Crown of Bones

by A. K. Wilder

  “I’m really not going in there to rescue you,” I say aloud.

  “Even if he’s drowned?” my inner voice asks.

  As if that could happen. But I wring my hands as I scan the surface again.

  Finally, Kaylin appears in the shore break with a net full of oysters, knife in his teeth. He tosses long hair out of his face, water spraying in an arc, the dark lengths clinging to his back and shoulders. I throw him a towel when he reaches me and busy myself with plates, cups, and blanket while he pulls on his pants. When I look up, he’s roughly drying his hair.

  “Good catch,” I say and quickly look down again, slicing lemons, putting out a small loaf of bread and a round of cheese. He does know how to pack a picnic, that’s certain. “Tell me you didn’t steal these.”

  He laughs. “They were offered freely.”

  “That’s a relief.” I shoot him a playful smile and we share a laugh. One by one he shucks the oysters, slipping his knife into the hinge, prying it open, and removing one half of the shell. With an expert touch, he runs the blade along the inside of the remaining shell, freeing the oyster. Soon, he has a dozen half shells on a plate.

  I squeeze lemon onto one and tip it to my lips. It slips down my throat with a smooth, salty tang. “Delicious.”

  He does the same, minus the lemon.

  “You like it simple,” I say, offering a piece of bread.

  “Sometimes.”

  The look in his eyes… I can’t help but lean forward, my lips parting slightly.

  “Ash.”

  I look at him, a bit startled. It’s as if he spoke directly into my head.

  He leans toward me, saying aloud, “Ash?”

  My pulse races as his sea-green eyes close. Unbelievably slowly, he leans in until our lips touch. His lips feel cool and salty, his hands strong on either side of my face. I close my eyes, too, while the ocean taste of him mixes with the lemon still on my tongue. There is only one thought in my head.

  Kiss him back.

  And as I do, warmth blooms, dispelling all doubt, all reluctance, and I let go, savoring the closeness. I reach for him. Touch his hair. Encircle his broad shoulders, his back. He gives a little groan and pulls me in tighter. My whole body goes weak and all I can do is fall, trusting that he will catch me. Or am I catching him?

  But even as we melt into each other, warnings ring in my head. What am I doing kissing on the beach? I’m behind with my work, and I’ve not even been to the field with Marcus and Belair yet. Who are, I might add, making a terrible show of it. And where am I, their recorder? Picnicking at a cove, eating oysters. Tangled up with a boy? I have to get my mind where it’s supposed to be, and fast, because the dak’n bones know as a non-savant, I’m lucky to even be on the sacred Isle of Aku.

  When we pull apart, I swallow with difficulty. “Kaylin.” I reclaim my hands and straighten. “I can’t do this.”

  He leans back, and I miss his closeness already.

  I reach for an oyster, to make it more normal and not a momentous declaration, but my hands shake. “On this journey, I’m the official recorder for the Heir of Baiseen, and Belair. The focus must be on the initiates, the journey. Then there’s the training and recording. The—”

  “Protocols?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “But when the journey’s over? What then?”

  My heart skips a beat. It’s not at all what I expected to hear. “I’ll be back in Baiseen.”

  “And?”

  “Not quite so constrained.”

  He exhales long and slow, then gives me a small smile. “A month or two is nothing to the sea.”

  My whole body stills.

  Did I hear right? He’ll wait for me?

  We quickly finish the oysters in silence. I’m still working up the nerve to say something, anything, to break the tension when he abruptly stands. “Let’s swim,” he says. “The water calls. Can’t you hear it?”

  No, but suddenly it seems like the only thing in the world I want to do.

  “I daresay you could use some cooling off.”

  Ha! I shrug out of my robe and undo my drawstring pants, stripping down to my underthings. Time is fleeting, I’ve learned. And we will never have these moments again. I will not waste them.

  He extends his hand. “Ready?”

  “Always.”

  He takes my hand and leads me to the surf.

