“Master Eynon paid me a visit,” he said, and at once she sobered. “He seems to think Caer Aberhen sent me as a spy. And that you’ve been feeding me stories.”
A curse caught between her teeth. She grimaced, shifting on her feet, irritated with both Eynon and herself. “Sorry, sorry. My fault,” she said. “I… may have paid him a visit this morning to talk about my family’s debts to him. I told him I’d be able to pay him, if he could just wait. And when that didn’t work, I may have implied that he’s been lining his pockets with the tax money meant for the prince… and that you could carry word back to Caer Aberhen.”
“Truly?” Ellis sounded exasperated. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”
“Because I was angry,” Ryn said, “and because I didn’t think he’d chase you out of town, and… all right, it was an ill-advised plan. But all I have are rumors, and if I want to keep my house, I needed him to believe that he could lose his.”
The answer seemed to satisfy him. “Has he?” asked Ellis, interested. “Been lining his pockets?”
“Well, would he react this way if he wasn’t?” She shrugged. “People know you’re from Caer Aberhen. You’re dressed like a noble. You haven’t given me a surname—and obviously you didn’t give Eynon one, or he wouldn’t be in such a state. And a mapmaker goes all sorts of places, so it would be a perfect cover. It’s not a leap to think you might be a spy. Perhaps Eynon thinks I sent a letter to the prince in hopes of getting him sacked. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about my uncle’s debts.”
“You didn’t, though,” he said.
Her answering smile had a wicked edge. “Only because I didn’t think of it. It’s a good plan, but a little too complicated for my tastes. If I come across a problem, I take my axe to it. Or bury it. I’m good at burying things.”
His eyes swept over her. “I think you’re capable of more.”
It was the kind of statement that might have drawn her ire if Gareth had said it. She would have taken it to mean that she was not trying hard enough, that she should have been doing more. But there was no judgment in his eyes or voice—only gentleness.
She did not know how to reply, and part of her was nettled by her own silence. She was not one to be befuddled by a beautiful boy and a few well-spoken words. Beautiful things were often poisonous or useless—a handful of glossy berries that could kill with a taste, or a carved wooden spoon with no other purpose than to be admired. She should have had little use for them. But her fingers found the carving in her pocket, and she softened.
“Come on,” she said. She reached out and picked up his pack. It was surprisingly light; she thought he would have brought more with him. She slung it over her shoulder and hooked her basket full of acorns around one elbow.
“You’re stealing my pack,” said Ellis mildly.
“You can have my bed.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ve slept on the floor before—I can do it again.”
His brow creased, and for a moment he looked baffled. “I can’t—you’re already doing more than enough for me.”
“Consider it room and board in addition to my services as a guide.”
He shook his head, seemingly more amused than concerned that she was walking away with his belongings. Evening cast the sky in hues of gold and red, and their own shadows preceded them across the grass.
“Thank you for this,” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did your family tangle with Master Eynon? You said your family is indebted to him?”
She frowned. “Yes. Our uncle has a taste for drink and cards—and he does neither very well. He borrowed money from Eynon, coin we couldn’t afford to pay back. A few months ago, he went to the city to sell some goods. He has yet to return.”
“So your missing uncle owes Eynon coin,” he said.
“Yes. And the worst part is, Eynon should be paying us.”
“How so?”
Her gaze was drawn back toward the shadow of the mountains. They were rimmed by sharp sunlight, jagged peaks against the horizon. “My father was part of the last expedition to see if the mine could be reopened. Eynon promised them all payment—but Da never returned.”
His breath caught. “I—I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “We never found him,” she said tonelessly. “And Eynon said since the job had never been done, and there was no proof he died in the mine, we would receive no payment.”
Ellis seemed to consider. “He’s a right bastard,” he said.
She forced herself to smile. “You’re not wrong.”
