Bonesmith, page 9
Or maybe it was simply the absence of despair.
As the feast wound down, the prince rose, bade them all good night, and was escorted to his rooms.
Wren watched him go, wondering when they’d next get a chance to speak. If Odile continued to play sick, Wren might find herself in his company again soon.
With the prince’s departure, the rest of the fort’s occupants followed suit, many of the guards having early patrol shifts or late-night duties to attend to.
Wren withdrew with the others up to her room, which she shared with the silversmith Sabina, who had arrived at the Breachfort with her. They didn’t have much to do with each other, their various shifts and responsibilities making them cross each other’s paths sporadically, like ships in the night.
Even now, as Wren sat on her bottom bunk and started tugging off her boots, Sabina was already asleep in the bed above her. She wasn’t the drinking type and had likely slipped out of the dining hall early.
Wren was just kicking her boots aside when a noise drew her to her feet. Something by the window.
“W-was that?” mumbled Sabina, sitting upright, her curtain of black hair covering her face.
Wren threw open the shutters, letting in a blast of frigid air. She stared out across the courtyard and then up, at the battlements before a gasping sound drew her attention immediately downward.
There, hanging from her window ledge, was Prince Leopold.
“Gravedigger,” Wren swore, taking hold of his wrist to help haul him up. Her room was technically on the first floor, but it was elevated to account for the uneven ground below, making it a good deal higher than a first floor should be. It wouldn’t be a fatal drop, but it wouldn’t be a pleasant one, either. Regardless, it wasn’t something she’d want to test after however many cups the prince had imbibed at dinner.
“What the—” Sabina said, before Wren managed to drag the prince over the ledge and onto their cold stone floor.
“Oof, you’re quite strong, aren’t you?” he mumbled, smiling up at Wren from his heap on the ground. He was a good deal drunker than Wren had initially guessed, withdrawing a golden flask from his breast pocket, proving that he’d kept the party going long after he’d left the dining hall.
“Healers and helpmates,” Sabina muttered. “Is that the prince?” She sent a suspicious, silver-eyed look at Wren. “Did you invite him up here?”
Wren wished she’d thought of that, but she hadn’t. “No,” she said, at the exact same moment he said, “More or less.”
“Excuse me?” Wren said, looking down at him, her arms crossed.
He held up his hands in surrender, spilling some of whatever was in his flask. Wren snatched it. She took a sniff—nearly gagging—then decided to take a swig anyway. The wine from dinner was ages ago.
“I’m not here for that,” the prince reassured them, though Wren didn’t think he’d be capable of doing anything remotely resembling that in his current state anyway. “I’m just looking for a bit of fun, and I knew you’d be the man”—he hiccuped—“woman, for the job.”
“Just don’t kill him,” Sabina said, rolling over and putting her pillow over her head.
The prince reached for his flask—rather feebly—before slumping against the wall. “May I please have my drink back please?” he asked with large, puppy-dog eyes. “I’m parched.”
Wren took another sip, keeping the container out of reach. “You have half a dozen retainers and a personal guard…. How did you ditch them, Your Highness?”
The prince shrugged morosely. “Please, let’s dispense with the pleasantries. It’s after hours, and I’m in your bedroom. Call me Leo. As for my honor guard, they locked me in my room—standard protocol these days, I’m afraid—and I climbed out the window.”
“Very enterprising of you. Now what? Surely someone will be checking on you, and when they don’t find you, I’ll be the one in trouble.”
He sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face, smearing some of the golden paint and mussing up his hair.
“The guards like me well enough—they won’t disturb me for the rest of the night. He, on the other hand…” He turned his head, squinting out the still-open window. Wren followed his gaze, seeing the commander’s tower in the distance, the council room glowing brightly in the darkness. “Will check on me once he’s finished.”
He clearly didn’t mean Commander Duncan. “Who?”
“My handler, Galen. He is a relentless social climber, distant cousin, and all-around cock.”
Wren snorted and handed him the flask. He took it gratefully. As he drank, she peered out the window. “If he’s looking for an ass to kiss, Commander Duncan will oblige. The man burns the midnight oil even when he’s alone, but with company to impress and the wine flowing…” She peered down at him, grinning. “You’ve got a couple of hours at least.”
The prince perked up. “Hours, you say. How shall we fill them?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sabina said from under her pillow.
Wren reached out a hand and hauled the prince to his feet. He was surprisingly steady, though shorter than she thought he’d be, standing an inch or so beneath her.
“Come on,” she said, heading for the door. “I’ve got an idea.”
TEN
With Wren in the lead, they darted between the shadows to avoid the guards, climbing up the ramparts, which themselves offered a wide view of the area, but she had something better in mind. Since he’d already proven he had some aptitude for climbing, Wren took the prince to the Breachfort’s highest tower, where they scaled a rickety ladder, climbed over the battlements, and came to stand on the small circular platform next to the flagpoles, the fort’s pennant snapping in the breeze.
The crenellated walls protected them from the worst of the cold but still allowed them to take in the stunning view for miles in all directions and keep an eye on Commander Duncan’s tower.
