Lady Mykaela was finally allowed out of bed a month after my khahar-de, though restricted to the immediate vicinity of the Willows. Mistress Parmina had banned her from taking up any new requests outside of Ankyo and dismissed all her protests to the contrary.
“You are more important than anything they might ask of you,” she informed her firmly. “The next daeva to require raising will not be for another year. You will stay here and attend to your younger sister until I have deemed you fit enough to work, and that is all there is to say about the matter.”
My sister still tired easily and always excused herself early in the evening, much to my worry. “She will get better,” Polaire told me often, though occasionally I would detect minute changes in her heartsglass as she spoke—a brief spatter of blue, too quick for anyone else to notice.
Lady Mykaela asked me one day to accompany her out into the fields outside of Ankyo, the same ones asha used for training practice. She had also asked Fox to join us. My brother still limped, and his face looked more drawn than I was accustomed to, but he was otherwise unchanged. I felt guilty. My free time had been gradually taken up by the lessons my new sisters had begun to teach me, and I had been seeing less and less of him, taking for granted the bond we shared as an excuse that he was doing well, that the army took his time from me as much as my lessons took me from him.
“I told you once that death would make the better of us, and that holds true for your brother, at least.” Mykaela looked especially lovely today, some of the color returned to her cheeks. Instead of her hua, she wore a flowing dress that was pleated at the knees and tightened around the waist by a long belt made of shiny blue silk. Her hair was unadorned. “Hold out your finger. This may sting a little.”
I had barely held it out when Lady Mykaela moved, and a sliver of a blade sliced through my skin. Small drops of blood trickled down the wound, but I stood stock-still, not moving despite that tiny blush of pain. I had seen the asha do this when she had raised that taurvi nearly two years ago—how long ago that was to me!
“Now, draw the Heartsrune for me again.”
I stared at her, finger dripping red, confusion unmistakable. To draw the Heartsrune was the last thing I expected her to make me do.
She laughed and laid a hand on Fox’s shoulder. Only then did I see the new heartsglass case that hung around his neck. It was simpler than Lady Mykaela’s and mine, bound by a small white chain instead of gold embellishments. “I would have thought it obvious.”
“But he can’t!”
“He can. Not for the usual things we use them for, no. Not to exchange wedding vows with or to delve for illnesses. His heart will be silver marked and identical in every way to yours. No one who knows the magic will mistake him for anything but what he is: a bone witch’s familiar. But even the dead have uses for a heart, even one they’re given instead of the one they were born with. Go ahead.”
Fox said nothing, only waited.
With shaking fingers, I drew the Heartsrune in the space between us. The red flowed from my finger and followed the path my hand took, staining the breeze with every movement, so that when I was done, the symbol stood before me, written in my own blood. I felt that welcome rush of relief and elation as the magic filled me up, infused itself into the rune.
The heartsglass rippled once, twice, took hold. Mist filled the tiny case, swirling into every nook and corner. At the same time, Fox opened his mouth, took a breath, and exhaled noisily, his first since his death. His face no longer looked wan and sallow. Color leeched back into his face, a healthy pink from neck and chin to cheeks and forehead, and it warmed every feature it touched.
“He will be stronger,” Lady Mykaela said. “Faster than when he was living. Tougher. Unkillable by normal means. He will need blooding for every half and full moon, and only your blood will take. He will never be fully alive, but this is the closest to living that the dead can know. It is, naturally, your brother’s choice.”
Fox examined his hand, flexed his fingers. They no longer creaked like old bones.
“I would like to stay for as long as Tea wants me to,” he said. His eyes were brighter, smiling at the corners, like he had found more reasons to laugh at the world.
“Then stay,” I said, and my hands shook. “If I can make you stronger and if I can help you live the life you ought to have had, then stay. For as long as you want and for as long as I can.”
Fox watched me fidget and shiver, and when I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, he opened his arms. I ran into them without another word. For the first time since his death, Fox was warm and smelled of home.
