A Lair of Bones

by Helen Scheuerer

  Roh gasped for air. She knew she was almost there, if she could just shake the beast from her trail —

  A searing sensation pulsed at her breastbone. Roh would have cried out in despair were it not for every ounce of her energy being used to evade the fangs of the crazed creature behind her. A flurry of movement below caught her eye and Toril Ainsley’s voice filled her mind:

  ‘It had camouflaged itself against the coral …’

  Roh’s limbs were burning with the effort, her breathing ragged, and more and more salt water was finding its way into her lungs. She was overexerting herself, and her magic wasn’t working at full capacity.

  The drake’s noise had already disturbed what lay amidst the seabed. It just needed a little more encouragement … As she manipulated a path of water before her, she wrenched the crossbow from her back and pointed it at the moving coral below.

  She released the bolt.

  A low, guttural roar sent a wave barrelling upwards and Roh saw a flash of garnet tentacles shoot up through the current. The sea drake screeched as the reef dweller launched itself into its path. For a second, Roh faltered, watching legendary beast against legendary beast —

  But the icy exterior of the shell token was nearly unbearable on her skin, and another screech sounded behind her as the shimmering light of Saddoriel came into view.

  Just a little further …

  With a strangled sob, Roh burst through the veil and into Saddoriel, skidding across the bone fragments on the ground, gulping for air. A flash of gold and garnet passed outside the shimmering shield, and then it was gone. Coughing uncontrollably, Roh scrambled to her feet, looking around wildly for Odi – there! Inside the glass tank, the water skimming his mouth, he stood on the very tips of his toes, his head tilted back and his eyes wide, full of panic. Roh staggered towards him, wrenching an unattended stool from its feet and slamming it into the face of the tank. The glass cracked, veins splitting across its polished surface. With a cry of rage, Roh lifted the stool and hit the tank again, and again. Finally, glass shattered into thousands of pieces and the water poured from the tank in one giant wave, spilling across the ground, sending fragments of glass sailing past Roh. Odi collapsed into her.

  The world around them slowed at last. Nearby, Finn was being tended to by a handful of healers, while Yrsa’s partner was fussing, heaping blankets on her. The Elder Council was huddled together at the base of the stone-column throne, whispering amongst themselves. Roh scanned the second tier in the audience for Orson, Harlyn and Ames, but they weren’t where they’d been before. There was no sign of Tess, Yrsa’s human, or Finn’s – their tanks were whole but empty. What happened to them?

  Odi panted in Roh’s arms. ‘Did you …?’

  Roh met his gaze and gave a single nod, just as the crowd fell silent. She saw why. Queen Delja had flown down from her throne. Her slippered feet hit the ground silently, just in front of Roh and Odi, avoiding the water and shards of glass. Unreadable lilac eyes met Roh’s moss-green stare. Willing herself not to tremble, Roh carefully retrieved the serpent scale from her bulging satchel. She bowed deeply, her legs shaking uncontrollably as she held the scale out to the queen.

  Queen Delja took it. Her eyes narrowed as she examined it, turning it over in her hands just as Roh had done in the serpent’s nest. The pale gold glinted in the torchlight. A muscle flickered in the queen’s jaw, just for a moment.

  A sudden invisible pressure pushed against Roh’s forehead and she staggered back. A sharp crack pierced the silence, followed by the sound of metal clattering to the ground. Roh blinked, staring at her bare feet, where in a puddle of water and glass fragments, her gold circlet lay broken in two.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A queen … The queen of all cyrens … Roh didn’t say the words aloud; she let them sink into her chest, into her very being. Queen. Queen. Queen. No one could take that from her now. There would be no more workshop, no more picking flesh from bones down in the dark depths of the lair … Perhaps no more bones at all. Saddoriel and all the cyren territories – Lochloria, Csilla and Akoris – were hers. She stilled her fidgeting hands and took a moment, narrowing her focus. Was she imagining it, or was that a whisper of song stirring beneath her skin?

  The violent roar of the crowd was still ringing in her ears as Roh found herself back in her chambers, preparing for the official presentation.

