The way he said it gave Ellis pause. Because he had never looked at his past in such a way: He had been found; he had never gone missing.
Or, most likely, been unwanted.
He shook away that thought. “About—fifteen years ago? I’m eighteen now, I think.” He could never be sure, although the prince’s physician had checked him over several times and made that his pronouncement.
“Fifteen years ago,” the boy murmured, as if mulling over memories. “I wasn’t born yet, but I can ask Mam. She’s been here since just after the mine was shut up. She wasn’t no miner, but these houses were all ripe for the taking… so she took.”
“What about your father?”
The boy shook his head. “He don’t speak now,” he said. “One of the wordless.”
Ellis was not quite sure what that meant, but he tried to look sympathetic. “Have most of you lived here since just after the mine was closed?”
The boy nodded. “I’ll ask about your parents,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Ellis.”
“Your family name?”
“I don’t know it.”
The boy’s face softened to something close to pity. This boy, with worn clothing and fingers chapped from work—and he pitied Ellis.
“The bone houses,” Ellis said, changing the subject, hoping the words would distract. “How do you deal with them?”
The boy squinted. “What’d you mean?”
Had the bone houses not bothered these people? Surely that couldn’t be the case. Ellis had seen no iron surrounding the encampment, and this place was closer to Annwvyn than Colbren was. Why wouldn’t the settlement have been attacked?
“Ah, well,” said Ellis, “never mind.” The conversation felt as if it had veered far away from what he’d intended. “If you do find out anything, I’d be glad to know it. You can find me at Catrin’s house.”
The boy nodded. “I’ll be ’round.” He trotted back toward the other children. A boy and a girl were in a tussle, using damp tunics to swat at each other. The boy who Ellis had talked to barked at them, and the two scurried back to the clotheslines.
When Ellis returned to Catrin’s home, he made the short climb to the loft, keeping his weight on his good arm. Aderyn was curled up on her side, with her pack as a pillow and her cloak as a blanket. Her red-brown hair had been loosened from its braid and it fell in waves around her face. Even in sleep her hand rested gently on the hilt of her axe. A gentle snore emerged from her parted lips.
He felt himself smile.
She was fearless—and part of him envied her for that. He had spent most of his life trying to anticipate the wishes of others, to conform to what was expected of him, to be the kind of person everyone liked. Sometimes it felt as if there were no true Ellis. He had been an obedient ward of the prince, a good student to his teachers, and polite to everyone he met. And if he were a little aloof—well, it was better to hold one’s self back than to risk being hurt.
The air was thick with smoke from the fire below. It made his eyes water and his throat burn—and he wondered if he could sleep in such a place.
He didn’t enjoy sleep; his dreams were of a never-ending forest, of fingers pushing aside branches, of bare feet numbed by cold ground, of a blazing fire in his shoulder and a hollow ache in his belly.
He never dreamed of his parents. But in the moments between waking and sleeping, he heard the whisper of a woman’s voice: My darling boy.
He slept soundly. When he opened his eyes, the light had changed.
Aderyn was nowhere to be seen. The fire had died down, and the house smelled of cooked meat. He slipped a small strip of willow bark from his pack, placing it between his teeth so he could climb down to the first floor.
Catrin stood beside the fire. She glanced up, and a smile touched her lips. It was an odd smile—fond, but without any mirth. “Willow bark?” she asked quietly.
He took it from his mouth and said, “Yes.”
“Ah.” The woman’s face softened with understanding. “I have a few herbs that help with pain. And a drink—it tastes foul and will burn any taste from your mouth, but it’ll put you into a good sleep.”
He huffed out a breath. “I’d rather not drink myself into a stupor. I prefer to be awake and in pain rather than unconscious and unfeeling.”
She nodded. “Aye. My mam was the same when she was ill.”
“You said she lives here?” Ellis glanced about, half expecting to see an old woman.