• • •
The graveyard lay on the outskirts of the city, a sensible distance for citizens to pay their respects to the dead without intruding on their territory. I looked around, wondering what traces remained of the damage I had caused, but the masons and bricklayers of Ankyo were efficient workers, and the only things out of place were the few new headstones whose polished brightness stood out among the weather-beaten graves like bad notes. But I was uneasy. This cemetery was divided into two fields: one allotted for more recent burials, the other for graves dating back centuries. We stood in the latter.
“Heartsglass were not originally created for courtship nor were they crafted for business,” Mykaela said as we stood among the rows of dead. “In the olden days, asha were employed in battlefields, and so noblemen and others of royal blood took to wearing heartsglass in battle, because even there, they were granted special privileges. If they fared badly in their wars, bone witches from the opposing side could take their heartsglass instead of their lives. Better a prisoner than dead, apparently. Over time, other soldiers protested this treatment and began wearing heartsglass of their own, until the asha could no longer distinguish between commoner and royal.”
“As things should be,” Fox noted.
Lady Mykaela drew another symbol in the air. “This is the Rune of Raising. I’m sure you recognize this.”
I nodded. It was the rune I had raised Fox with, a feat I could not recreate no matter how many times I tried on my own. Once, without anyone’s knowledge save Fox’s, in the quiet stillness of the night, I crept out of the Valerian and tried to recreate the summon Lady Mykaela had performed on the taurvi on the carcass of a rotting beetle.
“You knew I’d fail,” I accused my brother when nothing happened. Even with only him to see, I could not hide my embarrassment. He had thought it a terrible idea but had done little to dissuade me.
“And so did you,” he returned. I couldn’t find a wittier response, had slunk back inside.
“And this is why you were given slices of runeberries for the better part of your training,” my sister explained. “The Dark takes more from you than you might think, and every casting can make you weaker, more vulnerable. The berries make up the difference and will keep your strength up. Follow exactly as I do, and direct it toward this grave.”
Lady Mykaela drew the rune again, and I copied her movements, the blood from my cut hand floating around me, settling into its shape. This time, I felt the tingling along the length of my arm when my fingers drew at the air, sparking at the tips. As she instructed, I guided the thriving energy down to one of the stones, at the bones I could feel lying underneath.
There was a shifting in the soil, and the ground before us caved in.
Something clawed its way out of the small hole that appeared. It had lain dormant for so long that any remaining bits of skin hung like rags around its bones, its skull shorn of all hair. I could see a string of pure energy that wound along my raised finger, attached to what was left of its waist. The corpse fixed an eyeless gaze on us and rattled. Its form was almost skeletal, but its voice was clear as spring in my mind.
I will never tell you! The words snapped at us, shrill and angry. He’s my child, and nothing else matters!
“Ask for her consent,” Lady Mykaela said.
I gritted my teeth. The corpse’s stench turned my stomach, but I persevered. Do you accept me? I directed that thought toward the rotting apparition.
I will never tell you his father’s name! The corpse rattled. I’ll carry his secret to my grave!
“It’s not working.” A peculiar buzzing began in my head, and it began hurting. Whether it was because of the dead woman’s ferocity or the strength it was taking to maintain contact with her, I wasn’t sure. “She’s not listening.”
“Try to command her.”
Never! You will never taint my family name with your vile lies!
“I can’t!” The noise grew worse. I clutched at my head.
“Let her go!” Mykaela ordered. “Cut through the string that binds you both!”
I forced my will through the rope of energy between us, severing our connection. Immediately the corpse sagged, bereft of life once more, and toppled back into the open grave.
“That was Lady Liset,” Lady Mykaela said, “a former Odalian duchess. King Telemaine’s many-times-great-aunt and King Randrall’s wife, buried here instead of at the royal tombs because of her fall from grace for reasons we now know since you raised the old king. The dead cannot lie, but they can withhold the truth. That is the first rule of the Dark: you cannot compel the dead if they are not willing. The duchess is a benign corpse and harmless enough for our purpose. Other dead will not be as gentle. If they do not consent, deprive them of their movements quickly. They will use your own strength to attack you for as long as your bond remains.”