Sunset and autumn burnished the forest into something strange and beautiful. The faltering light turned the bark of the Scots pines a bloody crimson. The undergrowth was all shadows, ferns and moss and tangled weeds. They would come out near Old Hywel’s farm; he wouldn’t mind them cutting across his sheep pens to reach the village.
Behind her, Ellis made a startled sound. She turned and saw that his foot had caught in something. He reached for the only thing he could—a small sapling—but it broke beneath his weight and he crashed into the undergrowth. She extended a hand to help him up, but then her eyes fell to his foot.
At first she thought it was a hunter’s trap. Sharp edges gleamed in the dim light, snagged on his boot.
But it was not a snare.
He had stepped into a rib cage. It had belonged to a man; farther along the skeleton, she saw thick leather boots and clothes in tatters.
Ellis reached down, trying to pry apart the ribs. His foot remained caught, and there was a tightness to his mouth that spoke of restrained disgust. Ryn knelt beside him and took hold of the thickest ribs. One sharp yank and the sinew gave. Ellis pulled his leg free.
Ryn rocked back on her heels, rubbing the dirt from her fingers. She half expected Ellis to put some distance between himself and the dead man, but he squatted beside her. His eyes raked over the body. “Is it…?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s—not dark enough yet. There’s half an hour until true night, and then we’d know.”
It could just be a man. They were on the fringes of the forest—the magic might never have reached him.
“Either way,” said Ellis, “we should bag him up and bring him to the smithy.”
Ryn felt her jaw clench. “No.”
“No?”
“If it’s a bone house, it goes to the forge,” she said. “But if it’s just a dead man, I’ll bury him in the graveyard. It’s a courtesy.”
A confused line appeared between Ellis’s brows.
“The dead deserve something,” she said, trying to explain in a way a layman might understand. “A remembrance, a marker, a place to rest. Death should be peaceful—the dead have earned that much. The bone houses—they’re a mockery of death. Burning them… it’s a last resort, not a way out.”
Ellis inclined his head. “I understand.” He reached for his pack, now resting beside Ryn. “We should gather him up, either way.”
“Agreed.”
Ellis pulled a pair of gloves from his pack and slipped them on. Together, they tried to free what was left of the man from the undergrowth. The grasses had tangled with his bones, grown up and through his rib cage and skull. Ryn yanked at the vines of vetch and pulled the grasses away, trying to keep him at least a little intact as they placed the pieces of the man into a small burlap sack.
The sun sank behind the horizon, leaching warmth from the air. Ryn shivered, but continued to work. By the time they had finished, dusk had settled into the corners of the forest: into the nooks beneath tree roots and under the thick leaves of the bushes.
For a moment, Ryn and Ellis gazed down at the burlap sack.
It remained resolutely still.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll carry it back. If it doesn’t twitch on the way home, I’ll bury him come morning.”
Ellis nodded. His fingers pulled at the mouth of the sack, ready to tie it shut.
A branch snapped. The sound cracked through the quiet forest�
�and it was only then that Ryn realized how silent the forest had become. There was no chirp of insects, no rustle of small creatures finding places to sleep.
A strange chill settled at the base of her spine. “Ellis,” she said slowly. She was not sure why she spoke his name: perhaps as a warning—or to remind herself that she was not alone.
Something moved in the evening dim. It stood taller than Ryn—and her eyes strained in the dusk light, trying to see the shape of the thing. It was only when it stepped through the bushes that she saw it was a soldier.
A very dead soldier.
“Stay still,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. “We’re on the edges of the forest. Perhaps it will return to the deeper woods.”
The bone house tilted its head back and forth, gazing at the two living creatures before it. She could almost see the consideration in its hollow eyes.
Go on, she thought, as if she might will it away. For your own sake, just go back into the forest.
And then she saw more movement. Her heart thudded so hard against her rib cage.
Another bone house emerged from the trees—this one dressed in a mail coat and holding a crossbow. It still had tendrils of hair snagged in its collarbones.
