Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (49 page)

“To be seen.” He looked into the fire. “I believe I understand why that memory affects you so deeply. It is at the heart of your greatest fear: that there is nothing to you beyond your gift. Beyond the dreamwalker. That is the part of you you see as truly valuable—your livelihood. You lost your other parts in Ireland. Now you rely on Jaxon Hall, who treats you as his commodity. To him, you are nothing more than quick flesh grafted to a ghost; a priceless gift in human wrapping. But Nick Nygård showed you more than that.”

I was looking at him now.

“That night opened your eyes. When you realized Nick loved another, you faced your greatest fear: that you would never be acknowledged as a human—as the sum of all your parts. Only as a curiosity. You had no choice but to show yourself otherwise. To find the first person who would have you, someone who knew nothing of the dreamwalker. That was all you had left.”

“Don’t even think about pitying me,” I said.

“I do not pity you. But I do know what it feels like. To be wanted only for what you are.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“But your solitude did not keep you safe. Did it?”

I looked away. I hated that he knew. I hated that I’d let him work me out. Warden came to sit beside me on the bed.

“The mind of an amaurotic is like water. Bland, gray, transparent. Enough to sustain life, but no more. But a clairvoyant mind is more like oil, richer in every way. And like oil and water, they can never truly mix.”

“You’re saying that because he was amaurotic—”

“Yes.”

At least there wasn’t anything wrong with my body. I had never been brave enough to see a doctor about that night. Scion doctors were cold and unforgiving on such matters.

Something occurred to me. “If voyant minds are like oil”—I weighed my words—“what are your minds like?”

For a moment, I wasn’t sure he was going to reply. Finally, in a thick, velvet undertone, he said one word.

“Fire.”

That single word sent a tremor through my skin. I thought of what oil and fire did together: exploded.

No. I couldn’t think about him like that. He wasn’t human. Whether or not he understood me was irrelevant. He was still my keeper. He was still a Rephaite. He was everything he’d been at the beginning.

Warden turned to face me. “Paige,” he said, “there was another memory. Before you passed out.”

“What memory?”

“Blood. A great deal of it.”

I shook my head, too tired to think about it. “Probably when my clairvoyance came out. The poltergeist had a lot of blood in her memories.”

“No. I have seen that memory. There was far more blood in this one. All around you, choking you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And I didn’t. I really didn’t.

Warden regarded me for a while.

“Sleep a little longer,” he finally said. “When you wake up tomorrow, put your mind to better things.”

“Like what?”

“Like escaping from this city. When the time comes, you must be ready.”

“So you’re going to help me.” When he didn’t answer, I lost my patience. “I’ve shown you everything of mine—my life, my memories. I still have no idea what your motives are. What do you want?”

“While Nashira has us both under her thumb, it is best that you know as little as possible. That way, if she interrogates you again, you can safely say that you have no knowledge of the matter.”

“What ‘matter’?”

“You are very persistent.”

“Why do you think I’m still alive?”

“Because you are inured to danger.” He clasped his hands on his knees. “I cannot tell you about my motives, but I will tell you a little about the red flower, if you wish.”

The offer took me by surprise. “Go on.”

“Do you know the story of Adonis?”

“They don’t teach the classics in Scion schools.”

“Of course. Forgive me.”

“Wait.” I thought of Jax’s stolen books. Jax loved mythology. He called it
deliciously illicit
. “Was he a god?”

“The beloved of Aphrodite. He was a youthful, beautiful, mortal hunter. Aphrodite was so taken with his beauty, she preferred his company even to that of the other gods. Legend tells that her paramour, the war god Ares, grew so jealous of the pair that he turned himself into a boar and slaughtered Adonis. He died in Aphrodite’s arms, and his blood stained the earth.

“As she cradled the body of her beloved, Aphrodite sprinkled nectar over his blood. And from the blood of Adonis sprang the anemone: a short-lived, perennial flower, stained as red as the blood itself—and the spirit of Adonis was sent, like all spirits, to languish in the underworld. Zeus heard Aphrodite crying for her love, and out of pity for the goddess, he agreed to let Adonis spend half the year in life, and half in death.” Warden looked at me. “Consider it, Paige. There may not be any such thing as monsters, but there are still some pockets of truth in the shrouds of your mythology.”

“Don’t tell me you’re
gods
. I don’t think I could stand the thought of Nashira being holy.”

“We are many things, but ‘holy’ is not one of them.” He paused. “I have said too much. You need rest.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Even so, you need to sleep. I have something to show you tomorrow night.”

I leaned back against the pillows. I did feel tired.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” I said. “It just means I’m trying.”

“Then I can ask no more of you.” He patted the sheets. “Sleep well, little dreamer.”

I couldn’t hold out any longer. I turned over and closed my eyes, still thinking of red flowers and gods.

I woke to the sound of a knock. The sky outside was rosy, bloodshot. Warden stood by the fire, his hand on the mantelpiece. His gaze slashed toward the door.

“Paige,” he said, “hide. Quickly.”

I got out of the bed and went straight to the door behind the drapes. I left it slightly ajar, pulling the red velvet over the gap, and listened. I could still see the fireplace.

The chamber door unlocked and opened. Nashira stepped into the light of the fire. She must have a key to his tower. Warden knelt, but did not complete the ritual. She ran her fingers over the bed.

“Where is she?”

“Sleeping,” Warden said.

“In her own room?”

“Yes.”

“Liar. She sleeps here. The sheets smell of her.” Her bare fingers grasped his chin. “Do you really want to go down that road?”