  ‘I won,’ she murmured to herself in shock. Against all the odds, she had beaten and outsmarted eleven others, including those who’d had inside advantages from the start. She’d bested a sea drake, for gods’ sake … A sense of victory swelled in her chest, but she dared not believe it. Not yet.

  While Odi was in the washroom, Roh fumbled with her satchel, still wet from the sea, and pushed it under the bed carefully, shuddering at the memory of the sea drake careening after her. Amidst the coral and scales of the nest, she had made an impulsive decision … and now what she’d stolen was burning a hole in that bag. No one aside from the sea drake and Roh knew its contents, and that was how it had to stay.

  When it was her turn to use the bathing chamber, Roh’s fingers wouldn’t work as she tried to unbuckle her belt. She needed to get out of her damp clothes and wash off the patches of clay before she could change into something … more befitting of a sovereign. But what? She tried to recall what sort of attire Delja wore, without success; her mind was blank. She almost laughed. After all she had faced, attire was now her gravest concern? As she entered the main chambers, staring at the wardrobe, trying to find inspiration, the sound of teeth chattering made her turn. Odi, wrapped in the quilt from his bed, was shivering at his place by the window.

  ‘Still not warm?’ she asked, frowning.

  ‘N-n-no,’ he replied.

  ‘Here.’ She took the quilt from her own bed and piled it on top of him as well.

  ‘Th-th-thanks.’

  ‘I think you’re in shock,’ she told him.

  Odi raised his brows, his long fingers toying with the protective shell token she had returned to him. ‘Aren’t you?’

  I am going to be queen … The words filled her mind, prickling her skin with a rush of goosebumps. ‘Yes,’ she told him. ‘I’m definitely in shock.’

  Turning back to the wardrobe, Roh caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and froze. She had been wearing her circlet since she was born. Now, without it …

  ‘You look like a different person,’ Odi said weakly.

  Roh traced her naked forehead with her fingers, following the faint line the circlet had left. ‘I suppose I am different.’ The prison flashed before her with its black passageways and dead water warlocks. And Cerys … Had the news filtered down to Roh’s mother yet? Roh inhaled sharply, realising that the Tome of Kyeos was now hers. The truth about Cerys was at last within reach.

  She selected a pair of flowing pants and a loose shirt from the hanging space, and a simple but lush wide-sleeved robe to be belted over the top. She returned to the washroom to change, forcing her trembling fingers to work the laces and buckles. Thankfully, her boots were still dry and she tugged them onto her feet, the flowing fabric of the pants covering them completely. She wasn’t quite ready to wear the traditional slippered shoes or sandals yet.

  A sharp knock sounded and she poked her head out to the main rooms. The door swung inwards, revealing Orson and Harlyn, their mouths agape. Roh ran to them, dragging them inside by their arms and throwing herself at them, bringing them into a hard embrace. She breathed in their familiar scents, their bodies warm and solid against hers.

  ‘This is where you’ve been staying?’ Harlyn managed, stepping back and spinning around to take in every detail of the luxurious chambers.

  As victor, Roh had been informed she was to invite family and friends to the official coronation. And here they were. She beamed at them.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Orson cried, tears streaking her face already. She reached out and traced the faint line of pale skin where Roh’s circlet had
been.

  Harlyn squeezed Roh again. ‘Yes, congratulations.’ Gone was any trace of jealousy or fear. This was what they had all worked so hard for. This was what they had dreamed of since they were but small nestlings.

  Roh reached out and cupped Orson’s wet face. ‘Don’t cry,’ she said. ‘We did it. We actually did it.’

  Orson laughed, sniffing loudly. ‘We did … These are tears of joy.’

  Harlyn slung her arms back around both Orson and Roh. ‘Of course they’re tears of joy. Now, more importantly. When are you going to tell us how in the names of Dresmis and Thera you retrieved that scale?’

  Unable to contain the aching grin stretching across her face, Roh eyed the hour. ‘That’s a tale for another time, Har. We have to be at the Great Hall in just —’

  Orson clapped her hands gleefully. ‘What does one wear to a coronation?’

