The Bone Roses

by Kathryn Lee Martin

  Just get through this first. You can confront Tracker about his lies later.

  “Ouch. I take it he never told you that. Sorry, Frost Flea. But seriously, offer’s open for the taking.”

  I draw a long breath, trying to fight down the nauseous feeling creeping in. “I would think that I’ve done more than my fair share for you already.”

  “True, you have, but you’re clearly a rustler and this is Rondo. This could be lucrative for us both. What say you? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

  “No.”

  “All right, let me be a little clearer on this.” He tilts his chin and winks. “You help me out and I’ll help you with Henny. Can’t fight him if you don’t know where he’s burying his tactical roots. And without that knowledge, you’re going to be plenty fine fodder for the Kingdom’s masses.”

  Turn away now, that little voice warns. But I don’t, held in place by his honey-sweet accent.

  “I have no reason to trust a spy.”

  “I’m a luresman.” He draws the word out with a tantalizing smile, the word almost completely lost to his accent. “Not a spy, more like the Kingdom’s chief negotiator for situations like this. They’re two different things.”

  Luresman? That sounds even worse.

  “That’s about all I need to hear.” A light thudding sound crosses the floorboards above us. Muffled, angry yells accompany it.

  “All right, fair enough.” He doesn’t look away. “But before you go and offer me up for trying to help, ask yourself this. Can you really afford not to know how Henny plays with Hyperion’s fancy military toys?”

  The doorknob rattles. Its hinges squeak. Colton shies from the bars as if the conversation never took place and offers up a smug “think on it” wink.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Summoning even more of your master’s demonic minions now, witch? Has this settlement not suffered enough for your sacrificial lusts?” Hunter snakes both greasy hands around the banister and leans closer. “This is grounds for a good ol’ fashion burning at the stake.”

  If I wasn’t in enough trouble as it is I’d swing this rifle hard enough to splinter that support rail he leans on. I’m not in the mood for this today.

  “Lawrence, I’ll only say this once. Shut the hell up or I’ll shut you up.” Jericho limps by. For a moment, his gloved hand hovers just close enough that with one good shove, he could easily send the mousy man over the railing. But he doesn’t.

  “What’s this?” Hunter looks at him. “Taking her side again are we? Truly powerful sorcery to make a holy man—”

  Jericho whips around, nose almost touching Hunter’s. “Finish that and I’ll see to it personally that you secure some nice property on the lake of fire.”

  “She,” he points at me, “truly has blinded you with her magic. This is my jurisdiction and in the best interest of Rondo and its remaining citizens, I suggest we burn her at the stake and throw the bones to the Kingdom’s dogs before we all fall to her spells.”

  Jericho’s brow furrows, face reddening. He clenches his fists like he wants to reach up, grab Hunter, and pitch him off the stairs. We all know he can do it too. He doesn’t look the type, but I’ve seen him outwork Tracker, Matthew, myself, and even Frank during the big grain harvests that everyone but Hunter helps with.

  “I gave you that authority, Hunter, I can just as easily take it away. And with God as my witness, if you even lay one hand on her, or anyone for that matter without a justified, official verdict from myself, Tracker, and Frank, may God have mercy on your soul because you’re going to need every bit of it.”

  “Have you seen what she’s done? What she’s brought—”

  “Enough.” Jericho stamps a foot against the wooden stair with a loud, assertive bang. “This is not open to debate.”

  He turns away, leaving Hunter standing there slack-jawed and stunned. The preacher’s strange brown eyes scan the basement prison until they settle on Colton and me.

  “Now, what is going on here?”

  “She found him in the grain hothouse,” Tracker decides to speak for me.

  Jericho nods and gives me a lukewarm look. “And your version of the story, Rags?”

  “It’s as Tracker says.” I try to sound more confident than I really am but it’s hard under the withering look he’s giving me. “He was trespassing. I followed him because I thought he might be a rival rustler, and well, here we are.”

