Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (24 page)

“Does Nashira know about this?” I said.

His expression darkened.

“She may question you about my absences. And my injuries,” he said.

“So she doesn’t know.”

No reply. He propped me up on some heavy velvet cushions, making sure my head was supported. The nausea was passing, but my wrist still dripped blood. Seeing it, Warden reached for the nightstand and procured a roll of gauze. My gauze. I recognized the band I’d secured it with. He must have taken it from my backpack. It made me cold to think of it in his hands. It reminded me of the missing pamphlet. Did he have it? Had he read it?

He took my wrist. His massive, gloved hands were gentle, covering the cut in sterile white. His way of thanking me, I supposed. Once the blood had stopped seeping through the gauze, he fixed the dressing with a pin and laid my arm across my chest. I kept my eyes on his face.

“It seems we are at a stalemate,” he said. “You have a talent for finding me in delicate situations. I would expect you to take pleasure in my times of weakness, yet you give me your blood. You clean my wounds. What is your motive?”

“I might need a favor. And I don’t like to watch things die. I’m not like you.”

“You judge too easily.”

“You watched while she killed him.” I should have been afraid to say these words, but I didn’t give a damn. “You
watched
. You must have known what she was going to do.”

Warden was unresponsive. I turned away from him.

“Perhaps I am a whited sepulchre,” he started.

“A what?”

“A hypocrite. I rather like the turn of phrase,” he said. “Perhaps you think me evil, but I do keep my word. Do you keep yours?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Tonight’s events must never leave this room. I wish to know if you will keep them secret.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it would not help you to tell it.”

“It would get rid of you.”

I thought his eyes changed.

“Yes. It would get rid of me,” he said, “but your life would not improve. If you were not thrown onto the streets, you might be given another keeper, and not all of them are as liberal as I am. By rights I should have beaten you to death for some of the things you have said to me over the past few days. But I understand your value. Others will not.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words fizzled out. I could hardly claim that he’d abused me. He’d never so much as raised a finger to me.

“So you want me to keep your secret.” I rubbed my wrist. “And in exchange?”

“I will try to keep you safe. There are an infinite number of ways you could die here, and you do not help yourself avoid them.”

“I have to die eventually. I know what Nashira wants with me. You can’t protect me.”

“Perhaps not, in the end, but I presume you would like to survive your tests.”

“What’s the point?”

“You can prove to her how strong you are. You are no yellow-jacket. You can learn to fight.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Yes, you do. It is in your nature to fight.”

The clock in the corner chimed.

Having a Reph ally was wrong. At the same time, it would significantly increase my chances of survival. He could help me get supplies, help me survive. Maybe for long enough to escape this place.

“Fine,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone. But you still owe me a favor.” I held up my wrist. “For the blood.”

Just as I said it, the door burst open. A Reph woman swept into the room: Pleione Sualocin. She looked first at the state of the room, then at me, and finally at Warden. Without a word, she tossed him a Vacutainer. Warden caught it in one hand. I looked at it.

Blood. Human blood. It was labeled with a small gray triangle. And a number:
axiv
. Amaurotic 14.

Seb.

I looked at Warden. He inclined his head, like we’d shared a little secret. A visceral revulsion overwhelmed me. I stood up, still weak from blood loss, and lurched up the stairs to my prison.

13

His Picture

I first met Nick Nygård when I was nine years old. When I saw him next, I was sixteen.

It was the summer term of 2056 and at the III-5 School for Girls of Quality, we Year Elevens had entered the most important period of our lives. We could stay at school for another two years, during which we would be doing University prep, or leave and find a job. In an effort to convert the undecided, the Schoolmistress had organized a series of lectures from inspirational speakers: SVD agents, media raconteurs—even an Archon politician, the Minister of Migration. That day was geared toward medical science. All two hundred of us were herded into the lecture hall, dressed in our black suits, red ribbons, and white blouses. Miss Briskin, the chemistry mistress, stepped up to the lectern.

“Good morning, girls,” she said. “Good to see you all so bright and early. Many of you have expressed an interest in scientific research as a career path”—I hadn’t—“so this should be one of our most thought-provoking lectures.” A smattering of applause. “Our speaker has already had a terribly exciting career.” I wasn’t convinced. “He transferred from the University of Scion Stockholm in 2046, completed his studies in London, and now works for SciSORS, the largest research facility in the central cohort. We’re truly honored to have him here today.” There was a shiver of excitement from the front. “Please put your hands together and welcome our speaker—Dr. Nicklas Nygård.”

My head snapped up. It was him.

Nick.

He hadn’t changed a bit. He was exactly as I remembered him: tall, soft-featured, handsome. Still young, though his eyes bore the burden of a hectic adult life. He wore a black suit and a red tie, like all Scion officials. His hair was smoothed back with pomade, a style popular in Stockholm. When he smiled, the prefects sat up straighter.

“Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, Dr. Nygård.”

“Thank you for having me here today.” He stuffed his papers with the same hands that had stitched my injured arm when I was nine. He looked right at me, and he smiled. Behind my ribs, my heart flickered. “I hope this talk is enlightening, but I won’t take offense if you fall asleep.”

Laughter. Most officials weren’t so jocular. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Seven years of wondering where he might be, and he’d walked into my school. A picture from my memory. He talked about his research into the causes of unnaturalness, and about his experiences as a student in two different Scion citadels. He made jokes and encouraged audience participation, asking questions as often as he answered them. He even had the Schoolmistress smiling. When the bell rang, I was first out of the lecture hall, heading for the corridor at the back of the lecture theater.