“Impressive,” Leo said, leaning out between a gap in the stones and taking it all in. “Can you see the Breach from here?”
“No,” Wren said with a sigh. “Sadly, I haven’t seen so much as a wisp of ghostlight since I arrived.”
“No sign of the undead—how very sad indeed,” the prince said teasingly. The cold air seemed to be sobering him up slightly, cooling his flushed cheeks and making his eyes shine. “Does that make you a zealot, then? Doing the illustrious Gravedigger’s good work?”
“What do you know about the Gravedigger?” Wren asked dubiously. Even after the Breach and all the House of Bone had done to make the Dominions safe, most regarded bonesmiths with wary superstition.
Leo looked affronted. “I am a prince of the realm,” he said. “I know everything.”
“Really?” Wren said, grinning.
“The Gravedigger is the first recognized smith in Dominion history,” Leo spouted, rising to the challenge. “There were likely others before him, but no civilization could truly take root here, in the Land of Magic, before they’d found a way to deal with the rising dead.”
“I thought it was the Land of Falling Stars?” she pressed, trying to catch him out. That’s where most people believed magic came from—stars falling from the heavens. No other country had it, as far as Wren knew, and certainly not in the same form. She’d heard of Selnori fortune-tellers and Rhai herb witches, but nothing like what they had in the Dominions.
“It depends who you ask,” Leo said without a hitch. “The Maltecs called it Majland, and the Andolesians called it Estellaisle. The first settlers called it Smithland, back when everyone who lived here had magic, but now, thanks to my ambitious ancestors, it’s called the New Dominions—named for a place that no longer exists.”
The Valorians came from a country called the Northern Dominions, but civil war had since seen it splintered into several smaller nations. Their country was officially called the New Dominions, but most dropped the prefix.
“I’m impressed,” Wren conceded. History had never been her favorite subject, but despite his roguish behavior, Leo was obviously more studious than he let on.
He beamed at her praise, tipping his head in gratitude before peering around once more. “How long have you been here?”
“A little over a month.”
“And how are you enjoying it?”
“I’m not,” Wren said flatly. “I’m bored. Fighting ghosts is all I’m good at, and as previously stated, there aren’t any.”
“Boredom—now, that is something I completely understand.”
Wren turned away from the view to lean her back against the wall, staring at him. “Being a prince not all it’s cracked up to be?”
“Oh, it has its charms,” he conceded. “But while first and second sons have duties and responsibilities in addition to the usual bits—”
“Like money and power?” Wren asked wryly.
“Yes, exactly,” he said without skipping a beat. “A third son, on the other hand, often finds himself without much to do. You have the heir, the spare, me, then the daughter—youngest and favorite, I might add.”
“So you’re the second spare.”
“The spare’s spare.”
Wren laughed. “But you’re the only goldsmith, right? Surely that counts for something?”
“Besides an extra name in my official title that people rarely bother to use? Not really. They won’t let me actually use my ability. Princes don’t work, Wren Graven, not even prince-smiths—surely you know that,” he said with a smirk. “Once I’d finished my education…” He shrugged. “No expectations. No responsibility. Hence the Breachfort visit. It’s one of a dozen stops I’ve made in the past few weeks, tours and inspections all to keep me busy.”
“And behaving?” Wren asked.
“Mostly behaving,” he amended, raising his flask.
“Sounds like an easy life,” Wren said, though she suspected that wasn’t quite true. She knew what it was to have people expect the worst from you, all the ways you could rebel against or play into those perceptions. Wren herself had only ever done half the stupid things she’d done for the attention. She’d wanted to be caught, to be seen, to be talked about and remembered.
She’d always assumed any attention was better than no attention. Better for people to expect the worst than for them to expect nothing at all.
Then again, that behavior had landed her here.
“An easy life, yes,” Leo said, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. “But also an invisible one.”
“Could be worse,” Wren said bracingly. “You could have failed the test you’ve been training for your whole life, been banished from your family, and exiled, rather than just popping by for a visit.”
Leo’s attention dropped back down to her. His expression was serious. “What kind of idiots would exile you?”
His tone was incredulous, as if the very idea of it was beyond comprehension. As if, after knowing her for only a few short hours, he saw her value more than her own blood.
“The kind I’m related to,” Wren said with a sigh.
Leo nodded. “Ah, yes, the very worst kind of idiots. I know from experience.”
Wren laughed, and Leo offered her the flask.
“To the worst kind of idiots,” she said, raising the flask before tossing back a burning mouthful.
“And to new friends,” he added, taking it back and draining the container in one.
* * *
The lights in Commander Duncan’s council room went dark not long after, forcing Wren and Leo to abandon their perch and hustle back the way they’d come. As it turned out, Leo hadn’t climbed out his window as much as fallen, and with the late hour and excess alcohol, he wasn’t managing to scale the two-story distance without help.
And help unfortunately came in the form of Wren, standing on the ground beneath his window while he perched painfully on her shoulders, kicking her head and bruising her collarbone as he reached and scrambled and finally, mercifully, got a hold of the window ledge and hauled himself up.