Catrin nodded. “She isn’t awake yet. But she’ll be glad to meet you.”
Ellis knew enough of manners to give Catrin a courtly little bow. “I’m sure I will be glad to meet her, as well.”
That same odd smile crossed Catrin’s mouth. “You’re a good sort,” she said, and her voice was heavy with some unspoken emotion. “Your friend is outside—I think she wanted to look through the village, see if there’s another place you can stay.”
Ah. Then Aderyn had not told Catrin they did not intend to linger. Perhaps she wished to keep their journey to herself, for fear that these people would hinder them—or worse, would want to help by coming along.
“Should we be out after dark?” he asked. He still did not know how these people dealt with bone houses, and thought it only prudent to ask.
Catrin laughed. “It’s fine. We’ve got plenty of people out at night. There’s a fire going, and always company. Caradoc might play his crwth if you’re lucky—and if his fingers aren’t too stiff.”
Ellis gave her one last nod and smile before slipping out the door and into the evening.
The encampment was settling in for the night: parents rounding up wayward children, a dog barking at a sheep that refused to get in its pen, and an old couple loudly arguing about whose turn it was to carry wood to the fire pit. Several people gawked at Ellis, someone even peering through a doorway to get a better look at him.
Ellis merely waved. One small girl raised her hand in reply, her other arm clutching a carved wooden horse. An older man—presumably her father—used the distraction to scoop the girl into his arms and toss her over his shoulder. She squealed with laughter and protest as he carried her toward the house.
Longing welled up in Ellis, like blood from a reopened wound. He wanted—well, he wasn’t even sure what precisely he wanted. From a noble’s view, there was nothing to be envied here: small houses, rotten roofs, and the smell of sheep and cook fires. But there was warmth, a sense of belonging that he’d never found.
Perhaps it was foolish, but he’d never stop looking for it.
He realized his gaze had lingered on the father and daughter too long when the older man gave him a wary nod as he passed. “If you’re looking for your girl,” he said, “she went to the northern reaches of the camp.”
Ellis grimaced. Aderyn wouldn’t appreciate being referred to in such a way, he was sure. “Thank you,” he said.
He found Aderyn leaning against a tree, her gaze on the shape of the mountains. In the blaze of sunset, he could see only the outline of the peaks, in shades of flame-red and orange. The mountains themselves were a dark shadow.
“You’re awake,” she said, not looking at him. “You were sleeping like the dead when I left. You don’t snore, at least.”
“You do,” he said, smiling.
That earned him a sharp glance. For a moment, her mouth remained rigid—then the frown splintered into a rueful grin. “All right.”
The sound of footsteps drew his attention. He looked up to see the boy from earlier. His face was reddened, as if it had been freshly scrubbed, and his hair was damp. He looked a bit like a feral cat that had escaped from a bath. He nodded to Ellis. “Hello, princeling,” he said, by way of greeting.
Ellis exhaled. “Mapmaker—not a prince.” He threw a despairing look toward Aderyn. “Will anyone ever look at me and think mapmaker?”
“Probably not,” said the lad.
“It’s your boots,” said Aderyn.
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��And your way of speaking,” said the boy, grinning.
“And your hair.” Aderyn exchanged a smile with the lad. “It’s far too neat.”
Ellis’s hand went to his hair. He forced his arm back down. “Did you find anything?”
The boy nodded. “I did some asking around.”
Aderyn’s forehead wrinkled as she gazed at the boy. “You?”
The boy stood a little taller. “If someone wants to know something in this village,” he said with pride, “I’m the one to ask.” He seemed to be trying to puff out his chest for Aderyn’s benefit, but the display was in vain.
“You are?” said Aderyn drily. “What? Do you listen at closed doors?”
The boy’s posturing faded, and he looked irritated. “No. But I know people, and older sorts don’t notice when I’m around.”
Aderyn seemed amused. “All right. I’ll leave you two to it, then.” She turned, but the boy held up his hand.
