmus to your security detail full-time. For the remainder of your time here, he goes everywhere you go. No exceptions.”

  Panic fists around my heart. How will I ever make it to Latham’s shop again if I have a bodyguard following my every move? I can’t just leave Gran’s bones there for Latham to exploit.

  “Please,” I say, “that’s really not necessary.”

  Norah holds up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. You can stay here and tolerate Rasmus, or you can quit your apprenticeship and leave without him. It’s your choice.”

  But it’s no choice at all. I’ve finally made progress in finding Latham. I can’t leave now.

  “Well?” Norah asks.

  “I’ll stay,” I tell her. “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “Finally a wise decision from you today. See that it’s not the last one.”

  Just then Rasmus comes down the staircase and joins us in the grand foyer as if Norah has somehow managed to summon him with nothing but the power of her anger.

  She gives him a curt nod. “I’ll let you take it from here.” She turns and walks away, but she only goes a few steps before she pauses and swivels around.

  “One more thing. Some tools went missing from the Mason training room last night. I certainly hope they turn up before an investigation is launched.” And with that she stalks out of the room.

  Niklas goes rigid. Color drains from his face and his hands ball into fists at his sides. “I’ll be expelled. My father will be furious.”

  “No,” Bram says. “If she were going to expel you, she would have done it already.”

  But Niklas doesn’t look convinced. I feel terrible for putting him in this position, but what choice did I have? If we hadn’t gone into the city, I never would have found Gran’s bones and never would have realized what Latham was intending to do.

  Later that night the six of us are gathered in the library, huddled around a table in the corner. Rasmus leans against the wall on the other side of the room, his gaze glued to me. But at least he’s far enough away that he can’t overhear our conversation.

  “I don’t understand,” Jacey says. My voice is raw from all the hours I’ve spent trying to explain what I saw in my reading at the shop and what it means. I’ve told them everything. Everything except my history with Bram. “Why do the different versions of the same event convince you that Latham is trying to change the past? Maybe he was just trying to understand what happened back then.”

  I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. “Before Latham killed my mother, he complained about the Grand Council. He thought they exerted too much control over magic, hoarded too much power. And when we visited Avalina, she mentioned how angry Latham was with his father and the other members of the council for keeping the two of them apart. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I think he’s trying to choose a path that remakes the Grand Council in a way that benefits him.”

  Niklas worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “So why can’t we just take all the bones from the shop? If we destroy them, he won’t be able to change the past.”

  I sigh. “We can’t destroy them. After Gran’s bone broke at my kenning, my mother said that if it didn’t heal, all of my potential futures would disappear.”

  “But that was a reading of your future,” Tessa says. “This is a reading of Latham’s past. Maybe if this bone doesn’t heal, all of his paths will disappear. Wouldn’t that be the perfect solution?”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple,” I say. “I haven’t read all of the bones. We can’t be sure he didn’t use them to do readings of other people. In which case, they would disappear too.”

  “He had a vial of Saskia’s blood,” Bram says softly. “Destroying any of those bones is out of the question.”

  Tessa inhales sharply. Her hand flies to her mouth. “Saskia, no. What if that’s his plan? To erase you?”

  I squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry. Latham doesn’t want me to disappear. If I don’t exist, he can’t kill me.”

  “How comforting,” Bram says dryly.

  “When your gran’s bone broke, did you choose which path would survive when it healed?” Jacey asks.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t even know what was on the other path—not until later.”

  Her brow wrinkles. “So what makes Latham different? The bones could heal in a way he doesn’t expect and the past could stay exactly the same.”

  It’s the same question that’s been prickling at the back of my mind too. But I don’t think he intends to allow the bones to mend without intervention. I think of how far apart the two halves were in the nutrient solution. As if he wanted to keep the bones viable but not allow them to begin merging until he can control the outcome.

  It’s no accident that he fractured Gran’s bones and not my mother’s. As a First Sight Charmer, Gran’s would have more power to reveal the past. My mother’s would be most useful to see how those changes to the past might affect the future.

  Jacey is still watching me, head tilted to one side, waiting for an answer to her question.

  “He’ll be able to choose whichever path he wants after he kills me,” I explain.

  I have Second Sight—Latham will use me to determine how the bones heal in the present.

  I decide to use my next session with Master Kyra to try to see Latham.

  We’ve moved on to harder tasks, and more powerful bones. But until now I’ve been holding back, worried about revealing myself as more skilled than I should be. And also worried about Kyra asking to see my upper arm, and discovering that my mastery tattoo has been there—all three corners of it—since before I arrived.

  But I don’t have the luxury of protecting myself anymore. If I have any chance of defeating Latham, I’ll need to take more risks. No matter the consequences. And for all I know, she could be the traitor working with Latham.

  So when Kyra drops a set of feline rib bones into a stone basin, I’m ready.