  Goose bumps rise over my flesh as the water laps around my knees. “It’s so cold!” But I’m laughing as I wade out into the little crystal bay. He waits for me farther out, laughing back. When I push off the bottom and swim by his side, the temperature shocks me, then warms as I acclimate.

  Out in the middle of the cove, among the slippery bull kelp, Kaylin pulls me against him and we bob in the gently swaying water. I rest my head against his chest and smile. My heartbeat is so strong, I wonder if all the creatures in the sea can hear it.

  We stay that way for a long moment before he pulls back, winks, and dives beneath the water. I follow after him, and he reaches back for my hand. Together we wind through the kelp beds, their slippery blades skimming against my skin. Below us, I make out the sunken ship, a dark outline in the blurry blue water with silver fish darting in and out of the hull. Streams of green moss float from the mast like tattered flags, and I follow it down to the deck with my eyes.

  There’s something there.

  I let go of Kaylin’s hand and give a few strong kicks toward it, clearing my ears as I go.

  It looks like a woman clinging to the bow of the rotting ship, her long hair waving in the current.

  Before I can get closer, Kaylin has my hand again and is pulling me to the surface. Air escapes my lips as I scissor kick toward the sky. When I break the surface, I whip hair out of my eyes. “Did you see her?”

  “Pardon?” Kaylin bobs beside me, looking anywhere but at me.

  “I swear it was a woman with very long hair. She was clinging to the hull.” I’m about to say I know how impossible it sounds, since we saw no one else on the beach or in the water, but he’s gone in a flash, diving under to investigate, I assume.

  I take a breath and dunk my head, watching from the surface, but all I see is a blur of green and blue water and the golden, swaying bull kelp.

  When Kaylin returns, he’s laughing. “Come on, the tide’s changing. We should go in.”

  We swim side by side toward shore. “What’s so funny?” My feet touch the sand bottom and I stand. “I’m sure I saw something down there.”

  “Aye, you did. The ship’s figurehead sculpted as a Mar, fixed to the prow.”

  “That must be embarrassing.”

  My inner voice couldn’t be drier.

  “Figurehead?” I consider it. “I was sure she moved. Pushing incredibly long hair back from her face.”

  “Easy to mistake in the kelp garden, and without a mask.”

  “A mask?” We walk out of the surf to the beach.

  “You don’t know? They’re made of glass set in soft leather.” He cups his face with his hands, demonstrating. “You can see clearly under the waves with them.”

  I think of my blurred vision, the rippling current, kelp floating by. “Maybe we can find one of these masks on the island and have another look. I would love to explore the wreck that way.”

  “And I would love to show you more of the sea.” Then his eyes lose focus, almost like a savant’s does when speaking to their phantom.

  We stop just short of our picnic spot. “Kaylin? What is it?”

  He comes back to himself. “You’re shivering.” He runs to retrieve my towel and drapes it around my shoulders, rubbing warmth back into my arms. I find myself huddling against him, though he is as cool as me.

  I close my eyes, reliving the kiss, melting in to what we started but can’t finish. I
tell myself to take a step back, but my feet don’t listen. When he tips my chin up, bringing our faces a short breath away, I force my eyes to pop open. “Berry tarts! Are they still warm?”

  He lets out a breath. “Should be.”

  “Come on, then.” I lead us back to our picnic, determined not to let my heart get in the way of my duties. “We’ve dessert to eat and a break-in to plan.”

  42

  Marcus

  Rain pours onto the field as we line up in front of Zarah. It’s the end of our first full week on Aku, and she’s about to announce the results of the elimination trials.

  These days have been the most treacherous of my life.

  On the first day—which was the third day of training for everyone else, bones be damned—I thought the training so hard it would boot me off the path, but that was only the start. Each day since has compounded the feeling, beginning with Morning Ritual, which is not nearly as sedate as it sounds.