“Verch Gwyn, was it?” he asked. “You’re not the first of them to come through here.”
Ellis had once seen a boy get shot. It had been an archery accident—the slip of a trainee’s fingers, and the arrow embedded itself in a boy’s hip. The boy had come out of it all right, but Ellis had never forgotten the expression on his face.
Aderyn looked that way now.
Her freckles stood out against her skin, her body frozen midstep. “What did you say?”
The boy crossed his arms. “There was another gravedigger that came through here some years ago. Older chap—had red hair. Only remember him ’cause he left some food in the woods. Said it was for luck. We made off with it as soon as he was out of sight.” He smiled. “I was young then. Wasn’t allowed very far into the woods.”
“We’d appreciate brevity,” said Ellis.
“What?” said the boy.
Ellis made an impatient gesture. “Get on with it.”
The boy frowned. “Not sure I will now. Not with you being all cross.”
Ellis sighed. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin. He balanced it on his index finger, then snapped his thumb forward. The coin spun into the air, glinting in the moonlight as the boy grabbed for it. His round-cheeked face was ruddy with excitement.
“Now,” said Ellis. “Tell us what you’ve found.”
The boy’s gaze was drawn to the coin. It was a mere copper, but it must have seemed like gold to the boy. “Nothing about you,” he said bluntly. “No child named Ellis was ever known in these parts. Any lost child—either their parents went missing as well, or they found bits later. Fingers or scraps of clothing.”
The disappointment was an old one; it settled like a familiar weight on his shoulders.
Aderyn gazed at the boy as if she wished to shake him for answers. “My father—did he—”
“He went into the mine,” said the boy. “We never saw him again.”
Ellis hesitated; part of him wanted to reach out, to place a hand on her shoulder or arm. He knew that touch could be a lifeline—but it could also be an imposition.
“Thank you,” he told the boy.
The boy did not move.
Ellis made to cross his arms, but a warning twinge kept his hands at his sides. “We’d like privacy now.”
The boy smirked. “Sure you would.” He skittered back a few steps, as if he expected Ellis might swat at him. He flashed Ellis a grin before hastening away. Ellis watched him until the boy vanished into one of the smaller cabins.
“What was he on about?” asked Aderyn, but not as if the answer mattered.
“Oh,” said Ellis, “I’m pretty sure he thinks we’re having some illicit romance and your family disapproves of me.”
She scoffed.
“It’s true,” he said. “Although I think that rumor does me more favors than you.”
A flicker of movement caught his eye. He whirled, heart beating quickly, wondering if the boy had returned.
A creature stepped into the moonlight.
It was a goat.
It was a goat with curling horns, tufts of fur around its ears, and a gaping wound in its side.
“Bone goat,” said Aderyn, with a shake of her head. “You’re awake.”
“It found us,” said Ellis. At least the creature still didn’t seem dangerous. It trotted toward them, tail swishing from side to side.
Aderyn reached down and absentmindedly scratched the goat’s ears. It leaned against her, eyelids drooping. “You have never spent much time around goats before, have you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “One summer I helped with the chickens,” he said.
“Goats are two things chickens are not,” she replied. “Very, very loyal. And incredibly stubborn.”
“I can see why you’re so attached to it, then.” The words slipped out without his meaning them to. He winced. “Apologies.”
She shook her head. “No apologizing for that one. I know what I am. And there’s worse things to be than loyal and stubborn.”
He watched her as she petted the bone goat, treating it as anyone might treat a favored animal. When everyone else would run, Aderyn remained firmly still. When everyone else would recoil, she merely shrugged.
She met his gaze, and her mouth softened into something near a smile. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to let anyone else see the goat, though. We’ll have to keep her out here. Don’t want to stir up a panic.” She took hold of one horn and led the creature into the woods. “I’ll tie her to a tree for the night until we leave. She’ll try to find us again, I’m sure, but she won’t be able to follow me through the mine. I hope she’ll just wander into the woods. I don’t want anyone else hurting her again.”
