The Bone Charmer Page 26

  I hear my father’s voice in my head. Find your opponent’s weak spot.

  “You didn’t get enough money selling Rakel’s bones in the shadow market? Now you need ours, too?”

  Declan’s eyes go wide and he casts a guilty look in my direction. The blade in his hand trembles. A rush of clarity. It bothers him that I know what he’s done. He’s the weak spot.

  Latham laughs. “You’ve been doing some detective work. How charming. But no, I wouldn’t dream of selling your bones or Della’s. They’re far too valuable for that.”

  If he doesn’t want to sell our bones, what does he want with them? Why are my mother and I different from the others? Were my father’s bones—along with Rakel’s and Anders’s—just an incentive for Declan? A way to turn a profit in exchange for helping Latham get to me?

  Something about the vision I saw dances at the edges of my mind. Something I catch in flashes but can’t quite reach.

  My mother makes a small noise—a subtle shift in her seat—and my eyes find hers. She’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what.

  “Does Declan really need to hold her at knifepoint?” I ask. I need a reason to keep looking at her without drawing Latham’s suspicion.

  “Oh, is this taking too long for you, sweetheart? Would you like him to slit her throat right now?”

  My mouth goes dry. I need to think.

  “You told my gran that you wanted to kill all three of us yourself. Now you’re going to let some lackey do it?”

  Latham’s eyes narrow. And then he laughs.

  I steal another glance at my mother. She looks pointedly at my hand. I touch my wrist and her eyes spark. The painted tattoo. But what does she want me to do?

  “Someone’s been learning Bone Charming on the sly, and I must say, I’m delighted. To find you have an affinity for all three Sights is a special treat.” He turns toward my mother. “You’re such a straight arrow, Della. I didn’t think you had it in you. But thank you. Saskia’s mastery tattoo was the last piece I needed.”

  His mention of the tattoo can’t be coincidental. Is my mother telling me to get rid of the fake tattoo? I lick my thumb and scrub at my wrist. Her shoulders relax slightly, which makes me think I understood correctly. But the tattoo isn’t budging.

  “What do you want with our bones?” I ask as I continue working on removing the paint.

  He smiles like a cat with a mouse between its paws. He’s enjoying this.

  “Della didn’t tell you what the bones of three generations of Bone Charmers can do? Oh, that’s right. She doesn’t believe in using dark magic. Except when it comes to protecting you, of course.”

  My stomach goes cold. “What are you talking about?”

  “Della? Do you want to tell your daughter what you did or shall I?” He motions to Declan to lower the knife. Once her throat is free of the blade, my mother takes a deep breath.

  “Saskia already knows that I infused the bones with extra magic.”

  Extra magic. The thoughts that have been darting in and out of my mind crystalize. Maybe the vision I saw wasn’t inaccurate. Gran’s bones are more powerful than normal. Maybe the vision was from my other timeline. A slow pulse of dread goes through me. If that’s true, it means my two paths weren’t so very different after all. I must have stayed in Midwood in both. Declan was working with Latham in both. The small flicker of hope I’d had for a different future, a better one, snuffs out.

  “Oh, now don’t be modest, Della,” Latham says. He turns back toward me. “Your mother used a bit of forbidden magic to make your gran’s bones especially potent. Which was brilliant, really. I’d always planned to turn your bones into intensifiers by violently killing each of you. But having the bones actually prepared with blood from all three generations—that was a stroke of genius. One I intend to replicate.”

  Intensifiers. It’s the same word he used in the vision when he was talking to Declan about stealing Rakel’s bones. Suddenly the recent murders fall into place. Latham has been killing people to amass a collection of especially powerful bones. Maybe that’s how he knows so much about our family: He’s been using the intensifiers to read our future paths. But what did he want with my father’s bones? Papa wasn’t killed violently, so they couldn’t be used as intensifiers.