She had me practice this rune for a month—on graves Lady Mykaela herself had raised in her youth, taught to her by other Dark asha that came before her, or on the bones of small animals. Unlike their human counterparts, the animals did not need consent, and I soon learned to distinguish between the corpses who were willing and those who were not almost as soon as they rose from their mounds. But Mykaela had me return the dead, human or animal, compliant or not, to their rest every time, because to maintain Fox, she said, was difficult enough for a young asha-in-training. “Besides,” she added, “I have something else in mind for you.”
• • •
The stallion was of a sturdy breed, born and raised in the Gorvekan steppes of Istera. The short, bandy-legged tribes that called that barren veldt their home bred this steed for war and territory but were ill at ease in Ankyo. They were an unusual sight to see, and people turned to stare at the two men, tall and covered in fur save for their bare legs sticking out underneath, armed with crude swords and pushing a makeshift wheelbarrow that contained two lifeless stallions through the streets of the Willows. The Gorvekai were an unsmiling tribe whose men and women shaved their heads and wore fur that draped loosely about their persons, yet also muffled the contours of their bodies at the same time. At least three hundred leagues lay between Istera and Kion, and I could not imagine how they had accomplished the journey the way they had and with two dead beasts in tow.
Lady Mykaela awaited them at the entrance to the Valerian. As the crowd watched, the two men lifted the corpses with unusual care, with a gentleness that belied their fierce, bearded faces. Once the horses were laid out on the ground, they took a step back. One of them addressed the asha in a harsh, nearly guttural language, and I was shocked to hear her respond in kind.
She approached the dead animals, cutting her hand as she did. Several drops of blood spilled onto one of the horses, and in no time at all, it stirred and stood up on all fours, whinnying and stamping its feet. A few people gasped, and most of our audience retreated when it turned and regarded them with bright eyes, like it meant to attack. Lady Mykaela extended a hand out. “Come here,” she said.
It tossed its head at the watchers one last time and approached her. It nuzzled at her fingers like a puppy might.
“There are two horses,” Lady Mykaela called out to me. “Would you care for the other?”
I very much did. I walked forward eagerly, saw Fox keeping in step beside me. More blood, and soon the second horse was up, trotting across the street with its head proudly raised.
The Gorvekai made no sound, only bowed to Mykaela three times, and left without another word, their empty wagon creaking behind them. “A favor for a favor,” Mykaela explained but said nothing more.
The horses themselves were magnificent, and their love of duty and honor showed in their bones. They held their heads high, were docile in their rest, and did not require feeding. Mykaela was delighted and named her mount Kismet. Mine was half a tail smaller in size, but I called him Chief. They took to us, and they also took to Fox, who found a nearby stable, paid its owner twice as much to keep them away from the curious public, and cared for them whenever we were busy. Dark called to Dark, he said, and the horses called to him as strongly as he called to them.
“How do you feel?” Lady Mykaela asked me a day later. I was riding astride Chief, exploring the streets of Ankyo for the first time on horseback, and she was on Kismet.
“Stronger.” I’d thought an additional familiar would make things more exhausting for me, but the opposite was true.
“The Gorvekai have a special connection with their horses; the bond draws and provides strength for both. It is not magic, nothing that even asha understand. Only bone witches can do the same as them with Gorvekan steeds and only in death.” She watched me for a long moment, then sighed and nudged Kismet forward, and I followed.