I had to find him. For seven years I’d tried to understand what had happened in the poppy field. There had been no dog. He was the only one who could tell me what had left the cold scars on my hand. The only one who could give me answers.

I headed down the corridor, buffeting past chattering Year Eights. There he was, outside the staff room, shaking the hand of the Schoolmistress. When he saw me, his eyes brightened.

“Hello,” he said.

“Dr. Nygård—” I could hardly get the words out. “Your speech was—very inspiring.”

“Thank you.” He smiled again, and his eyes pierced mine. He knew. He remembered. “What’s your name?”

Yes, he knew. My palms tingled.

“This is Paige Mahoney,” the Schoolmistress said, putting emphasis on my surname. My very Irish surname. She looked me up and down, taking in my loose bow and unbuttoned blazer. “You ought to get to class, Paige. Miss Anville has been very disappointed with your attendance of late.”

Warmth rose to my cheeks.

“I’m sure Miss Anville can spare Paige for a few minutes.” Nick gave her a winning smile. “I’d love to spend some time with her.”

“That’s very kind of you, Dr. Nygård, but Paige has been with the nurse a great deal recently. She needs to attend
all
her classes.” She turned to him, lowering her voice. “Irish girl. These brogues often make up their own minds as to how much work is necessary.”

My vision tunneled. A pressure pushed at the inside of my skull, as if it were about to explode. A trail of blood crept from the Schoolmistress’s nose.

“You’re bleeding, Miss,” I said.

“What?” When she looked down, blood dripped onto her shirt. “Oh, for—now look what I’ve done.” She covered her nose. “Don’t just stand there
gawking
, Paige. Get me a handkerchief.”

My head gave a throb. A gray web pulled across my eyes, tightening my vision. Nick stared at me as he handed her a packet of tissues. “Perhaps you should sit down, Schoolmistress.” He placed a hand on her back. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

As soon as the Schoolmistress was gone, Nick turned to face me.

“Do people often have nosebleeds around you?”

His voice was quiet. After a moment, I nodded.

“Have they noticed?”

“I’ve never been called unnatural yet.” I sought his gaze. “Do you know why it happens?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I might,” he said.

“Tell me. Please.”

“Dr. Nygård?” Miss Briskin put her head around the staff room door. “The governors would like to speak to you.”

“On my way.” As soon as she was gone, Nick said against my ear, “I’ll come back in a few days. Do
not
sign up for the University, Paige. Not yet. Trust me.”

He squeezed my hand. Then, just as quickly as he’d come, he was gone. I was left to cradle my books to my pounding heart, my cheeks hot and my hands clammy. A day hadn’t gone by when I hadn’t thought of Nick, and now he had returned. I gathered my composure and walked to my class, still struggling to see or think. He’d remembered my name. He knew I was that little girl he’d saved.

I didn’t think he’d come back. I couldn’t be that important to him, not now that he’d made his fortune in the world. But two days later, he was waiting for me outside the school gates. Something strange had happened that morning: I’d daydreamed about a silver car. The picture had come to me during French, leaving me nauseated. Now the same car was outside, and Nick was in the driver’s seat, wearing sunglasses. I sleepwalked to the window, away from the other girls. He leaned out of it.

“Paige?”

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” I said.

“Because of the nosebleed.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He pushed his shades to the end of his nose, so I could see his tired eyes. “If you want to know more, I can tell you, but it can’t be here. Will you come with me?”

I glanced over my shoulder. None of the students were paying attention. “All right,” I said.

“Thank you.”

Nick took me away from the school. As he drove toward the central cohort, he shot me little glances. I stayed quiet. When I caught sight of myself in the side-mirror, I realized I was flushed. I wanted so much to talk to him, but I couldn’t wrap my tongue around a coherent sentence. After a few minutes, Nick spoke: “Did you ever tell your father what happened in the field?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You told me not to.”

“Good. That’s a start.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “I’m going to tell you a lot of things you won’t understand, Paige. You’re not like you were before that day, and you need to know why.”

I kept my eyes on the road. He didn’t have to tell me. I’d known I was different well before the poppy field; even as a child I’d been sensitive to people. Sometimes I’d felt tremors when they passed me, like my fingers had brushed a live wire. But things had changed since that day. Now I couldn’t just sense people—I could hurt them. I could make people bleed, make their heads ache and their eyes blur. I would fall asleep in class, only to wake up with my skin drenched in cold sweat. The nurse knew me better than anyone else at the school.

Something was emerging
from inside me, pushing out into the world. In the end, the world was going to see it.

“I can help you control it,” he said. “I can keep you safe.”

He’d kept me safe once before. “Can I still trust you?” I watched his face, the face I’d never forgotten. Nick looked at me.

“Always,” he said.

We went to a greasy spoon on Silk Street and sipped coffee. It was the first time I’d ever tried it, and I secretly thought it tasted like mud. We talked for a while about my life. I told him about school, about my father’s job, but that wasn’t why we were there, and we both knew it.

“Paige,” he said, “you’ve heard about unnaturalness. I don’t want to frighten you, but you’re showing signs of it.”

My throat closed. He did work for Scion.

“Don’t worry.” He placed his hand over mine. My pulse warmed. “I’m not going to turn you in. I’m going to help you.”

“How?”

“I’d like you to come and talk to a friend of mine.”