  “We’re not so very different, your mother and I,” Latham continues. “It’s just that I need her dead to work my magic. And you too, I’m afraid. But once I have your bones, I’ll be able to see anything I want, control anything I want—past, present, or future.”

  “It won’t matter,” my mother says calmly. “You can’t change the past no matter how much power you have. What happened with Avalina—”

  “Don’t say her name.” Latham’s face twists with rage. “You have no idea what I can do.”

  My heart strains against my ribs. We’re running out of time. I need to put pressure on the weak point. I turn to Declan. “What did he promise you? Money?”

  Declan flinches. He looks a little ill, and I wonder if he didn’t know the full extent of Latham’s plan until now. Does any part of him still care about me? If so, I might be able to use that to my advantage.

  “Was our entire relationship a lie?” I ask. “Did you actually have feelings for me before Latham got to you, or were you acting the whole time?”

  He doesn’t answer, but he shifts his weight. Licks his lips.

  “Enough chatting,” Latham says. “Decían, hand me the knife.”

  But Decían doesn’t move.

  “He’s using you,” I say. “Do you really think he’ll let you live after everything he just confessed?”

  Declan’s gaze flicks to Latham. He adjusts his grip on the knife—the blade is slick with sweat. He blinks. He’s almost there. He just needs another push.

  “You’ve given him everything he needs, Declan. As soon as we’re dead, he’ll kill you too.”

  Latham holds out a hand, palm up. “Hand it over.”

  Using Declan’s moment of hesitation, I ram him in the side, knocking him off balance and away from Latham. The blade flies from his fingers. I pick up a large vase and smash it over Declan’s head. He slumps to the ground. I scramble for the dropped knife, curl my fingers around the handle. A surge of victory swells inside me.

  But behind me, I hear the chilling sound of laughter.

  Saskia

  The Bone Charmer

  Our plan failed. Latham arrived before us—far enough ahead that he was able to capture my mother. My chest tightens at the sight of her tied to a chair in the middle of the council chamber, at the knife in Latham’s hand. Bram steps in front of me as we enter the room, shielding me with his body. “Stay behind me,” he says.

  Latham’s chuckle echoes through the room. “Saskia brought her own Breaker. Isn’t that charming, Della?”

  My mother ignores him. Her gaze is fixed on me. “You didn’t get my letter?”

  “I got it,” I tell her.

  “And you showed up anyway? Saskia, I told you to stay away.” Her eyes are bright with betrayal.

  I’ve imagined seeing my mother again a hundred times. The thought of it was like a coin in my pocket that I couldn’t resist reaching for again and again just to make sure it was still there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, though. I’ve risked everything to get here. To warn her. I hoped she would be grateful, proud of me at least. But I didn’t expect the anger in her expression that slides beneath my skin like a sliver.

  “Your daughter came all this way to save you and that’s how you thank her?” Latham’s voice is thick with outrage. False, of course. But it’s as if he knew exactly how to reach into my heart and pluck the string that would make the saddest sound. It gnaws at me how easily he can see through me when my own mother can’t.

  “This is madness, Latham,” my mother says. “No matter how much power you amass, you can’t change what happened with Avalina.”

  I look back and forth between them. His fingers curl into his palms
. The name clearly affects him. I think of the faded red tattoo around Latham’s wrist and what he said during our training: I loved her, but the rules of the Grand Council didn’t allow us to be together.

  “Oh, Della, let’s not pretend you and I are so very different. Look at the lengths you went to to change Saskia’s fate. And yet here we are.”

  “Untie her.” Bram’s voice trembles with rage. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. “Now.”

  Latham’s eyes go wide, startled. His leg crumples at the knee. He has to grab the back of a chair to remain upright. “Don’t you dare, little Breaker. That’s a game you’re going to lose. Lars?”

  The older Breaker dips his fingers into the pouch that hangs from his waist and snaps one of the bones. One of Bram’s ribs breaks with a sickening crack. His face goes pale. He presses a hand to his side, but his expression stays focused. Lars grunts in pain.

