Trinity of Bones

by Caitlin Seal

  Text copyright © 2019 by Caitlin Seal

  Map copyright © 2019 by Jared Blando

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Charlesbridge and colophon are registered trademarks of Charlesbridge Publishing, Inc.

  At the time of publication, all URLs printed in this book were accurate and active. Charlesbridge and the author are not responsible for the content or accessibility of any website.

  Published by Charlesbridge

  85 Main Street, Watertown, MA 02472

  (617) 926-0329 • www.charlesbridgeteen.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Seal, Caitlin, author.

  Title: Trinity of bones / by Caitlin Seal.

  Description: Watertown, MA: Charlesbridge Teen, [2019] |Series: Necromancer’s song; 2 |

  Summary: Naya Garth is returning to her homeland of Talmir to testify against Valn, the man who had her murdered and resurrected as a spy; but secretly she is looking for the necromancy journals which may help her to save her love, Corten, who is trapped between resurrection and true death—but Talmir is dangerous for one of the undead, and meanwhile Corten has discovered that someone is seeking immortality with a ritual that will unleash chaos in the world.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018058503 (print) | LCCN 2019005102 (ebook) |

  ISBN 9781632896629 (ebook) | ISBN 9781580898089 (reinforced for library use)

  Subjects: LCSH: Magic—Juvenile fiction. | Immortality—Juvenile fiction. |

  Death—Juvenile fiction. | Conspiracies—Juvenile fiction. | Adventure stories. |

  CYAC: Magic—Fiction. | Immortality—Fiction. | Death—Fiction. |

  Conspiracies—Fiction. | Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Fantasy. |

  LCGFT: Action and adventure fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S33688 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.S33688 Tr 2019 (print) |

  DDC 813.6 [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018058503

  Ebook ISBN 9781632896629

  Ebook design adapted from printed book designed by Susan Mallory Sherman and Sarah Richards Taylor

  Cover design by Shayne Leighton

  v5.4

  a

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Maps

  Chapter 1: Corten

  Chapter 2: Naya

  Chapter 3: Naya

  Chapter 4: Corten

  Chapter 5: Naya

  Chapter 6: Naya

  Chapter 7: Naya

  Chapter 8: Naya

  Chapter 9: Corten

  Chapter 10: Naya

  Chapter 11: Naya

  Chapter 12: Naya

  Chapter 13: Naya

  Chapter 14: Corten

  Chapter 15: Naya

  Chapter 16: Naya

  Chapter 17: Naya

  Chapter 18: Naya

  Chapter 19: Naya

  Chapter 20: Corten

  Chapter 21: Naya

  Chapter 22: Naya

  Chapter 23: Naya

  Chapter 24: Corten

  Chapter 25: Naya

  Chapter 26: Naya

  Chapter 27: Naya

  Chapter 28: Naya

  Chapter 29: Naya

  Chapter 30: Naya

  Chapter 31: Naya

  Chapter 32: Naya

  Chapter 33: Naya

  Chapter 34: Naya

  Chapter 35: Naya

  Chapter 36: Naya

  Chapter 37: Corten

  Chapter 38: Corten

  Chapter 39: Corten

  Chapter 40: Naya

  Chapter 41: Corten

  Chapter 42: Naya

  Chapter 43: Corten

  Chapter 44: Naya

  Chapter 45: Naya

  Chapter 46: Corten

  Chapter 47: Naya

  Chapter 48: Naya

  Chapter 49: Naya

  Chapter 50: Naya

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my mom and dad, who have always encouraged my love of stories

  Wind howled through the dark and twisting landscape of death. It pressed against Corten’s chest as he struggled forward. One step. Another. Up ahead light glimmered through a crack in the darkness. It was a portal, a tiny gap in the barrier between the world of the living and that of the dead. His old mentor Lucia’s voice resonated from the other side. The notes of her song were deep and rich, and achingly familiar, as she called him back toward life.

  As Corten struggled on, blades of shadowy grass sprang up to wrap around his ankles, and the wind pressed like a thousand hands trying to push him back. Rocky, uncertain ground shifted beneath his every step. The first time he’d died, the pull of this strange landscape had been gentle and insistent. Voices on the wind had whispered of rest and safety. He’d refused them, and now it seemed death was determined not to let him escape a second time.

  Corten set his teeth in a snarl and pushed on. Second resurrections were tricky, but theoretically not impossible. He just had to reach the portal.

  The ground crumbled under his foot as though in response to his determination. Corten cried out and stumbled to his hands and knees. Struggling to stand, he heard a sound more terrifying than the howling wind. Lucia’s voice was faltering.

  “No!” Corten forced himself up, fighting the wind and his own exhaustion. He was so close. The song broke off as Lucia coughed. Then she gasped in breath and managed another half-strangled refrain.

  “Corten!” a second voice called, higher than Lucia’s and sharp with desperation.

  “Naya?” Corten reached for the portal. For just a moment, he saw her on the other side, her eyes wide as she reached back for him.