“Aderyn?” said Ellis. He made her name into a question.
Two bone houses. And they weren’t lost travelers or trappers; dressed in armor that would cost a family a year’s salary, these were cantref soldiers. She had not heard of such soldiers being sent into the woods, not since—
Not since the princes sent doomed troops to try to find Castell Sidi and the cauldron of rebirth.
“Fallen kings,” she cursed. “All right. Ellis, we’re going to leave. Slowly—very slowly, stand up.”
Ellis nodded and placed a palm on the ground. He started to rise.
A hand surged from the burlap sack, quick as a striking snake, and seized Ellis by the shirt. He gave a hoarse cry of surprise, falling sideways.
The bone houses’ heads snapped toward him.
She heard them inhale—that slow, rattling breath that slid across rotted teeth. And then the hiss of a sword being drawn from it sheath. A blade glinted, and Ryn’s fingers settled on her axe.
Above them, the last vestiges of sunlight drained from the sky.
CHAPTER 10
A BONE HOUSE lunged, raising the bright edge of a sword. Ryn skittered to one side, twisting away.
She heard the hiss and the ghostly touch of wind. The bone house whirled, raising its sword again. Ryn caught the blow on the curve of her axe. A painful jolt ran up both her arms.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ryn saw Ellis struggling with the third bone house—the one they had bagged up. It was in pieces, its fingers locked around Ellis’s shirt collar while the rest of it thrashed inside the sack. It looked like a bag of rats trying to escape—and it might have been amusing another time. But not now.
The second bone house raised the crossbow, and Ryn felt as if time slowed. She saw the rusty tip of the arrow glint in the moonlight.
She threw the axe. It flung wildly through the air, and only its handle hit the bone house in the chest. The chain mail slowed the blow, but could not halt it. Ryn rushed the creature, seizing her axe from the ground and aiming another blow at the bone house’s unprotected throat. Its head dropped to the undergrowth. The creature’s jaw clacked, as if in rebuke.
Then the second bone house hit her with its armored elbow. Pain flared in her skull and she fell. One of the bony hands wrapped around her ankle, dragging her closer. Ryn scrabbled at the forest floor, trying to find purchase as the creature leaned over her.
With a scream, Ryn clawed at that hand, trying to free herself. But her effort was as fruitless as that of a rodent caught in the grasp of a snake; she was squeezed even harder, and the bone house bent over her, mouth wide. She heard that terrible breath again, and she wondered if this was its attempt to speak.
A crossbow bolt slammed into the creature.
Ryn glanced up; Ellis stood beside her. His mouth was pulled back in a snarl as he aimed his crossbow a second time. He fired and the bolt struck the first bone house through a gap in its armor.
It jerked backward, looked down at the shaft of wood emerging from where a heart should have been. It tilted its head, studying the weapon. More confused than injured.
Ryn gritted her teeth, a curse caught in her throat as she reached for the fallen axe. It was trapped beneath her, and she struggled to roll over, to pry the weapon free.
The bone house reached into its own chest. It pried its ribs apart, rummaging about for the bolt. The creature looked down at Ryn, and she caught a glimpse of yellowed teeth. The axe was still beneath her, and she couldn’t bring it up fast enough—
Its mouth widened farther and a sound emerged from its hollow throat. It was not speaking words, not truly, but perhaps the remembrance of words twisted into a dry screech.
Ryn’s blood turned to ice. She hit it at the knee, where the armor was hinged. The axe lodged in the joint and stuck, and the bone house fell to one side. She scrambled backward, and then there were hands on her shoulders, dragging her upright. The world was shaking, and she realized that she trembled hard, and Ellis was just as unsteady.
The bone house reached out, its yellowed fingers feeling the wood of the axe’s handle. Its grip tightened and it pulled the axe free. But the blade must have done damage, for the creature could not rise.
It was enough. Ryn darted forward and picked up the axe.