  I choose to leave out the part about the pistol being aimed at me. Or that I only saw the foreigner because I left town to follow Henny. This looks bad enough as it is and I really don’t want Jericho to hear Tracker yell at me or Hunter to know that I left.

  “And why did you go on your own?” his voice softens.

  “She did it because she knows this Kingdom Corps scum.”

  “Lawrence,” Jericho warns. “I am speaking to Rags, not you.”

  “It’s all right there in front of you.” Hunter storms down the stairs.

  Frank bars his path.

  “First, Hyperion’s pedigree watchdog shows up to slaughter us. Now, there’s a fox in our food supply. And she mysteriously seems to be there at that moment? Every single time. She’s guilty of treason!”

  I dig my fingers against the rifle’s stock and grit my teeth.

  “She’s even sacrificing those she’s managed to enchant,” he snarls with a pointed look at me. “Including that son of yours, Jericho.”

  “His name is Matthew,” I hear Jericho utter a warning growl, eyes shifting to Hunter.

  Colton’s eyes widen and his lip curls into a wry smirk at the name as if it’s very familiar to him as well.

  “I don’t care what his name was. It’s only a matter of time before she kills every one of us to satisfy her master’s bloodlust. Tell me, where is your God then, Jericho? Surely we have been abandoned and damned because of her witchcraft.”

  That’s it. I’m gonna do it. The rifle shifts in my hands.

  “What did I just say, Hunter?” Jericho unclenches his gloved fist, thumb and pointer finger moving as though worrying his coat before pointing to the ground in a firm command to “stay.” It’s a small, but effective sign and catches me off-guard. I’ve never seen him sign anything before. I didn’t even know he could. Then again, up until now I didn’t know Tracker was the former second-in-command either. God only knows what Jericho is hiding.

  “All right.” Frank grabs Hunter by his threadbare, green coat. “I think we’ve heard enough out of you.”

  Hunter twists in his grasp. “Put me down this instant, Williams.”

  “Not until you learn to heed good advice.” He hauls him away.

  Colton sneaks closer to the bars, lips still curled into a wry smirk.

  “Aye, Hunter Mayfaire Lawrence. It’s been a while.” There is a wicked look in his green eyes. “Didn’t think you’d turn up in Rondo of all places.”

  Hunter stops struggling, eyes bugging in his head.

  “Why so shocked? Surely you recognize me.” The redhead smirks.

  “Who are you?” Sweat beads across Hunter’s forehead and his hands tremble.

  “Oh, you know,” the foreigner prods. “Roper’s Square, Edmonda, seven years ago. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”

  Hunter pales. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” Colton leans against the bars. “You seemed to know me pretty well when you called me a dumb Irish bastard, my horse an ass—really hurt her feelings by the way—threw a potato at my “son of a whore” little brother, and gave me the one finger salute right in front of Hyperion’s convoy. Always wondered what became of you after that.”

  Hunter’s eyes narrow.

  “I’m surprised though.” The young Edmondan Irishman doesn’t back down. “For as much witchcraft and black magic that you peddled in the Southeastern Territory, to find you leading an unfounded ‘witch-hunt’ in a condemned place like Rondo makes you a hypocritical asshole. It’s
downright rude to accuse a lady of witchcraft.”

  His green eyes flash this knowing look that casually says, “you’re welcome” in my direction.

  I feel warmth creep across my face.

  “Lying Kingdom Corps scum,” Hunter seethes.

  “Wrong.” Colton smirks. “I’m the ‘Irish bastard,’ remember?”

  Hunter snarls and tries to break free from Frank but the big man restrains him.

  “That’s enough.” Jericho glares, his patience long gone. “Hunter, leave.”

  “You can’t kick me out, I live here.”

  “Then perhaps I should lock you up right along with him?” the preacher scowls. “You’ve had more than fair warning.”

  “He’s a liar,” Hunter continues to stoke the fire.

  “And he’s an asshole,” Colton snipes. “But at least I’m honest about it.”