  But it was too late. Lucia’s voice failed. The light wavered. Then with a crack like thunder, the portal closed, leaving Corten standing with one hand outstretched toward the infinite darkness.

  “No,” Corten whispered. His hand fell limply to his side. Grass rustled against his legs as the wind’s strength lessened. He collapsed to the ground, and the grass blurred and re-formed around the scorched pants he’d been wearing when he died. He shuddered at their touch, more like the brush of heavy mist than anything real. Probably because they aren’t real, Corten thought. This place was shaped by thoughts and fears. It was an echo of the living world, and nothing here was quite what it seemed.

  Naya had told him that when she’d died, she’d felt the shadows like a tide. Others felt invisible hands pulling them away. For him, death had always been this endless grassy field, all winds and uncertain footing. He’d wondered if the landscape would change after a second death, if whatever killed him would shape the scenery into something new. Apparently not.

  Corten stood, holding one hand against his chest. Hot pain still lingered where the sword had snapped his rib and sent his soul screaming back to this dark place. How long had it been since he’d followed Naya into the tunnels beneath the burning Talmiran Embassy? Time was impossible to judge on this side of death, but Lucia wouldn’t have waited more than a day or two before she attempted to sing him back.

  Images from those last hours before his death flashed through Corten’s memory. The fire they’d run through had seemed almost alive as it furiously consumed the building—nothing like the controlled heat of the furnaces he’d worked
with as an apprentice glassblower. What they’d found in the tunnels below the embassy had been worse. Yet Naya had faced it all without flinching. Even when her father, Captain Hal Garth, had stood before her and snarled his hate, still she hadn’t run away. In that moment she’d seemed a different person from the quiet, uncertain girl she’d been when they first met.

  And from what he’d seen in that single glimpse through the portal, it looked as though she’d gotten away safely.

  Corten smiled to himself. Of course she’d gotten away. She was trained to fight, unlike him. Creator, he’d probably looked the fool when he’d swung that iron poker at her father. At least he’d managed to break the foul man’s arm.

  Corten’s smile turned to a grimace. Such a mighty legacy he left behind. Corten Ballera: failed necromancer, breaker of arms, and crafter of ugly glass trinkets. Oh, yes, the bards would surely sing his praises. And Naya…Well, if she were lucky, she’d forget him and go on to lead a long and happy life. Maybe she would even meet someone new.

  The image of her in someone else’s arms made his stomach twist. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the heat of her lips against his after they’d fled the execution. He must have been mad to kiss her like that. But in that moment, he’d felt so intoxicatingly alive that all his thoughts and doubts had been incinerated. He’d imagined sweeping her off her feet and carrying her far away to find a place where they could both be more than their regrets and the mistakes they’d made.

  The wind blew harder. Insistent.

  Corten glared at the swirling dark expanse of this dead world that had claimed his soul. “So that’s it?” he asked. “That’s all I get?”

  The wind swallowed his words and carried them away. Corten stood. “This isn’t fair!” he shouted. “I still have things to do!” He had a life back in Belavine, friends. Was death at the hands of some hateful merchant really the end of his fate?

  The wind mocked him with its constant force. It made him feel like a little kid stomping and screaming at some slight. As that image formed in his mind, the world twisted, perspective warping and light flooding the dark. He was a little kid, five years old and fuming over the injustice of his parents’ going out for a picnic without him. His father scowled from behind his mustache while his mother rolled her eyes.

  As abruptly as it had come, the vision vanished, leaving Corten kneeling as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

  Well. That hadn’t happened last time he’d died. Then again, last time he hadn’t missed his chance at the portal. Corten stood on shaky legs. He closed his eyes and searched his memory for every scrap of lore he’d ever learned about death. The longest recorded gap between a death and a resurrection was four days and six hours. No one had ever successfully been resurrected after a second failure, but so far as he knew, no one had tried since the end of the war. And if anyone was going to try, it would be Lucia.

  Voices whispered through the darkness, barely distinguishable from the endless rustling of the grass. The back of Corten’s neck prickled with the sense of someone watching.

  Stop fighting.

  Come.

  Rest.

  When Corten opened his eyes, a figure stood before him. It was almost human, but its edges were indistinct and its face hidden in shadows. Corten stepped backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

  “Stop fighting,” the figure said. The voice was masculine, and the rasp of it made Corten think of old books and mildew.

  Corten shook his head. He tried to back up farther but felt the ground shift ominously beneath his heels. His stomach lurched like he was already falling, and he had to fight down a gasp of fear. He reminded himself of all the times he’d gone up on city rooftops, even jumped off some of them just to prove to himself that such falls no longer held any power over him. But rooftops had always felt so stable compared to the loose rocks of the cliff’s edge, and there was something very different about falling when you were the one in control of the jump. “I don’t want to die,” Corten said, managing to make the words come out in something slightly manlier than a terrified squeak.

  “What you want matters not. Your life is spent. Now it is time for you to rest.”