  Roh flung open the wardrobe doors and gestured to the highborn clothes draped within. ‘Choose what you like, but be quick. I can’t be late for my own —’

  Harlyn burst out laughing, the sound from deep within her belly. ‘You’re going to be queen. You can do whatever you like!’

  Grinning, Roh watched her friends rifle through the contents of the wardrobe, paying the shivering Odi in the corner no heed. Roh eyed him worriedly. There hadn’t been time to speak of it yet, but Roh’s promise hung between them. ‘When I’m crowned queen,’ she had said, ‘I will grant you your freedom.’ She knew Odi was waiting for her to broach the subject; her stomach squirmed uncomfortably as she considered what it would mean. Freeing him … would mean losing him. Sensing her attention, Odi’s amber eyes lifted to hers. Roh had every intention of keeping her word.

  ‘What shall we call you?’ Harlyn was asking, tugging a gown over her head. ‘Rohesia the Serpent Slayer? Rohesia the Untouchable? Rohesia the Risen?’

  Odi quickly averted his gaze as the others changed, some colour at last returning to his cheeks.

  Roh snorted. ‘I don’t know.’ Still, her chest was swelling with pride. She was going to have a full title. No longer would she simply be Roh the bone cleaner. If Delja was Delja the Triumphant, what name would Roh be given? She would find out soon enough.

  When her friends turned to her, a wave of goosebumps rushed across her arms. They looked different, too. Like highborns. Roh had never seen them wear anything other than lowborn workshop attire.

  ‘You both look …’

  ‘We know,’ Harlyn quipped with a wink.

  Roh led Harlyn, Orson and Odi through the residences and the foyer, towards the Great Hall. The paths were so familiar to her now that she didn’t have to think about it. She watched her friends’ expressions of awe and smiled to herself. They too would grow used to the Upper Sector. She was sure of it.

  The Great Hall’s galleries were packed. Roh had never seen a crowd of this size, not even for the trials. The stone balconies seemed to swell with bodies and the noise from the crowd rattled the very bridges they stood upon.

  The Haertel elders approached Roh, heads bowed. ‘Rohesia, this way.’ They ushered her away from her friends, but seeing the panic in Odi’s eyes, she gripped his arm. ‘He comes with me,’ she said, taking no chances.

  They led her to the centre of the hall, where she was completely visible. All eyes were on her, gawking as though she were a savage beast trapped inside a cage. But she was caged no longer. She was free. Roh lifted her chin, letting them stare at the faint line of skin where her circlet had been. She was no longer a bone cleaner … She was about to be their queen. Beside her, she felt Odi shivering as a cold rush of wind surged through the hall.

  Queen Delja, wings flared, landed deftly before them. Is she just ‘Delja’ now? Roh wondered abstractly. Delja was no longer wearing her crown and she looked strange, in the same way Roh did without her circlet.

  ‘Welcome, cyrens from near and far,’ Delja called, her silken voice projecting to the far reaches of the galleries. ‘Welcome to this monumental occasion.’

  Roh fought the urge to rub her arms. Her skin was prickling, unable to shake the nagging sensation that something wasn’t as it should be. She told herself she was being paranoid, urging herself to leave her tendency for spiralling thoughts behind her as she came into her throne.

  ‘It has been five decades since our last tournament, and this one, like the ones before it, was a demonstration of our kind’s courage, tenacity and cunning. The challenges faced by our competitors were designed to push their limits, to test their endurance and the very fibre of their being. They did just that. The efforts of all were nothing short of valiant.’

  Odi was fidgeting and Roh realised that he couldn’t understand the Saddorien language Delja was speaking. Roh leaned in to translate for him, but Delja’s gaze suddenly turned to her.

  ‘However,’ she said. ‘If there is to be a champion, there can only be one. Which is why we are gathered here now.’

  Roh was as still as death.

  ‘Rohesia of the Bone Cleaners has won the third trial of the Queen’s Tournament. Come forward, Rohesia.’

  Elder Mercer appeared next to the queen, presenting a cushion covered with a piece of silk.

  Delja removed the silk with one smooth sweep, revealing a crown sitting atop the velvet.

  ‘A new crown, for a new queen,’ Delja said quietly.