He noted her use of the singular. “You don’t intend to uphold your end of our bargain?” he asked mildly.
She slid him a sharp glance. “It’s dangerous in the mountains,” she said. “You sure you want to come along?”
“It’s pretty dangerous out of the mountains, too,” he replied.
And there was the part of him that burned to push beyond the edges of the map. To make his own path, rather than follow another’s. To see what so few had witnessed.
And to make his own map, of course.
“I’m going with you,” he said.
She nodded. “All right. But if you die, I’m going through your things to find the coin you owe me.”
He barked out a startled laugh. “Fair enough.”
Aderyn finished tying the rope. The goat looked at her with a flat stare, as if to indicate disapproval. “You’re fine,” she told the creature.
The goat looked as if it wanted to heave a sigh but did not have the breath.
“Come on,” said Aderyn, walking toward the camp. “We should get inside. If the goat’s awake, it means other dead things will be, too. We don’t want to be caught unawares.”
It felt as if night was bleeding out from the shadows, rather than descending from the sky. It moved through the trees, setting Ellis’s nerves on edge.
When they returned to the encampment, Ellis saw that the villagers had little fear of the night. The rich melody of a crwth rang out, and firelight spilled across the packed-dirt ground. A few couples whirled, arms clasped, far more graceful than he could have managed. In the flickering illumination, he could not make out many faces; they were shadowed and strange, but he thought he saw the older couple sitting together, sharing a cup. It made him smile; he could enjoy the camaraderie even if he did not share in it.
Aderyn skirted the glow of the fire, keeping to the shadows of the cabins. “If one of the ladies spots you, she may try to kidnap you for a dance,” she said.
His shoulder gave a twinge, as if in response, and he rubbed his collarbone. “I’m not much of a dancer. But I am going to talk to the villagers before I turn in for the night,” he said. “To ask about the mine’s entrance—if it’s barricaded or open, and whether any of them have ventured inside.”
She hesitated, and he could see indecision playing out across
her face.
“I’ll see you inside,” he added gently.
She nodded. But she remained in place, one hand resting on Catrin’s door, her face half tilted toward him. The firelight burnished her red-brown hair to a blazing crimson, and something about the angle of her chin and jaw made his heart clench painfully.
For a moment, he considered telling her. Of every night he spent in wakefulness, of how he never quite dreamed of his family, of how his body felt more a battleground than a sanctuary, and of how he did not know who he was—but only that he wanted to be someone.
He said none of that.
Rather, he turned and walked toward the fire.
CHAPTER 17
DA HAD COME through here.
That thought beat within her again and again, until it seemed to drown out everything else. Ryn looked at the encampment with new awareness, her gaze tracking over the buildings, wondering if her father had seen them, too. Wondering what he had thought of them. Wondering if he had stood beside the communal stone oven or eaten with these people.
Something hot and bitter burned in her throat and she tried to swallow it down.
Her thoughts still raced with memories of her father, and part of her yearned to go outside and speak with everyone she could. Perhaps she could draw memories of him from these people like water from a well.
But that was not her journey’s purpose.
As Ryn walked into the house, her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
A woman sat before the still-burning cook fire. Her back was to Ryn, and soft white hair cascaded down her shoulders. She wore an old nightgown, and her thin fingers rested gently on the arm of her crudely carved chair. Catrin’s mother must have finally risen from her bed, only to take refuge by the fire’s warmth. Ryn stepped toward her. “Good evening,” she said.
The woman’s fingers twitched on the armchair, but she did not respond.
“Sorry to bother you,” said Ryn. “I’ll just be going up to the loft—”
The old woman turned her head; the illumination from the fire struck her across the face.
She was indeed wearing a nightgown. It was clean and white, with flowers embroidered along the sleeves.
The Bone Houses Page 12