  Something about the figure’s words tugged at Corten. Necromancy was as much about purpose and will as it was about carving runes. A necromancer could use their circle to create and contain a portal, and they could use the song to find and guide a soul back. But they couldn’t force anyone back into life. What if it worked the same going the other way? “What happens if I refuse?” Corten asked.

  “All souls go to their rest.”

  Corten crossed his arms. “Why? And what are you anyway?”

  The shadow man didn’t answer. The darkness at the edges of Corten’s vision writhed, and the feeling of being watched intensified.

  “Will you drag me away if I refuse to go?” He wouldn’t let his fear get the better of him. If he stalled long enough, maybe Lucia would figure out a way to open another portal.

  “You will go willingly.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will. If you don’t, the scavengers will consume you.”

  A chill crawled up Corten’s spine. “What’s that supposed to mea—” Before he could finish the thought, the ground beneath his feet vanished. His words became a scream as he plummeted into darkness.

  Naya strode through the hallways of the Ceramoran palace and prayed her nerves didn’t show on her face. Servants and low-ranking officials bustled past her as they tended to the daily business of the court. A few glanced her way and whispered behind their hands when she walked by, but no one tried to stop her.

  Naya’s former mentor, Celia, had once told her that understanding the expectations of others was one of a spy’s most valuable skills. Most of the people Naya passed knew who she was. They knew that only weeks ago she’d been spying for their enemies in Talmir. She was Talmiran after all.

  However, the people here also knew she’d betrayed her former masters and countrymen. She’d saved the life of the Ceramoran king’s chief adviser, Salno Delence. Now she was taking lessons from a tutor in the palace and preparing to join the Ceramoran delegation to the Congress of Powers. She was sure the palace gossips would gladly whisper about her motives or her ties to the Necromantic Council. But when they saw her walking the palace halls, they would expect she was there on official business.

  Naya walked quickly, as if she had somewhere important to be, but not so quickly that she would look like she was trying to flee. She kept her head up and her expression neutral. She willed the palace denizens to see her, then dismiss her as just another part of the everyday scenery. Because if any of Delence’s allies realized what she was really up to, they would do everything in their power to stop her.

  Memories stirred in the back of her mind as she entered a wing of the palace she hadn’t visited in weeks. They made her chest ache and her throat tighten with fear. Once, she’d been a master of locking away such things. But locking pain away had been her father’s strategy. Captain Hal Garth had taught her to be cold and calculating. He’d seen the people around him as either tools or threats. Including her.

  Naya turned a corner and saw a familiar guard standing in front of a heavy wooden door banded with iron. A servant polished the gilt frame of a painting farther down the hall, but otherwise there was no one in sight. The guard, Lieutenant Lila Selmore, flashed Naya a nervous smile as she approached. She was a small woman with lean features, close-cropped hair, and an air of cheerful confidence. Today the aether swirling around her was spiky with unease. “You’re sure you want to go through with this?” she asked without preamble.

  Naya hesitated, feeling the press of Lila’s emotions against her own. As a wraith Naya could detect emotions through the aether—energy that drifted off all living things. It was a skill that had proved useful more than once, but sometimes it felt as much
like a curse as a gift. It was all too easy to lose herself under the flood of outside sensations.

  “I can do this,” Naya said, trying to banish both her own fear and Lila’s. “But if you think this will bring too much trouble down on you—”

  Lila shook her head. “Let me worry about that part. The Necromantic Council owes you a debt for the help you gave us during the coup.” She smirked. “And besides, the Council wants to know what that lying bastard has to say as badly as you do.”

  Some of the tension in Naya’s chest unwound. “Then let’s get going.”

  Lila glanced down the hallway. She waited until the servant finished her polishing and moved out of sight around the corner. As soon as they were alone, Lila pulled an iron key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Naya sensed the wards deactivating as the lock’s heavy tumblers shifted. Lila opened the door and led Naya down a long flight of stone steps.

  Unease thrummed through Naya as her bare toes touched the first step. Not so long ago, she’d been dragged into this same dungeon to face what she’d thought was certain death. She heard the shouts again, felt the icy cold of salma wood cuffs binding her. She saw Valn looming over her. He’d demanded her help even as he condemned her to die as a pawn in his plans for war.

  These dungeons, and the man who waited in the cells below, were reminders of her failures. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t lock away the fear and loathing she felt every time she thought of what those failures had cost. Naya pressed one hand flat against the wall of the narrow stairway. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the physical world, blocking out everything else.

  “Are you all right?” Lila asked.

  Naya opened her mouth to answer, but her throat was too tight to speak. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and suddenly the task before her felt too vast, too impossible for words. But she also knew that if she didn’t summon the courage to face Valn now, she would spend the rest of her life in uncertainty and fear.

  Naya clenched her jaw, trying to convince her stupid feet to keep walking down the stairs. After a moment she felt Lila’s hand on her shoulder. Lila’s aether flooded through her, a warm mix of sympathy and concern. She’d been with Naya on the night Valn had captured her and thrown her into the dungeons. Though Lila couldn’t sense the aether, she obviously guessed some of what Naya was feeling.