  I groan at the thought. We warm up by sprinting to the highest lookout and back, then meet on the field for a series of hand-to-hand and weapons exercises. Then, with phantoms still down, we fly through the obstacle course and race to the hall for breakfast. For an hour after, we’re in classrooms taking oral and written exams, firing off answers to questions we studied the night before. Belair is very good at those, and I excel at the additional sword work we practice after lunch, but everything else—the classes with Zarah, phantoms raised and running the perimeter, tackling the obstacle course side by side, then sparring until dark—nine times out of ten, De’ral and I are left looking like fools.

  Eight times out of ten, De’ral growls.

  Maybe there has been a small improvement, but we’d need a Sierrak reading glass to spot it. My heart sinks at the thought, and I have to force my shoulders back to stand tall. Of course, each day, who is on the sidelines, writing board in her lap, recording every slip and mishap? My recorder, of course. Ash’s face is hopeful, always encouraging, but today I see my own worry mirrored in her eyes.

  Zarah claps her hands, bringing me back from my rambling thoughts.

  The tension weighs like an anvil on all of us. Pass or fail, stay or go, this is it.

  If we pass, we continue on with the training. We’ll be judged at the end as to whether we’re fit to advance to yellow-robe or not. Fail and we’re out. I think I understand now why my father called for the second throw of the bones. Better that I never tried, that I never reached this sacred Isle, than to raise a phantom and fail so spectacularly to master him.

  Belair casts me a nervous glance. I don’t want to consider one of us passing and the other not. Belair and I are in this together now. We’ve been through so much.

  Zarah glances at a list and tucks it back into her pocket before it gets soaked. Her face is a mask. Unreadable.

  My guts tighten and I think I may be sick. Belair looks much the same. I imagine the results in my head. Fail. Fail. What else could it be?

  She clears her throat to get our attention. As if she needs to. We’re all hanging on her next words. “Macor of Sierrak and Brigit of Goll. Dismissed. You both show promise, just not enough yet. Maybe next year. Come by my chambers for a full report for your High Savants before you leave.”

  I look to them both feeling pity. But is Zarah done? Are there more names on her list? I thought Brigit was stronger than me and Belair, but no one will tell us the criteria for the eliminations, so we’re in the dark.

  “And…” She pauses, torturing us to the core. “The rest of you pass.”

  Cheers well up. Backs are slapped. Swords point to the sky while Belair and I stand like stumps. I never knew relief could nail me so completely to the spot.

  Zarah whistles for attention. “Hit the books! There’s a written test tomorrow at second bell. I will be looking for improvement from all of you—among other things.”

  I struggle out of my stupor and turn to Belair. “We made it.”

  “And now the pressure starts all over again.” He’s just as weary as me, the stress of the training taking a toll.

  But what else is there to say? Certainly not, “great session today” or “amazing work.” My eyes are on the mucky ground as we follow the others back to the main hall. We need to improve. Fast.

  “Congratulations, both of you.” Samsen claps me on the back, the wetness making it sting. He’s as soaked as we are.

  “Your sword work was excellent.” Piper trots up beside me. “Especially in such bad footing.”

  “Swordsmanship was never my problem.” I feel like my whole body is wading through mud.

  “Marcus, take this win. You did it.” Ash sounds genuinely cheered. “I knew you would, both of you.”

  I think I’m still in shock. From the moment I left Baiseen, nothing has gone to plan, and now that one thing has, I can’t let it in. If only I were further along the path, I’d be able to appreciate this experience of accomplishment. But I skip over it, too focused on what comes next. And next beyond that. Time is not on my side. I have to show more than potential now. I have to succeed.

  “Marcus?” Samsen purposely slows the pace until the other students are far ahead. “I hate to bring this up now when we should be celebrating, but I have an oddity to report.”

  I don’t feel capable of celebrating anyway. “Tell me.”

  He describes Destan sitting in the highest ocean lookout, in the pouring rain, phantom set to guard while he…just sat there.