“I do not understand your meaning. I think of nothing and no one but you.”

“Perhaps.” Her fingers tightened. “The chains still hang. Do not think for a moment that I will hesitate to send you back to the House. Do not think for a moment that there will be a repeat of Bone Season XVIII. If there is, I will not spare a single life. Not even yours. Not this time. Do you understand me?” When he didn’t reply, she struck him across the face, hard. I flinched. “Answer me.”

“I have had twenty years to reflect on my folly. You were right. Humans cannot be trusted.”

There was a brief silence. “I am pleased to hear it.” Her voice was softer. “All will be well. We will have this tower all to ourselves soon. You can make good on your vow to me.”

She was insane. How could she go from hitting him to making that kind of overture?

“Am I to understand,” Warden said, “that 40’s time has run out?”

I stayed absolutely still, listening.

“She is ready. I know she took possession of 12 in the citadel. Your cousin told me.” She ran her finger under his chin. “You have nurtured her gift well.”

“For you, my sovereign.” He looked up at her. “Will you claim her in the shadows? Or will you show all of Scion your great power?”

“Either will suffice. At
last
I will have the ability to dreamwalk. At last I will have the power to invade, to possess. All thanks to you, my beloved Arcturus.” She placed a small vial on the mantelpiece, and her voice grew cold again. “This will be your last dose of amaranth until the Bicentenary. I believe you need time to reflect on your scars. To remember why you should look to the future. Not to the past.”

“I will suffer whatever you ask of me.”

“You will not have to suffer for long. Soon we will have our bliss.” She turned toward the door. “Take care of her, Arcturus.”

The door closed.

Warden stood. For a moment I wasn’t sure what he would do. Then he threw out a fist and smashed the glass urn on the mantelpiece. I went to my bed and listened to the silence.

He wasn’t my enemy. Not the enemy I’d thought he was.

She’d said she would send him back to the House. Proof that he was involved in Bone Season XVIII. Proof of his betrayal. That was what Thuban had meant when he’d threatened Terebell. They’d tried to help us and been punished for it. They’d chosen the wrong side. The losing side.

I tossed and turned for hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation. How she hit him. How she brought him to his knees. And how soon, very soon, she intended to get rid of me. I kicked the sheets off and lay in the dark with my eyes open. The realization had taken a long time, but now I understood. Warden was on my side.

I thought of the scars on Terebell’s back, the ones Thuban Sargas had mentioned with that hint of cruelty. He and his family
had scarred her. She and Warden were the scarred ones. Something terrible had happened in the House after that day, Novembertide of 2039. I didn’t know Terebell, but she had saved my life; I owed her. And I owed Warden for taking care of me.

If there was one thing I couldn’t bear, it was being beholden to someone. But when he spoke to me next, I would listen. I would hear him out. I sat up. No,
not
when he spoke to me next—now. I had to talk to him. Trusting him was my only chance. I would not die here. I had to know, once and for all, what Arcturus Mesarthim wanted. I had to know if he would help me.

I got out of bed and went into the chamber. Empty. Outside, the rain thundered from black clouds. The grandfather clock chimed four in the morning. I picked up the note on the writing table.

I have gone to the chapel. I will be back before dawn.

To hell with sleep. I’d had enough of games, of crossing wires with him. I pulled on my boots and left the tower.

The wind howled outside. There was a guard in the cloisters. I waited until she passed before I ran. The thunder and the darkness gave me cover, letting me slip past unnoticed. But above the rain, there swelled a new sound: music. I followed it into another passage, where a vast door stood ajar. Beyond it was a small chapel, set apart from the rest of the building by an elaborate stone screen. Candlelight flickered in the darkness. There was someone up there, playing the organ. The sound rang in my ears, through my chest.

A small door stood open in the screen. I went through it, up the steps. At the top was the organ. Warden sat at the bench with his back to me. The music resonated through the ranks of pipes, up to the ceiling: a sound that rose through the chapel, above it. A sound that surged with terrible regret. Nobody could play this without some degree of feeling.

The music stopped. He turned his head. When he didn’t say anything, I sat on the bench beside him. We sat in the dark, with only the light from his eyes and the candle.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I’ve slept enough.” I touched my fingers to the keys. “I didn’t know Rephaim could play.”

“We have mastered the art of mimicry over the years.”

“That wasn’t mimicry. That was you.”

There was a long silence.

“You have come to ask about your freedom,” he said. “That is what you want.”

“Yes.”

“Of course it is. You may not believe it, but it is what I desire most in the world. This place has afflicted me with a terrible wanderlust. I long for your fire, for the sights that you have seen. Yet here I am, two hundred years after I arrived. Still a prisoner, though I masquerade as a king.”

I could empathize with his wanderlust, if nothing else.

“I was betrayed once. On the eve of Novembertide, when the uprising of Bone Season XVIII was to begin, one human chose to betray us all. In exchange for freedom, the traitor sacrificed everyone in this city.” He looked at me. “You see why Nashira is not threatened by the prospect of a second rebellion. She believes you are all too self-seeking to come together.”

I did see. To have planned so much for human freedom, only to have us bite the hand that fought for us—no wonder he hadn’t trusted me. No wonder he’d been so cold.

“But you, Paige—you threaten her. She knows you are one of the Seven Seals, that you are the Pale Dreamer. You have the power to bring the spirit of the syndicate into this city. She fears that spirit.”

“There’s nothing to fear from it. It’s full of petty criminals and backstabbers.”

“That is dependent on its leaders. It has the potential to become something much greater.”