She swung around, gathered her strength, and loosed a wild cry. It was not one of fear, but of challenge.
The axe came down, singing through the air, and slammed into the creature’s spine.
She took it apart.
Piece by piece, bone by bone. She dismantled the creature, pulled bones free of armor, broke everything until she realized that she was panting, sweat rolling down her brow and stinging her eyes, and she was making a terrible noise, a snarl of defiance that went unanswered.
Her heart kept lurching, her body trembling with unspent fear. Her breath came too heavily, fogging the cool night air.
Her fingers were bleeding, she realized. One of her nails was cracked and oozed sluggishly. Other injuries asserted themselves into her awareness—her forearms would likely be bruised and she ached between her shoulder blades.
“Where’d the other one go?” she said.
“Don’t know.” Ellis spun in a circle, his finger resting against the crossbow’s trigger. “Think it might have gone back into the woods. You all right?”
“Think so.”
“What—what happened?” Ellis finally said. His voice was frayed, as if he had been screaming. Perhaps he had been.
Ryn looked down at what remained of the creature. Shards of old bones, rusted armor, and a splintered bow. “They attacked.”
“I figured that much.” The thinnest of smiles flashed across Ellis’s mouth. “But the way you made the bone houses sound—like they were stragglers, not a dead army.”
It felt as if the world had been upended and she was struggling to right herself. “They’re not an army. They’re not supposed to be.”
Ellis knelt beside one of the bone houses. “Well, he’s armored. It’s the good kind—I’ve seen this at Caer Aberhen. This man would have been marching to war, dressed like this.” He lifted his gaze to Ryn. “Have any armies ever marched through the forest? Could they be deserters?”
A quick shake of her head. “No one would send an army into the forest,” she said haltingly. “Well—not since…”
He caught on quickly. “When the princes were seeking the cauldron of rebirth. They sent soldiers into the mountains. None of them came back.” He touched the soldier’s breastplate, running fingertips over the rusted metal. “I suppose this is what became of them.” He looked up sharply. “So it wasn’t just a story.”
A deep sense of unease made her glance about. “We should get back to the village. We’ll be safe there. There’s t
he—”
Iron fence. The words caught on her lips.
She remembered the iron bars hefted into a cart, the clang of metal on metal as they were loaded together. Eynon would sell them, and when winter came and people were starving, he would show the world how generous he could be as he sold them grain.
She thought of her family, sitting down for the evening meal.
And she thought of the half threat she’d given Eynon: Any dead that appear in the village will come of their own accord. Careless words, spoken when she was confident it wouldn’t happen.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER 11
THERE WAS A chicken missing.
Old Hywel’s finger moved through the air as he counted and recounted. Sure enough—there were eleven of the birds perched along the stable walls. They liked to roost high, out of the reach of foxes and stray dogs. One of the hens cocked her head at him, beady dark eyes sharp and observant. Hywel walked through the barn, muttering to himself as he strode by the sheep pen. The sheep were in for the night—they had all come running when he shook a bucket of grain. It was easy to bring them home.
Chickens, though. Chickens liked to roam. More than once he’d found a hen in the trees or even atop the house. He’d once had a rooster that enjoyed sitting on the village wall and crowing every few hours, dawn or no. One of the inn’s patrons finally took issue with the noise, and the Red Mare’s soup tasted distinctly of chicken for a few nights.
Hywel latched the barn door, striding back toward the house. The sun was low in the sky, light skimming over the fields and casting long shadows. There wasn’t much time to look for the fool bird, but with winter coming, he had little choice.
He picked up the feed bucket and shook it, hoping the familiar noise might lure the creature out.
“Come on, you bloody thing,” he muttered. Were his wife alive, she might have scolded him for his language. But she’d taken ill some years ago, leaving him with a house that felt too big and a village that felt too small. No matter how many times his friends urged him to move into Colbren proper, he waved them off.
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