  “Saskia,” my mother says, her voice a low, urgent hiss, “run.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you.” My eyes flick to Bram, who is still trading breaks with Lars. “Or him.”

  “Please,” she says, “please go now while they’re distracted.”

  Instead I edge closer to her, trying to get a better look at the knots around her wrists. If I can untie her, maybe we’ll have a fighting chance of escaping.

  Lars crashes into the dais. Bram advances on him, rips the pouch from his belt, and tosses it aside. Latham’s gaze flicks between them. And then to me. He has to retrieve his Breaker’s bone pouch, or Bram will overtake him.

  Latham points a finger in my direction. “Don’t you move.”

  But the moment he looks away, I run to my mother. The ropes around her wrists have left angry welts. Blood trickles down her hands. She’s clearly been trying to wriggle the rope loose on her own.

  Bram lets out a sharp cry and I risk a glance at him. He’s clammy, but he’s still on his feet. I keep pulling at the knots.

  “Leave me,” my mother says. “Please, Saskia. Do this one last thing for me.”

  One last thing. The words are a tight band of fear around my heart. I keep working.

  Suddenly I’m yanked backward by my hair. A cold blade presses against my throat.

  “Stop or she dies,” Latham says.

  Bram freezes. His expression transforms from concentration to horror. “Let her go.” More a plea than a command.

  Latham sighs. I can feel his breath, hot against my neck. A wave of nausea rolls over me. “You’ve really left me no choice, little Breaker. I’d hoped to draw this out a bit. Her bones would be more valuable if she died slowly. But alas, you’re too talented, and I can’t have you ruining everything.”

  I struggle against Latham, but his grip is tight. His knee might be injured, but his arms are strong. When I try to land a kick, he digs the knife into my skin. A warm trickle of blood creeps down my neck.

  “Please.” Bram’s voice is small, broken. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Bram hesitates, a dozen emotions flickering over his face.

  Latham holds me more tightly against him, and I press my lips together to keep from crying out. “Do. You. Love. Her?”

  “Yes!” Bram snaps.

  “Good,” Latham says. “We should all be loved before we die.” His mouth bends into a cruel smile. “It makes us so much more powerful.”

  His knife slides between my ribs. One swift moment of intense pain followed by a numbness so complete, I think I must have imagined the blade. Latham lets go of my shoulders and I stumble forward. I look down. Blood blooms against my shirt, but it feels like a dream. There should be more anguish if I were really dying. I put my fingers to the fabric and they come away sticky.

  Someone is screaming.

  Bram rushes to me. Agony twists his features. I try to ask if he’s all right—ask where he’s hurt and what’s broken, but the words come out garbled. He lifts me into his arms and we slide to the ground.

  Is it my mother screaming?

  Bram presses a palm against my stomach, but I can still feel the blood seeping. “Stay with me,” he says. “Please stay with me.” I’m not going anywhere. I try to tell him, but I can’t breathe properly. I touch his face. His cheeks are wet with tears.

  “Saskia?”

  I realize my eyes have slid closed and I fight to reopen them. Bram’s face hovers above mine, fuzzy. I know this expression. It’s the same one he wore in the vision as he watched his home burn. Bleak despair.

  “Bram?”

  “Yes?” He smooths my hair away from my face. My cheeks are wet, but I think maybe it’s his tears falling and not mine.

  “Tattoo.” The word comes out weakly, but I think he understands. He lifts my arm and a sob chokes his throat. His thumb feathers along the thin pink line. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the soft inside of my wrist. I cup his chin in my palm and he leans into me. His fingers trace the contours of my face as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then he inclines his head toward mine, kisses my temples, my cheeks, the spot just below my ear.

  Finally his lips find mine. The kiss is slow and gentle and salted with tears.

  Love melts through me. There are so many things I want to say to him, but I don’t know if I can find the strength. “Do … you …?” I’m too breathless to finish.