Once inside, Leo poked his head out the open window, tossing her a wink before disappearing back inside.
Smiling, Wren returned to her room—but she took the stairs.
* * *
The following day dawned obnoxiously bright, the bell tolling the shift change impossibly loudly—and earlier than usual, Wren was sure—but it didn’t matter, as she was already awake.
Suddenly, for the first time in weeks, her life felt like it had purpose. She didn’t truly know what Leo could or couldn’t do for her, but at least it was something, and if she happened to have fun in the process? All the better.
Yes, her head pounded a bit, and her mouth was dry, but a spot of breakfast would surely cure what ailed her.
If Wren was feeling the effects of her late night, Leo was much, much worse. Their eyes met across the dining hall, and though his hair still shone like spun gold and his jacket was pristine, his skin looked pale, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle. Despite being a bit under the weather, he smiled at Wren and nodded in acknowledgment as she entered the room.
She hovered, uncertain. Should she sit at the high table again? Odile was absent once more, and the other representatives were there, but this was definitely a less formal affair than the welcoming feast. Wren was needed to perform Odile’s duties, not to warm her seat. When no one called her over, she decided to slide onto a bench and eat with the rest of the tributes.
Still, she watched the high table as breakfast wore on.
Leo sat perfectly straight, not a button or hair out of place, head resting elegantly on his hand—though his eyes were closed. Despite this fact, he managed to flag down a servant for more coffee without needing to open them, his empty mug held aloft until someone had the presence of mind to fill it. The Breachfort did not usually serve coffee, an expensive import from Selnor, but as the prince downed his third cup, Wren could only assume Leo had brought the beans himself.
Finally, Commander Duncan stood, and the room fell silent. Leo’s eyes opened.
“As a part of his official inspection, Prince Leopold will accompany me and a small party east of the Wall so he may examine our defenses in greater detail and ensure they meet with royal approval.”
Leo nodded imperiously, but there was new tension in him that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps he was nervous to go beyond the Border? Or maybe he was just anxious to perform his royal duties correctly.
“If you are not assigned to our escort,” Commander Duncan continued, “your regular patrols will go on as scheduled.”
There was a collective groan and screech of benches against stone as the others got to their feet to report for their usual duties, while Wren waited, hoping…
Commander Duncan’s searching gaze found her in the tumult, and he waved her over. Her heart leapt.
She joined the group of people milling in front of the high table while the rest of the guards and tributes cleared out. She caught Leo’s eye and grinned, hoping her presence might ease his worries somewhat. He smiled tightly and waved for another cup of coffee.
Commander Duncan announced that the patrol party would be made up of a team of Prince Leo’s own guards, his cousin and retainer, Galen, the commander himself, and a handful of the Breachfort garrison, in addition to Wren.
When it was time to depart later that afternoon, Wren and the others filed into the courtyard, where horses milled, saddled and ready to be mounted, and the prince’s carriage sat, awaiting its royal passenger.
She checked her armor and weapons, knowing they would not be used but wanting to make sure she represented her order proudly. She also ran through everything she knew of the fort’s undead defenses. Surely Odile knew more, but she doubted the prince would require a full treatise on the subject. Just a few highlights would do. Besides, she wasn’t going to dazzle him with her knowledge—her winning personality was her best chance at securing favor. Where it would lead, Wren didn’t know, but she allowed herself to envision a letter arriving at Marrow Hall, stamped with the prince’s seal, raving about Vance Graven’s exiled daughter and her skills at the Breachfort. Maybe he’d even request to take her on himself, have her join his traveling party full-time. It wasn’t unheard of and was almost a requirement when traveling to some regions of the Dominions where bonesmiths were less common.
Wren was heading toward one of the horses when Leo hooked her arm. “You’ll be riding with me, Graven.”
Grinning, Wren turned back around—and walked straight into Commander Duncan. “Mount your horse, tribute. We’re preparing to depart.”
“You know, Commander Duncan, I’d feel much safer with the bonesmith by my side for the duration of the inspection. We are heading east of the Wall.”
“Your Highness, we’ve not had an attack from the undead in seven years! I assure you, it is perfectly safe.”
“If it’s perfectly safe, I wonder why the crown spends so much gold on the Wall’s upkeep?” Leo mused, glancing around. “Perhaps our resources would be better spent elsewhere, if the Breach is no longer a threat….”
“The Breach is still extremely dangerous,” Commander Duncan said, changing tack at top speed. “To say nothing of the Breachsiders who linger beyond our borders. I only meant that the specific section of the Wall that you will inspect has not seen action—has been thoroughly tested—rigorous standards—”
“All the same,” the prince cut in, “I’d feel safer with someone who is properly armed and trained to deal with such a threat, should it occur. I might be the Twice-Spare-Heir, but I am still a prince of the Dominions.”
“Of course, Your Highness, of course—anything to put your mind at ease. Your safety is our top priority, I assure you. Lady-Smith,” he barked, flapping his hand at Wren to indicate she should climb up. “You will ride alongside the prince.”