  It was certainly a new crown, striking, majestic even, with delicate detailing carved into its ivory peaks. Roh gazed at it in wonder, finding her fingers aching to reach out and touch it. And why shouldn’t she? It was hers. She had earned it. But as she stared at its beautiful craftsmanship, she realised that it was not at all like Delja’s former coral crown. This one was a crown of bones.

  The crowds realised it, too. Murmurs burst across the galleries, and whispers washed over the Great Hall in a tidal wave. All the while Roh stood before Delja, gaping at the former queen as she lifted the crown from the velvet cushion.

  You’re about to be made queen, Roh told herself. There would be a time to address the insult and her unending questions later. But as she bowed her head for the moment of her coronation, the bareness of the crown struck her. The birthstones of Saddoriel were missing. The crown was placed on her head, the weight of it settling atop her hair. Roh stood up straight, meeting Delja’s eyes.

  The former queen’s gaze was triumphant. ‘The Council of Seven Elders has made an additional decision,’ Delja continued. ‘Due to Rohesia’s questionable heritage, a further task has been added to prove her dedication to Talon’s Reach and the cyren race.’

  What? Roh nearly choked. The queen’s words were poison-coated thorns emerging from the garden of Roh’s dreams.

  ‘Rohesia can choose to forfeit her victory and return to her work with the bone cleaners, or … she can prove herself worthy of our kind and our clans once and for all.’

  Bile hit the back of Roh’s throat, her knees buckling beneath her. Her eyes watered as she fought to keep herself upright. This is … No one else would have had to do this.

  Odi sensed her panic, his eyes imploring her to explain.

  Delja wasn’t done. ‘The birthstones of Saddoriel have been placed in the care of the cyren territories of Akoris, Csilla and Lochloria. Should you choose to accept this final task, you must find and win the stones. Once you have returned all three birthstones to their place in the crown, Talon’s Reach will accept you as its rightful queen. Saddoriel and the Tome of Kyeos will be yours.’

  Roh felt faint. She swayed against Odi.

  ‘You have one hour to decide.’

  In a chamber tucked away from the Great Hall, the soft, mournful notes of the Eery Brothers’ fiddles sounded. Gentle chords rose and fell around Roh, Orson, Harlyn, Odi and Ames as they sat at a round table in the centre of the room. Roh’s hands were shaking as she removed the crown of bones from her head and placed it before her, the gaps where the missing birthstones were meant to sit staring back at her.

  How could I have been so naive? How
could I have thought that the rules would be the same for an isruhe?

  Everyone at the table was looking at her, waiting for her reaction, waiting for her plan, but … An ache in her chest silenced her. She didn’t know what to do.

  Harlyn exploded on her behalf. ‘This has to be against the rules,’ her friend spat, slamming her palm on the table.

  Roh said nothing, continuing to stare at her crown, studying the network of small bone fragments that had been carved and shaped to form elegant peaks.

  ‘It’s not against the rules.’ Ames’ voice was soft, followed by the rustling of parchment. Roh looked up to see him producing a thick bundle of papers from his robes. He placed them before her on the table, pointing to twelve signatures scrawled in a single column. Roh spotted her own messy hand. It was the contract she had signed.

  Ames turned through the pages, to the very last one, and pointed to the final clause.

  ‘Clause fifty-two,’ Roh read aloud, her voice quavering. ‘If the victor is of questionable birth or morals, an additional task may be deemed necessary by the Council of Seven Elders.’

  ‘This is utter shit,’ Harlyn hissed. ‘And they’ve given her three additional tasks, not one. What in the name of the gods did Roh ever do to Saddoriel?’

  ‘She was born the daughter of our kind’s most infamous murderer,’ Ames said quietly.

  All Roh wanted to do was hide. After everything she’d done, after everything she’d been through to get here, her dreams had been at her fingertips, only to be snatched away. She couldn’t bear it.

  Orson sat down beside her and gripped her arm gently. ‘Did you know about this clause, Roh?’

  Numbly, Roh shook her head. ‘We … we didn’t have the opportunity to read it. Or at least, I didn’t think we did. No one else read it.’