  Bram lifts his arm and pulls back his sleeve. A bright red tattoo circles his wrist, vibrant and alive. “It’s not the first tattoo you’ve given me.” His fingers softly stroke my forehead. His tears keep falling. I think of the tattoo on the top of his foot—the teardrop-shaped leaves dangling from a slender vine. Of Bram twisting the same kind of vine into a crown and offering it to me. I can hear the end of his sentence even though he doesn’t say it. The love tattoo wasn’t the first I gave him. But it will be the last.

  I lift my fingers to his lips and try to speak. “… love …”

  Black spots rush into my vision. And the world goes dark.

  Saskia

  The Tutor

  Declan lies on the ground surrounded by broken glass from the vase I smashed over his head. A slender rivulet of blood trickles down his temple. He gapes at me—my hand now curled around his knife—as if I’m a stranger. But the laughter coming from the other side of the room is anything but afraid.

  I turn to find Latham with my mother in his arms—her back pressed against his chest, another, larger knife at her throat. His laughter slides down my spine like ice. “You didn’t think I’d give that stupid boy my only weapon, did you?”

  “Let her go,” I say, “please.”

  My mother doesn’t even struggle against him. Her gaze is fixed on me. Pleading for something I can’t decipher.

  “Better,” he says, “let’s have more of that.”

  “More of what?”

  Latham smiles, but it’s a wicked, feral expression. “More begging.”

  Why isn’t she fighting? This isn’t the woman Gran described when she told Latham he’d never get away with killing all three of us.

  “Do something,” I say. This time my begging is for my mother, not for Latham. Still, it seems to please him.

  “Della isn’t going to do anything, sweetheart. She knows I intend for her to die violently, so she’s trying to slip away peacefully. It won’t work, but I admire the effort.”

  Bile rises in the back of my throat. My fingers tighten around the knife in my fist. I take a step toward Latham. Maybe I can get close enough to do some damage. I have to at least try. My mother gives a subtle shake of her head.

  Latham makes a disapproving noise. A sharp pain shoots through my leg and I cry out. Frantically, my gaze darts around the room. I spot a man in a black cloak skulking in the hallway. A Breaker.

  “Thank you, Lars,” Latham says, and the man melts back into the shadows. “Consider that a warning. Now, then, where were we?”

  “Stop playing games, Latham,” my mother says. “Leave her alone.
My bones will provide more than enough power for one person.”

  “Ah, but I’m not just doing this for one person. I’m doing it for every Charmer whose power has been limited by the council. Every Charmer who has lost someone they should have been able to save. Every Charmer who has been prevented from controlling fate by the ridiculous rules of the council. I would think you of all people would understand, Della.”

  “I’m the last person who will ever understand,” my mother says.

  Latham’s voice goes soft, as if he’s whispering in the ear of a lover. “Didn’t you always say that the kenning should be free? That the council’s rules favored the privileged instead of the most talented? You were right, Della. Avalina and I would be together if not for the council. And perhaps your husband would still be alive if you’d been willing to break a few rules, too.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. Could she have saved my father?

  “Even if you’re right, this isn’t the way to go about changing things.” She swallows, and her eyes flick to me. “And I couldn’t have saved Filip. Some things can’t be altered.”

  “With enough power, anything can be altered. You have no idea the marvelous things I have planned for Kastelia. Think of this as a worthy sacrifice for your country.”

  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You never have.”

  Latham’s blade bites into her flesh. A trickle of red runs down her neck, bright against her pale skin. “I won’t tell you to be quiet again.”

  “You don’t have Gran’s bones yet,” I say, grasping tightly to this fact, like a slender branch arching over a vortex. “If you kill us, you’ll never find them.”

  “Don’t I?”

  His tone makes my gaze cut to my mother. Her expression is stony.

  “I don’t have all of them, it’s true,” he says. “Della used a few in the kenning.” He waves a hand toward the basin on the other side of the room. “And it appears one of you used a few more recently. But the rest of them? They’re mine.”

  “How?” I ask. “When?”