  “The Mason apprentices started a new project today,” she says. “I’d like you to tell me what they’re working on. In as much detail as possible, please.”

  I chew on my lip, already trying to nudge my mind toward Latham, as Master Kyra lights the incense.

  She pats me on the shoulder, misinterpreting my anxiety. “You can do this.”

  I set the bones alight. Extinguish the flames. Tip the basin onto the cloth in front of me. And then I close my eyes. First, I make quick work of spying on the Masons. They’re working on crafting household items—goblets that continuously fill with water until the drinker’s thirst is quenched, torches that stay illuminated without flame, bowls that keep food warm until it’s ready to be eaten. Niklas sits at one of the tables, carving the small delicate hands of a bone clock. His dark hair flops across his forehead, and he keeps pushing it out of his eyes with his wrist, never setting down his knife. I linger on him a moment longer than the others. As soon as I’m confident I have a clear enough picture to answer any of Kyra’s questi
ons, I shift my attention to finding Latham. It will be infinitely harder without his blood, but if I can just focus well enough …

  An image of him floats into my memory—angular face, dark hair shot through with silver, smile that can change from sincere to sneering in a single breath.

  But even with a clear picture of him in my mind, I struggle to find him in the vision. I think of the necklace in my pocket. Defensive magic. I know from my other path that Latham was using it by the time I arrived at Ivory Hall. Maybe I need to go further back. He’s probably impossible to see in the present.

  I try to find familiar anchor points that connect the two of us—my house in Midwood, the ship where I saw him in a vision talking to Declan all those months ago—but the memories are full of so much pain, my mind flinches away.

  I take a full breath and try to sink deeper into the reading. I need this to work. I need more information before I can figure out what he’s trying to do with Gran’s bones. An image of the shop flickers at the edge of my awareness.

  The moment I focus on it, the shop transforms.

  The peeling paint disappears, replaced with a crisp white exterior. Letters unfurl above the door in swirling gold script: Perfectly Tuned.

  A young Latham—probably not much older than I am now—stands outside. His hair is much shorter than I’ve ever seen it, and a richer, deeper color too. His stomach churns with anxiety. He takes a deep breath before pulling open the door. A bell attached to the handle announces his arrival. The shop is captivating. Peacock-blue walls, wooden slat floors, a variety of musical instruments displayed on tables and shelves.

  A woman bustles around the room, humming to herself as she works. She’s tall and wiry—all angles, and no curves. She turns when Latham enters, her expression melting into a smile that softens her whole face.

  “Latham. What a nice surprise.”

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “What brings you here in the middle of the day?”

  I can’t make sense of the flash of irritation that goes through Latham. At the way his muscles tense, making the cords on his neck stand out.

  “I wanted to see if you’d had a chance to talk to Father,” he says. His voice is all politeness and deference. Nothing like the storm of emotion that swirls in his chest.

  His mother picks up a cloth and begins to dust one of the tables. She doesn’t meet his gaze. “About?”

  A gust of rage flies through him, so strong that I’m sure he’s about to explode. But he pulls it back. Deliberately turns off his emotions, as if he’s blowing out a candle.

  “About Avalina? You promised to speak to him about allowing me to keep the match.”

  His mother waves a hand in front of her, swatting away the question as if it’s an irritating housefly. “That girl isn’t right for you.”

  “Isn’t that for me to decide?” His voice is carefully neutral.

  She pats his arm. “Why don’t we leave it up to fate? If you’re meant to be with her, it will all work out.”

  He stares at her, incredulous. Because fate already decided. And still it wasn’t good enough for his parents. They only care about fate when it agrees with them.

  In the reading, time shifts, pulling me forward at breathless speed. Images flash by so quickly that my stomach spins. I think I might be sick. I try reaching for the edges of the vison, to get some purchase that will make it stop moving so fast, but I seem to have lost all control. If my eyes weren’t already closed, I would squeeze them shut. Finally the vision slows. Comes to a halt.

  And I’m still standing inside the shop.

  The paint on the walls is a vivid orange now. The displays have changed.

  Latham walks through the door again, but this time he’s years older. He finds his mother and kisses her cheek. She chats with him for a while about mundane things—gives him an update on her vegetable garden, muses about the weather, shares a bit of gossip about one of his childhood friends. I nearly abandon the vision to try for something more meaningful when she clears her throat.

  “So have you given any more thought to the Grand Council vacancy? Say the word and your father will make sure you’re seated.”

  Latham gives a low chuckle that hides something much darker. His emotions are well concealed, even from himself. But I catch a few glimpses of old grudges and deep resentments as they dart through his mind. “I think I’ll pass.”

  His mother’s face falls. “I wish you’d reconsider. Your father always hoped you’d be on the council one day.”

  “I have every intention of taking my place on the council. But not now. I have a few projects I’d like to complete first. Though, if Father is interested, I do have a recommendation for a different Charmer.”

