Page 31 of Mistress of Bones

“Ah, the famous sister! You are all De Gracia has been talking about for the last fortnight. I’ve been dying out of curiosity to finally meet you.”

Azul wasn’t sure what to think. “I’m sorry, you must be somewhat disappointed, then.”

“Nonsense. Look at you, so pretty, so prim, worthy of every expectation!”

“I… uh… thank you, sirese.”

“You’re scaring her,” Isile admonished. “Norel here has made it his life’s work to study humanity at its most basic level.”

Azul frowned at the turn of phrase. “You study morality?”

Norel chuckled. “Not quite, child, although I do believe there is a strong connection between what we do with our bodies and how we evolve inside.”

Azul’s expression cleared. “Oh, you study the body. Like a doctor?”

“A doctor who isn’t interested in healing,” he agreed. “I simply study the connections. I leave the healing to others.” He looked at Isile. “You are usually not so eager to introduce me to newcomers. What brought this change?”

“She was curious about the inspiration for that painting I did for De Gracia. The one of the man’s back.”

“Ah, you’re blaming me again for turning you into bloody business.”

Isile tut-tutted, amused. “You know you are.”

Norel’s heavy hand landed on Isile’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. Azul winced in sympathy.

“You might be right, but I refuse to accept full responsibility,” Norel answered jovially. Focusing again on Azul, he said, “It was my idea, indeed, to bring an artist with me to the mortuary.”

“The mortuary?” Azul asked, suddenly keen.

“Yes! It’s imperative to keep a good record of the different shapes of muscle and bone. What we are underneath our skin”—he drew a circle over his chest with his finger—“is our foundation. Knowing how it forms, how it grows, will teach us how we affect it and how, in turn, it affects us.”

This gave Azul pause. “You believe we have a choice on how our bodies work? You think we can redo our foundations?”

“Of course. Bone is hard, but it grows as we do. It re-forms after it breaks, doesn’t it? Bones have no thoughts of their own; they must follow our mind. By changing how we think, may we not change how our bodies respond?”

Azul was speechless. He sounded so sure, and what did she know about bones?

Only the instinct calling her to bring their owners back to life.

By following her instinct, was she… tainting these animals?

Isadora? Making them as she wished them to be instead of how they ought to be?

But there had been no change in Isadora’s personality, nothing odd to indicate she wasn’t fully herself. Had there?

“Are you a member of the College, then?” she asked, because Norel was all hope as he waited to see how she took his theories, and Isile looked worried she might run screaming, and she wanted to ignore these new doubts suddenly crowding her mind and her heart.

“Gods, no,” Norel said. “I despise their methods. Keeping all their findings for themselves. No. This is why I take Isile with me. We need an artist to keep good records, not badly done sketches by people unused to drawing.”

“Why the mortuary, though?” Azul asked. “Couldn’t you visit the ossuary and record the bones there?”

“Ah,” Isile said, “now we’re done for.”

“The ossuary?” Norel scoffed. “The ossuary is useless.”

“But wouldn’t such a collection of bones be great for your studies?”

“The truth of humanity resides in what’s left behind right at death, Sirese Del Arroyo. What use do I have of old decomposing bones?”

“Decomposing?” she asked, baffled. “Bones don’t decompose.”

“Ah, but they do!”

Isile leaned toward her and whispered theatrically, “Beware, sirese, the topic is a difficult one.”

“Bah,” Norel said dismissively. “The topic is not difficult, it’s people’s minds that refuse to bend.”

“Explain, please,” Azul said. With all haste. She didn’t like the newfound dread squeezing her chest.

Norel stepped closer, making a tight triangle out of the three of them and turning them into cohorts, conspirators.

“I have concluded, my dear girl, that bones eventually decompose just as flesh does. It is our insistence in using animals and liquids to strip the bodies to the bones that blinds us to the fact that bones, like muscles and skin, fade too. The flesh returns to the soil, and the bones—our essence—return to our gods.”

“But how do our bones return to the gods, when the gods are said to be the Anchor chains?”

“Prepare yourself,” Isile warned.

“Be silent, Manzar, or go draw something,” Norel said, irritated.

“I must stay and make sure you don’t corrupt Del Arroyo’s mind,” he answered amiably.

“Here is the thing, Sirese Del Arroyo.” Norel became eager again. “I don’t believe Anchor is the gods’ bones.”

Azul’s eyes widened. “You don’t?”

“What kind of god would allow the desecration of their body in such a way?” he asked. His eyes followed Azul’s fingers as she touched her earring. “Why would they allow themselves to be mined and sold and traded? Allow their essence to be turned into pretty pieces of glamour?”

