89

Marcus

Maybe the Bone Thrower was wrong.

I toss another map aside, not even bothering to roll it back up. Ash would hate the negligence, but what I hate more is wasting time searching through the parchments when it’s clearly time to mount up and go find her.

What are we waiting for? De’ral’s frustration pounds in my head.

“Let me see, fulfilling our duty and responsibility to the allied realms?”

Finding Ash is everything, of course it is, but there are obstacles to overcome first, like supervising Asyleen’s repairs, sorting through these bones-be-cracked maps for her location, and taking multiple excursions in search of the alleged bone tunnel. Apparently it’s the only way to Avon Eyre. How the same sanctuary can appear in different places on different maps is beyond me. Still, the Bone Thrower gave us coordinates. I just have to find the map that leads to them. Meanwhile, I try to calm my phantom. “Ash is safe, De’ral. We will mount the search soon.” He sulks and says nothing.

Oba eventually threw the bones to help find Ash, and the results were clear. For once. She is, according to the reading, safe in the Sanctuary of Avon Eyre, immersed in the library, collecting ancient text on the second sun and the whistle bones. Doing as her rank and status demands—the recorder to the Bone Gatherer. The reading also assured that she will rejoin us, though exactly how or when was not specified. But I believe Oba. I must, or I’ll go mad with worry.

We head out tomorrow, or I will, without you, De’ral growls at me.

I growl back.

The savant and the phantom are one. Kaylin’s words come back to me. Peace be his path, but how could he know that? I have to face that the sailor is right. Was right. De’ral’s doubts are mine, mine are his. It’s just that De’ral worries that if we don’t go soon, we’ll never find her and I worry that if we go without knowing the way to Avon Eyre, we’ll all be lost.

My eyes drift out the window and across the courtyard as they do every day, resting on the place where Salila last stood. She’s someone who never has doubts. Never hesitates. It feels like only moments have passed since we were battling the red-robe together and rejoicing in our victory.

It’s years to me, De’ral says.

In this, the savant and the phantom have differing views as well.

Do we?

My thoughts halt as Samsen enters the room with another armful of blasted scrolls. It takes a moment for me to pull my eyes from the window and give him my full attention.

He dips his head and piles the scrolls onto the table. “Still no word from the Mar woman?”

Nothing gets by his notice. “I’m not expecting any.” I brush it off. “Word of Belair today?”

“Nothing from him, either.”

“The Tangeen couldn’t have sent a message by now? There have been enough couriers between Asyleen and the south these past weeks.”

“Maybe he was detained.” Samsen doesn’t say what would most likely be the cause of that, nor do I. We’ve all suffered enough loss. I’m not going to speculate on more.

“And what about word from our Magistrate?”

“Nor her.”

I cross my arms tight in front of my chest, hoping it will calm the building rage. As the second sun shines brighter by the day, I’m near to jumping out of my skin. I don’t trust what Rhiannon is doing with my realm and I want these whistle bones passed over to Brogal before Tann, or some other red-robe, tries to take them. Will I win those battles on my own? Atikis is dead, yes, but I had help from a Mar.

Salila, De’ral says in the smoky voice reserved just for her.

“Yes, Salila.” It’s not like I can forget, though I try. Thoughts of her have been haunting me day and night since Atikis fell.

And there are other problems. It seems, though our tally of whistle bones has gone up, we have been duped. My hand goes to the bone bag at my waist as I list them in my mind. The Ancient Shearwater from Baiseen, Tree of Life from Bakton, Arrow of Nii from Kutoon, Ma’ata and Mummy Wheat from Tangeen. We even have the Eye of Sierrak and the Mask of Anon, but when I feel Mummy Wheat, I scowl. “Does Tyche still say it’s a replica?”

“She does.” Samsen shakes his head. “And Piper agrees. They’ve pored over the images in Brogal’s text. Tested it with precise measurements and callings. Safe to say, it’s not the original. I wonder if Atikis knew.”

“No telling, but it means Warcott was planning to cheat us all along, keeping it for himself? Or for Tann?” Heat rises. It’s another betrayal. “We need to double back, and show Warcott he made the wrong choice,” I say under my breath.

Samsen stares, but I avoid his eyes.

“You can try to convince Warcott to support us,” Samsen says. “Win him over to the allied realms, but we can’t declare war on Whitewing Sanctuary, even if he hoards the whistle bone.”

“It might be too late for that. Who knows what Rhiannon is up to?” There was nothing about her in any of the bone readings. Usually, if there is an important person along the path, the throw of the bones has something to say about them. But it was almost like she was shrouded on purpose. “I don’t know if she’s following Petén’s plan, or her own.”

“It was a terrible accident, your brother’s fall. Peace be his path.”

“Accident, or murder?”

Samsen’s face remains expressionless. “Best keep such sentiments to yourself, Marcus.”