  “Oh? And who is that?”

  “Della Holte. I trained with her at Ivory Hall. She’d be perfect.”

  His mother’s eyes spark with interest. “Is she matched?”

  Latham laughs. “Don’t even think about it. She’s already with someone. But I would love to connect with Della again. She would be … helpful … to my goals.”

  I yank my hands away from the bones and the training room slowly comes back into focus. I blink once. Twice.

  Master Kyra is watching me expectantly.

  My thoughts are spinning, and I’ve forgotten what I was supposed to be looking for. I stare blankly ahead.

  “Any luck finding the Masons?”

  The Masons. My brain lurches slowly into motion. It seems like she gave me the assignment days ago.

  “Household items,” I say. “They were making goblets. Torches. Clocks.”

  “Excellent work. And it took you a little longer than usual. I’m glad we seem to have found a task that challenges you.”

  But her words barely register. My mouth feels stuffed with cotton. Latham was trying to get my mother on the Grand Council long before I met him. Did he want us to move to Kastelia City so we’d be easier to spy on? Easier to kill?

  Would it have made any difference if he’d succeeded? Would she have died sooner if we’d lived in the capital, or would events have unfolded entirely differently? Would she still be alive today?

  Ever since I started studying Gran’s healed bone, I can’t stop comparing my two paths. Wondering at their differences, marveling at what stayed the same, torturing myself with all the things I might have done differently to save my mother. It’s become a compulsion. And now every choice—every branch point on my path or anyone else’s—seems fraught with uncertainty.

  But one thing is clear: My visions of Latham seem to circle around the Grand Council like a vulture above a carcass. He’s been trying to manipulate it for years, though I’m still not sure of his motives. Control? Power? But those are both things that three generations of Bone Charmers will give him in spades.

  Unless … An idea starts to simmer in my mind. What if this is all about Avalina? What if he’s not trying to remake the council to amass power, but to punish the people who kept him from being with the woman he loved? The two paths on the broken bone in Latham’s shop were about which member was chosen to sit on the Grand Council. Could it be that Latham intends to change the past so that a different member is seated? One who wouldn’t go along with his father’s plans to keep the couple apart? Maybe he wants revenge instead of power.

  Or maybe he wants both.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I need to get back to Latham’s shop.”

  The six of us are crammed into the room I share with Tessa. It’s the only place I dare say the sentence aloud, the only place where a solid door separates me from Rasmus’s watchful gaze.

  “That’s going to be a lot more difficult now,” Bram says.

  “I know.” I rub my forehead. A headache is building behind my eyes. “But we’ll get instructions for the third bone game any day. Who knows where we’ll be sent? If I don’t go now, I might lose my chance forever. But you’re right. Rasmus is a problem.”

  Jacey slides to the floor, her
back resting against my bed. “Is it just me, or is he getting more—”

  “Annoying?” Niklas supplies. “It’s not just you.”

  “He’s trying to protect Saskia,” Bram says. “He’s just doing his job.”

  Talon raises one eyebrow. “And yet we seem to be discussing how to make him fail.”

  Bram’s mouth twists into a frown. “Point taken.”

  Talon’s statement makes guilt squirm in my stomach. I don’t want to deceive Rasmus. I like him.

  But he’s also standing between me and finding a way to exact revenge on Latham.

  Tessa sits on the bed and crosses her legs at the ankles. “So what are our options?”

  “Distraction seems like the only thing that will work,” Niklas says. He turns toward me. “Maybe we can find some way to occupy Rasmus while you slip away?”

  Bram and I share a look.

  “Not an option,” I say.

  Niklas’s chin juts forward. “But how else—”

  “I was hoping Jacey could help.”

  Jacey’s eyes lift to mine. “What do you mean?”

  I swallow. “We could make him fall asleep. Aren’t there a number of potions that would do the trick?”

  “I don’t know, Saskia. That would be harder to pull off than it sounds. You don’t think it would draw attention if he suddenly collapses where he stands?”

  Bram shakes his head. “Even if we could figure out that part, poisoning him won’t work. Breakers are trained never to accept food or drink while on duty. Rasmus won’t ingest anything he hasn’t seen prepared. And he’d be especially suspicious of anything we offer him.”

  Jacey chews her thumbnail. “If only I were matched to lotions instead of potions.”

  Talon laughs. “Lotions instead of potions?”

  “Lotions, potions, and explo-shuns,” Jacey says in a sing-songy voice. The terminology makes me smile. Mixers can be matched to one of three specialties—topicals, ingestibles, or explosives. Jacey works with ingestibles, so her magic is limited to things you can swallow.

  “There’s more than one way to administer a sleeping tonic,” Jacey continues, “and in this case, a topical would be easier to use without Rasmus knowing what we were up to. But even so, that doesn’t solve the problem of him collapsing on us.”