• • •
“What was it like to be dead?” I asked one early summer evening while I watched my brother at practice. They had given him leave to stay at the Valerian if he wanted to—or, rather, Fox, taking Lady Hami’s suggestion, began to visit more regularly and for longer periods, and Mistress Parmina gave no protest. But Fox rarely entered the asha-ka, preferring instead to remain outside. It was a rare outing for us; Althy was at the Ankyo palace, still serving as Princess Inessa’s bodyguard, and Polaire was at the Flowing Waters cha-khana, entertaining at an important function that frowned on mere novices. Lady Mykaela and Mistress Parmina napped inside the asha-ka. I was astride Chief again. My mouth was occupied with smoked ham; I ate in small bites and constant meals nowadays, because blood and runes took strength and gave back appetite.
“Nothing and everything at once,” Fox replied and swiped with his blade at a falling leaf. It folded itself into two halves at his feet. The leaves cast a shadow on the ground, and I cast a shadow too, but though he looked more alive than he had before, Fox and Chief had none. “Colder, without feeling; grayer, without seeing. Alive but without aim. Hunger without flavor.”
I watched him batter at a bare trunk with a plain sword, glinting steel against dead bark. The pallor had long since left his face, and his legs no longer creaked and spasmed. Some days it was easier to believe that I was not a bone witch watching my creation but just a sister watching a sibling at swordplay. I closed my eyes; the bond between us was stronger than ever, and I could pinpoint with near accuracy just how far away he was from me without seeing him. I also sensed Chief below me, impatient at remaining still.
“As it should be with your familiars,” Lady Mykaela had told me. “It is the same on their end, and their instinct will always be to seek you out to protect you at the first signs of danger. That he is your brother makes the chains between you even harder to break.”
“Canter,” I told Chief. The horse whinnied and began. He pranced across the street, encircling the large oak tree that stood across from the asha-ka and then returning. I had brushed his white coat beforehand until it gleamed. Chief knew he was the best-looking horse in Ankyo and was not afraid to let everyone else know it.
“Did it hurt?” I had never asked Fox this before. Heartless Fox had been quiet and distant, always watchful and concerned. He could sound angry and sad and worried and happy, but never would his expression change to suit the emotion. Heartful Fox was different, more prone to show with his face and his eyes what his words meant, more of the brother I remembered and less of the shade that had remained.
Fox paused to think about it. “It did at first. We were patrolling the swamps that separated Odalia from Kion. News reached the king of some strange creature lurking there, feasting on nearby villages. There were bodies, half-eaten and ruined beyond recognition. Another regiment brought one to camp the day before, and I threw up the small army rations I had for breakfast all over my new boots.”
He made a face at the memory, then flicked at the small half leaf, turned it over. “I was the first one to die, I think. I was scouting ahead of my group, because I was quiet on my feet and never one to talk much, and I counted on that to see things before they see me. It didn’t matter though, because the creature was like a shadow and made no sound at all. I managed to shout out a warning before it jumped me. One swipe of the claw, shock and pain. And then nothing.”
He paused and then lifted up his shirt, and I saw the claw marks knifed across his body in three red streaks, half-healed and no longer the gaping wound it had been that night at the Snow Pyre.
“That’s horrible.” I shuddered and turned my head away, not wanting to look at the fatal injury that had claimed his life.
Fox only looked thoughtful. “I would like to face it again, for my pride if nothing else. There are days now when I can make no sound either.” He held out his arm and made a quick shallow cut at the back of his hand with the sword. A small wound gaped back, but for all his pink-faced, alive-seeming countenance, Fox did not bleed.
I slid off Chief’s back and moved toward him.
“It’s only a small cut, Tea. You don’t need to.”
“But I need the practice too. There’s a reason I’ve been eating those runeberries, as terrible as they taste.” I cut my finger with my knife, a new gift from Lady Mykaela for this purpose. I allowed the blood to drip onto his palms. The brown of my skin was paler now due to my frequent bloodletting, because after that first lesson, there had been many more for Lady Mykaela to teach, many more still to learn.
The blood spread across my brother’s skin, seeped into the flesh. He turned his hand over, and the wound was gone. The marks he wore on his chest retreated but did not diminish completely and remained red stained and angry.
“One day,” Fox said, and Chief neighed in agreement.