  “Be quiet both of you!” Jericho points to Hunter and then the door. “You—leave. Or we’ll examine your right hand again. And if I can prove your connection to this young man’s story as true, she—” he points to me, “will be carrying out your sentence instead of his.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Do you really want to test that?” Jericho snarls.

  “Put me down, Williams. I have other matters to tend to today.” Hunter folds his arms across his chest. His face screws up into a murderous glare, eyes fixed on me. “This isn’t over.”

  No, it’s not. I return the glare with my own. With Jericho here, I can’t fight back. He’s off-limits until he either makes a direct attempt on my life that can be linked back to him, or commits treason against Rondo. Not one second before, but he’s pushing it.

  Frank sets him down none-too-gently. For a moment it looks like Hunter will launch himself across the room and give me a reason to fight him. The rifle in my hands and the others watching are strong deterrents.

  He turns on his heel and retreats up the steps. The door wrenches open and slams shut behind him.

  I peek over at Colton, who has this smug look about him, and I’d be lying if I wasn’t grateful. It’ll come back and bite me in the ass later, but totally worth seeing a complete stranger hand Hunter his own in front of the big three.

  “God he pisses me off sometimes.” Jericho turns back to us. “Now, about this trespasser . . .”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “There is a simple way to decide this.” His words remain gentle. “Young man, show me your mark.”

  I flinch. That alone will be a death sentence.

  “Would love to,” Colton says and turns sideways. “But you’re going to have to untie me first.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Tracker speaks up, brow furrowed and restraining the anger in his voice. “He’s not Kingdom Corps.”

  Colton raises an eyebrow but doesn’t dare tell him otherwise. I can see the anger on Tracker’s dark face.

  He knows exactly what and who Colton is, and like a starving wolf with a rabbit, he doesn’t want to give his prey up to someone like me or Jericho. I guess being former second-in-command has its well of information.

  “We should still check.” Jericho seems just as surprised as I am.

  “He’s not,” his voice turns threatening.

  Jericho backs off this time.

  “Then I find no grounds on which to condemn him.” He hesitates. “His judgment rests solely between you two as rustlers.”

  Jericho again notes the rifle in my hands. It’s like he knows what Tracker intends on having me do to Colton the moment we leave the jail.

  A cold chill creeps over my body. I don’t think I can look someone like Colton in the eyes and pull the trigger. Stepping forward, I offer up the rifle in a silent plea not to execute him by my hand.

  Tracker doesn’t accept it.

  “You sure about this, Tracker?” Frank speaks up.

  He gives the man a frigid look. “Yes.”

  “But—”

  “This does not concern you or Jericho anymore.”

  There’s no doubt in my mind or anyone else’s just what those words mean. This is his way of punishing me. Missing isn’t an option.

  Jericho remains quiet and hasn’t taken his eyes off Tracker the whole time. But at his side, I see him move his hand, tip his fingers downward in a slow, gentle motion that silently tells me it’ll be okay.

  That doesn’t make me feel much better though, especially when he walks away without a second glance. He’s not quite as disapproving of me being a rustler as Sadie is, but there are some days when it’s not hard to see it bothers him.

  The fact that a “child” is going to be carrying out an execution makes this one of those days.

  “You gonna be able to handle this, Tracker?” Frank produces the small bronze key from his pocket and walks over to the cell.

  He nods.

  The burly man unlocks the door a little faster than he normally would but doesn’t pull it open. He offers no encouragement as he hurries to the stairs after Jericho.

  Minutes pass, neither Colton nor I daring to move.

  “Get him and let’s go.” Tracker finally turns his back to me. Any second now he’s going to start yelling. I can feel it. He’s pissed.

  I tug the cell door open. It screeches and slides to a halt.

  “Untie him.”

  Colton offers another sheepish smile and turns his back to me, presenting his bound wrists. The twine sticks and frays against my fingers. A few tries later it loosens and falls to the floor.

  I gesture to the door with the rifle and don’t meet his eyes.