  “Doing nothing?”

  Piper leans in. “He held a medallion.”

  “What do you make of it?” I’m shuffling through my memory of all forms of meditation. Nothing stands out as similar.

  “No idea.”

  Ash frowns like she’s trying to recall something, too. “Medallion, did you say?”

  Samsen nods. “But the Aturnian was on the lookout for some time before pulling it out from under his robe. He watched the road down to the pier, the track that leads off to the leeward beaches and far out to sea. He also paid close attention to you and Kaylin, Ash, when you came back from the beach.”

  I turn to Ash. “Beach?”

  “A cove Kaylin discovered,” she says.

  “In the rain?”

  “It wasn’t raining at the start. It was low tide and the rockpools—”

  I stop listening, unwilling to be pulled off track. “Piper, did you send your serpent in to get a closer look at Destan?”

  “I tried, but his phantom sensed it. I brought it straight to ground.”

  “He has skills.” I have to admit the truth. “More than most green-robes.”

  “It’s his second attempt,” Ash says. “I meant to mention, and I think I know why he would love the rain.”

  I turn to her, brows raised.

  “I heard Cyres’s recorder chatting with the others.” She rubs her brow. “You know, sometimes I think I’m invisible to them, being non-savant.”

  I avert my eyes for a moment, not knowing what to say about the prejudice here. “But you heard talk?”

  “They remember Destan from last year.”

  “I guess that explains why he’s so good at everything.”

  “But it doesn’t explain why he doesn’t have a recorder.”

  “That’s odd.” My brows go up. “Hadn’t noticed.”

  Ash shakes her head. “I honestly don’t think he can afford one, Marcus. His family… Northern or Southern, they didn’t confirm, but his family were farmers. The drought hit them hard, and harder still were Palrio’s trade sanctions. I know the sanctions are in place to forestall war, but Marcus, they lost everything.”

  “Because of my father.” I bow my head.

  Ash rests her hand on my shoulder. “Can you describe the medallion?” she asks Samsen.

  “Aturnian design, silver, horses on it, I think.” Samsen sh
akes his head. “That I could have my phantom call, but it might have tipped him off, suddenly jumping out of his hands.”

  When she doesn’t respond, we all turn her way.

  “Ash?”

  Her brow knits. “It’s just that some medallions are used by red-robes to communicate over long distances.”

  I rub my neck and frown. “He’s good, but he’s no red-robe.” I look to the others to confirm it, and they all nod. “You haven’t seen him meeting anyone, talking in hushed tones?”

  “Nothing like that.” Samsen’s eyes study the distance before returning to me. “But if he is Northern Aturnian, he might be spying. Gathering information about us.”

  “Or about Aku,” Belair says.

  “When he’s here at Yuki’s behest, or at least, consent?” Ash asks.

  “Good point.” I feel a plan forming. “Ash, find out what you can about the medallion. Where is it from? What other realms wear such ornaments? How are they used?”

  “I’ll see what I can uncover,” she says.

  I turn to Samsen and Piper. “Continue keeping watch over him, just in case.” It’s an overreaction, I am sure, and I don’t want to be like my father but—

  If you were like your father, Destan would already be dead.

  De’ral’s words chill me to the core, because he’s right. By the path, I will not follow in that man’s wake.

  43

  Ash

  I wake with a start, pulling my face out of the book I was studying before I fell asleep. The room is quiet. The fire burns low and there’s a chill in the air. It’s nothing like the toasty bright space it was a few hours ago when Kaylin and I were laughing and planning our break-in.

  Retrieval, I correct myself. I mean, information gathering is part of my job, and nothing is actually going to be broken.

  “Who are you trying to convince?”

  I don’t answer but reach for my sweater from the back of the chair and pull it on, and add a log to the fire. Kaylin left me to my studies, as he does. Fishing? Selling lures? I’m never sure. I start to stack our dinner dishes from the table when it happens.