Azul was at a loss for words. What a most reasonable point he made.

She felt unclean by acknowledging it. It was one thing to believe the gods were no longer around, another to doubt their very bones.

Wearing Anchor—well, that was a way to honor the gods, wasn’t it?

A way to have their protection at all times, in case they weren’t completely gone.

If the gods hadn’t wanted their bones broken down and used, they would’ve made them unbreakable, wouldn’t they?

“What about animal bones?” she asked. “Those last very long—forever?”

“Animals are animals, a single step above flora. We are human—our bodies are infused with souls, not simply instinct. We are completely different species.”

“Then bones, our bones, how long do you believe them to last? Before they… decompose?” With sudden clarity, Azul realized this would explain how they managed to keep so many bones in Cienpuentes’s ossuary.

Norel’s face lit up. “An excellent question. You are, indeed, De Gracia’s sister.

I theorize it should only take about five to ten years to see the first signs of decay, depending on the strength of the person’s essence and how attuned they are to the gods.

Then at least another twenty or twenty-five years for significant loss of mass. ”

“And how do you measure this attuning? Do you mean to say those who don’t believe take longer to decay?” Azul asked with sharp hope.

“Belief is irrelevant in this case.”

“How can it be? Wouldn’t the person’s essence resist being joined to something they didn’t believe in?”

“Ah, but see here, belief is simply a turn of the rational mind. A thought. Essence, however, is tied to our impulses, our morality. Neither the gods nor your essence care about what your mind believes. It doesn’t matter if you think the gods don’t exist—they care only about the burden of your actions.

What do gods care if you have utter faith in them but then go on to commit heinous acts?

The gods don’t need you to believe in them. They exist beyond our rational mind.”

“So, a wrongdoer’s essence is tainted? It needs more time to be diluted into something the gods can accept as opposed to someone who lived a good, moral life?”

“Just so!” exclaimed Norel.

Azul did not share his delight. Isadora hadn’t had faith in the gods, but her actions, her morality, had always been well intentioned. According to Norel’s theories, this virtue would make her bones disappear faster.

“You are looking pale, Azul,” interrupted Isile. “Would you like to sit?”

“No, thank you. But maybe something to drink?”

“Of course,” said Norel, now worried. “Let me fetch you a glass.”

Azul gave him an encouraging smile and used the time it took him to bring her a drink to compose her thoughts. Time, the eternal enemy. There she’d been, chatting and socializing, assuming it was simply a question of days to get to her sister’s bones.

But what if she had been running late all this while? If Norel were correct and bones started disappearing in five years, would there be anything left of Isadora by now?

Norel handed her a glass of golden liquor. She sipped it cautiously, her fingers shaking, cold sweat gathering on her nape.

She’d renew her search for the emissary’s mask as soon as she returned to her brother’s home.

She could disguise herself as an emissary and gain entrance to the ossuary.

Her Valanjian wasn’t so bad as it used to be, and who was to say one had to have a full iris ring to become a servant of the Lord Death?

Those in charge here, all the way in Cienpuentes, wouldn’t know any better.

“Your coloring is better, I’m glad to see,” said Norel. “Have I offended you? Forgive me,” he added ruefully. “My friends keep reminding me that my theories are too shocking and a tad hard to swallow. But I assure you, I have spent years studying human flesh and bones.”

Azul smiled, a sad, wan excuse of an upward curve that made the two men worry. “I’m not shocked. Surprised, to be sure, but I appreciate your taking the time to explain your theories to me.”

“Of course, of course,” Norel said.

“But for now,” Isile suggested, “let us have some food and drink and talk of less philosophical things, yes? Norel, go find us some seats.”

Norel turned at once and cut through the groups of people.

“I apologize,” Isile said. “Norel can be too much when he gets enamored of his theories.”

“There is no need to—” Azul became aware of a servant politely waiting by their side. “Yes?”

The servant gave them a small bow of his head. “Sirese Del Arroyo?”

“Indeed.”

“There is a woman asking to speak with you. She is not a guest, so we put her in one of the other parlors.”

Could it be Nereida? Azul’s heart began its loud drumming again. There was only one reason Nereida would risk being recognized: access to the ossuary.

With a mere whisper of a goodbye, she returned the glass and followed the servant outside the lively rooms, down the hallway into a smaller parlor. The door closed, and at first, she thought the room empty.

Then someone stepped behind her and placed a cloth against her mouth and nose.

And she thought no more.