  Rondo feels different when we step into the street. Like a darker, more sinister shadow has snuck up on the one Henny cast this morning.

  Tracker takes the lead.

  Colton falls in step behind him, rubbing his wrists and trying to show that he’s not bothered by the arrangement. Under my fingertips, the rifle stock feels like it will splinter as I bring up the rear.

  Hunter’s influence spreads. As I pass, a man twists a rope around his wrist and pulls it tight in the form of a noose in warning. Thin children, tears streaking down their dirty faces shy away and hide behind their protective mothers. Several of Frank’s coal miners sit by the fountain, all eyes on us as we pass and taking swigs from their flasks. Their eyes follow us, condemning and blaming us for the devastation that befell our little settlement.

  I walk a little faster.

  We make it through the burning square and onto Witherwood Lane. Though nowhere is “safe” in Rondo, other than the farmhouse to some degree, trouble is less likely to follow into this area. No one really wants God to see them break a commandment right outside His house.

  “Tracker Tobias Jones!”

  My shoulders tense. A little part of me rejoices over hearing her shriek. Another is ashamed at even being in this situation.

  Tracker, much to his credit, keeps his temper in check as she approaches; looking the angriest I’ve seen her in a long time and wielding a wooden spoon. Her black apron is coated in flour and her curly caramel hair is drawn back in a loose, frazzled ponytail. The lavender shawl sits cockeyed across her shoulders as if thrown on in a hurry.

  She doesn’t stop until she’s standing directly in front of him, on tiptoes to look him in the eyes.

  “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Tracker steps backward. Cussing is second only to murder in Sadie’s eyes.

  She breathes heavily; face flushed a rosy-red color. Her nimble fingers cling tightly to the wooden spoon and it wouldn’t surprise me if she introduced it to him good and proper.

  “Calm down, Sadie.” He holds his hands up. “It’s not good for the baby.”

  “Don’t you go telling me what’s good for the baby and what isn’t.” She stamps her foot against the snow. “I honestly thought you’d set a better example than this.”

  “Sadie,” his voice softens, more like the old Tracker I know. “This doesn’t involve you.”


  “The hell it doesn’t.” She continues to bar his path. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you won’t do this, Tracker. Tell me Frank’s lying to me.”

  Colton slinks closer to me, intently watching the exchange.

  I keep the rifle at his back. Even if Sadie is yelling, I still have a job to do—God forbid he tries to run when Tracker’s not looking.

  “This is really none of your business,” he says again, calmer and being as polite as he possibly can.

  “It is and always will be my business.” Those dark-brown eyes cut to me and back to Tracker. She motions him away from us. “Do you honestly think now is the best time to do this? Or did you forget already?”

  “Sadie,” his voice drops in a harsh whisper. “This must be done as soon as possible.”

  “You know this isn’t the right time,” she hisses. “Not with, you know what. You’re asking too much, Tracker. Far too much.”

  I try to let the words roll off my back. Not to think about who she’s talking about. But it’s hard and it takes everything I have to keep from throwing this rifle down and running until I no longer can, to hell where it takes me.

  Tracker senses me looking and leads Sadie out of earshot. It doesn’t change things. I see them talking, hear her outbursts and watch them argue in the street about how much he doesn’t know about raising a “child.”

  He thinks I don’t know what they’re talking about. She doesn’t know I can read body language better than hearing the words spoken.

  I stop “listening” when she begins ridiculing him about treating me like a Crops child.

  “Hey.” Colton’s voice creeps around me. “You okay, Frost Flea?”

  “Just fine.” The words don’t even break a whisper and I don’t look up.

  “Damn it, Tracker. You’re not listening to a word I even said.” Sadie throws the wooden spoon to the ground.

  “I am listening,” he yells back. “If you didn’t get involved this wouldn’t even be an issue right now.”

  I try not to look at them fighting, but I flinch as if touched by the slave master’s barbed whip.

  Colton stands beside me. “Henny really messed things up, didn’t he?”