“But what is she thinking?” I grumble. “What does she want?” Rhiannon has always been cunning, but to what end? I get up and begin to pace.

“My guess is she wants power.”

“Are we talking about Rhiannon again?” Piper nods to me as she enters the room. She seems to be recovering from a nagging illness that neither she nor Samsen will discuss. He opens his arm to her and they share a lingering embrace.

A fire blazes in the hearth but I throw another log on anyway. “Choosing a green broke horse for the hunt? Petén wouldn’t have done that.”

“If he’d been drinking, he might have,” Samsen says.

“Or if he was goaded?” Piper suggests.

Samsen shrugs out of his coat. “Do you really think she orchestrated the accident?” he asks in a low voice. “His fall? His death? It’s Rhiannon we’re talking about.”

I hood my eyes. “I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

“If so, she did it for the realm,” Piper says. “In her mind, it would be justified.”

“A twisted mind if that is the case. I’ll deal—”

A knock at the door spins me around.

“Who’s there?” Samsen calls out, but the door is already swinging open.

I reach for my sword.

“Here you are, lounging by the fire while the others do all the work. I should have known to search indoors first.” A man stands at the entrance, his cloak hiding his features until he throws back his hood, freeing shocks of flaming red hair, a fair face, and a wide grin.

“Belair!” I let my sword fall back into the scabbard. “What has kept you?” I crush him in a hug and he oomphs out his breath.

“What has kept you from sending a message, he means.” Piper kisses him on the cheeks while Samsen hugs him as well.

“Injury.” Belair pulls down his collar to show off an angry red scar on his neck, only recently healed. “Didn’t have Piper handy to make it as good as new, but I did get these.” He takes off his coat to reveal his new orange-robes. “And before you feel left behind, Marcus, High Savant Havest is handing them out to any savant who comes back alive from a battle with Tann. You’d already have yours twice over, in his court.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that.” I wave it away, wishing my words were true. “Congratulations, Belair Duquan, orange-robe of Tangeen.” I give him a formal bow.

“Well earned,” Piper and Samsen join in. As Piper examines the scar, her brows go up. “If it was the green-robe Hahmen who healed you, he did a good job.”

“Yellow-robe now.” Belair smiles wide. “I’m not complaining.”

“And what of Tann?” Samsen asks.

“He’s on the move. Rhiannon’s troops—” He pauses. “Peace be your brother’s path, Marcus.”

“Thanks.” I nod for him to go on.

“Her troops, and a very put-off Tangeen contingent, are scouting far to the north. There’s no joy in that camp, I promise.” Belair hops into a chair and laces his hands behind his head, basking in the heat from the fire. “Tann’s pushed into Sierrak, looking for who knows which bone now. I thought he had them all, his six anyway. But he also left a fully-manned Gollnar warship off the coast of Kutoon.”

“There again?” I find that hard to reckon. “Why?”

“The focus is under the waves. Maybe he lost something precious when the ship sank? One of the whistle bones?”

“I will send a message to the High Savant of Kutoon.” I look at Samsen. “Zakia may know more.”

Belair tilts his head toward the courtyard. “I heard the likes of Gaveren the Great destroyed Atikis.” He winks. “Did your warrior inflict this damage single-handedly, or was anyone else allowed to join in? Samsen? Piper? Kay—”

“Salila actually.”

Belair’s eyes flare. “I missed too much! But where are the others? I’m guessing Kaylin returned with Ash? What part did the sailor play? He has a wicked blade and…” Belair stops himself, brow creasing. “What’s wrong?”

Samsen sighs and lowers his head.

“Kaylin’s dead,” I say in a flat voice.

“No!” Belair’s mouth sags, his cheeky grin vanished. “How?”

I sink into an overstuffed chair, hunch forward and study my hands. “I wasn’t there, but it’s said that he was run through by Atikis’s blade.”

Belair covers his face with his hands. “What was he doing fighting Atikis alone? Did he forget he was non-savant?”

“He was trying to protect Ash.”

“Atikis had her?” Belair jerks his head back. “Where is she now?”

My eyes lift to Belair’s. “Spirited away through a bone tunnel by the Brotherhood of Anon.” I sigh.

“Nothing in that sentence makes sense to me.” Belair’s face contorts.

“Me either, but the Bone Thrower says she’s unharmed and will rejoin us soon.” I hope with my whole heart it is true. I feel a terrible squeeze in my chest anyway. “We’ve been searching the road to Asyleen all month for the bone tunnel, and a map that shows the true way to Avon Eyre.”

“Avon Eyre?” Belair whistles. “But she’s alive?”

“So says the whistle bones.”

He frowns. “We’ve not had great luck with those readings in the past.”

“True.” I stand, my eyes going to the pile of maps. “Piper, tell Tyche to gather our text, and those blasted maps. It’s time for us to pack.”

“To seek Ash?” she and Samsen ask.

“Not just seek. Find!”