The Heart Forger (The Bone Witch #2)(21)
“I’m surprised how much you recall, considering how quickly you fled.”
The Heartforger actually laughed. He was everything she described and, at the same time, everything she had not. He was dark from his travels, and his eyes were a light gray, nearly as colorless as his hair, which hung long past his shoulders. He looked stronger than I expected—shoulders broad but hunched, arms heavily built. He narrowed his eyes as he focused on me, a habit I recognize, having poor sight myself. His heartsglass was a masterpiece—a dizzying crystal of fractured colors, of a finer cut than the best diamonds. “Who is he?” the Heartforger asked.
“My chronicler, of a sort.”
The Heartforger frowned, but his final impression was of sadness rather than of anger. “This is a dangerous thing you do, Tea.”
“No more dangerous than other choices you have made, Khalad. And you know as well as I that I am running out of options as quickly as Daanoris is emptying of people.”
“How did you know to find me here? You were still in exile when I left Ankyo.”
She smiled at him. “I didn’t. But I knew you wouldn’t stay in Kion for long. Ankyo and Odalia disgust you now as much as they disgust me. During my exile, I scried my way down the coast and followed the minds leading into Santiang. Imagine my surprise to find this man in charge.” She nodded at the emperor, who had made good on his promise not to move while we were gone. “I knew he would seek you out and that you would be in danger.”
“You were able to scry over that distance? Your powers are stronger than even before you were…” His eyes met hers, and she nodded. “I had little time to do much forging for him,” he continued. “I’ve barely been in prison two days. Is that why you came to Daanoris with all the daeva in your heartsglass?”
“Can you see them?”
“Their hearts are intertwined with yours, and only your death can pull them apart.” He looked troubled. “I am afraid, Tea.”
The asha knelt before him, her hands clasped around his. “Will you stop me then?” she whispered, and for a moment, she sounded very young. “Is there any other alternative, Khalad?”
“No,” the boy said heavily. “There isn’t. That is the problem.”
“Do you approve then?”
“No. But I understand why you do it.” He glanced at me again. “How much does he know?”
“As little as possible,” the asha replied.
“I found the princess, and the rest of the soldiers are tending to their wounded,” Lord Kalen said, entering the room.
The Heartforger’s jaw grew slack, and he rose to his feet as Lord Kalen approached.
He continued, “They surrendered swiftly, and I do not think they will cause more trouble, not with the daeva waiting outside. Hello, Khalad.”
Lord Khalad’s mouth worked uselessly, and tears of both shock and joy filled his eyes. His heartsglass wept, a shining star.
“I am glad to see that I can still hide things from you, Khalad,” the bone witch said, smiling.
“We saw you die,” the Heartforger finally croaked, clutching the other boy’s shoulders. “Tea tried to raise you. We couldn’t bring you back. We saw you die.”
“I got better,” Lord Kalen said. A strange smile played on his lips, and his heartsglass burned as brightly as the Heartforger’s.
7
Millicent Tread’s grave was a neglected tangle of grass and dandelions. The small headstone that marked her final repose was obscured by the tall weeds and heavy stones. It lay the farthest from the graveyard entrance, relegated to a plot near forgotten folk who had died in the last century and were, therefore, of little use to the current one. I could see why Aenah would plant secrets along its periphery; few people had reason to go this deep into the boneyard, and Millicent Tread was difficult to find unless you knew she was there to begin with.
Despite the overabundance of vegetation, the earth around the tomb had been recently disturbed.
It had taken us nearly two hours of searching to locate poor Millicent, and by the time we unearthed her small, crumbling coffin, the sky had lightened into softer gradients of grays, the hours moving toward dawn. I hoped that some force would prevent Lady Mykaela from wandering out of bed again; it would be far more difficult to explain trespassing at this grave than at King Vanor’s tomb.
“If she lied, I’ll strangle her myself,” Fox grumbled. He did most of the digging, though I did the sweating for the two of us. My brother lowered himself gingerly into the hole he dug, clearing away the splinters of wood and prying off what was left of the coffin lid.
An unknown rune of intricate markings suddenly blazed forth in front of me, shining brightly. There was a strange yapping sound, then a withered hand shot out to grasp Fox by the sleeve. Fox’s blade swung, shining in the dim light, and took the skeletal hand off cleanly at the wrist. “I knew it,” he growled. “She set us up!”
Millicent Tread’s corpse was not the only body rising from the ground. Other gravestones shuddered and broke apart around us, their occupants struggling out of their graves, decayed jaws snapping.
Fox spun in a circle, taking two heads with one clean swipe. Yet even as the skulls dropped to the ground, their bodies lumbered forward. Every arm or leg Fox chopped off became an additional appendage to defend against, and my brother soon traded his blade for its hilt, driving the heavy, blunt end to crush their bones.