Page 117

THE BINDER AND THE BONES

AXTON

C old sickness surges from my stomach, choking my throat. The bones? Kylabet is frozen death, blade still exposed.

“The…bones?” she asks quietly. Only one who knew her from the womb would hear the fear dancing in the shadows of her question.

“Explain.” Any hint of comradery has dropped from her; she is every inch the Flank Commander, a lethal dagger that does not feel pity or remorse.

“Explain,” she commands again, the word whipping out, sharp enough to slice tendon from muscle.

The Binder — Wren — raises a single brow in reply.

“I’ll trade secrets for favors, BloodLetter’s Sister,” she offers infuriatingly calmly.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to barter, Demon,” I almost growl, stepping up beside Kyla. Both of the men across from me bristle, but the threat in my tone does nothing to affect the pale woman.

“I suppose that depends on how badly you want answers, BloodLetter.” She’s not smug; if anything, her voice is devoid of any meaning, but the lack of emotion is a stick prodding the anger simmering in my lungs.

“I’ll trade and give you information willingly, or you can try to force it from me to no avail, I promise you.

” She believes her words to be true, and it’s maddening .

“You’ll do as you're told,” I say darkly, “or a penalty will be paid.”

She is disconcertingly unconcerned. “Then I’ll pay it. But there are answers none here but I can give. So make a choice.”

Kylabet sinks to her heels in front of the other woman.

“What favors do you wish from us, Binder?” Anyone else would think that she is entertaining the offer, but her fingers are playing on the edge of a small dagger, and I know she’s weighing the balance of the Binder’s life in her hands.

If the Binder’s life is forfeit, Kyla will be the one who takes it, and the punishment for the loss of it as well, to protect me.

And that is something I can’t allow. Which changes the substance of any threat I make.

“Nothing that you haven’t already given,” the Binder says simply. “Just a promise to continue what already exists.”

“Go on then.”

“I assume asking for release is futile.”

“You assume correctly.” Kyla is amused again, though her fingers still dance on her knife; she has no care for her own skin at times, letting herself be entertained by strange things.

“You said you have fed them, housed them? That they’ve been kept comfortable?” Wren inclines her head toward the two men, both of whom are suddenly wary.

Kyla replies slowly, carefully, as though waiting to see where the Binder is leading. “Just so.”

“Keeper…” one says, almost in warning, but she ignores him.

“Is that true?” She asks them, and both give their reluctant agreement.

“We have, Flame. It hasn’t been velvet couches and honeyed mead, but we haven’t been mistreated as such.”

Wren nods, and looks back at my now confused sister. “As long as we travel together, then, a promise for their safety and protection. That they won’t be harmed or poorly treated, that they’ll have enough to eat, a place to sleep, and that you guarantee their safety in your names.”

“And for yourself?” Kyla asks, and Wren shrugs.

“Would you grant me anything, or is it wasted breath? ”

Kyla makes a low, indistinct humming sound that is not quite an answer. “I suppose I can only say that the promise I make for them, I am unable to make for you. I can swear effort, but nothing more. A place to sleep, food, yes. I’m unsure about your safety, given that you’re a SoulBinder.”

“ BoneKeeper ,” the white-haired woman replies in clear exasperation.

“And what is the use of asking for pure water from briney ponds? So. Their continued safety, and I suppose, for me, just an attempt to not have me murdered in the middle of the night.” She’s infuriatingly indifferent to the thought that someone could slit her throat in the dark hours; despite my assurances that we don’t treat women that way in our society, many will not see her as a woman as such, and I can’t account for every blade, no matter how I try to.

Kyla nods, and turns to me for approval. “It’s not more than we would have done already, brother,” she says in our language. “And if it gets us answers without spilled blood, it will be worth it.”

“Do you trust my word, Binder?” I ask, surprising her, and she cocks her head like a curious little bird. “If given, you will accept it as a promise?”

She purses her lips, makes a low, considering sound. “I’ll take her word, I think, BloodLetter. She seems the sort to keep it, to the best of her ability.”

The words shouldn’t sting; she hasn’t insulted me, not exactly, and she complimented my sister, but it takes everything inside me to not react. Kyla is trying not to laugh, which is even more aggravating.

“In blood, then, SoulBinder,” Kyla says, and cuts her non-hilt hand, then holds it out to the Binder. “You have a blade? It’s the way of our people. Three drops for a vow given. And a vow broken can only be rectified by the blade that took the blood.”

Wren’s face doesn’t change, but her shoulders tighten, and she shoots a quick, questioning look towards one of the men, the one who calls her Keeper.

He shakes his head minutely, either in caution or censure.

The other is clearly confused; these three may be companions in some way, but there are other things at play that aren’t clear yet.

It’s obvious two share more history between them than they do with the third, but the third isn’t breaking rank in any way, which is perplexing. A weakness, perhaps, to be exploited.

“Binder? I’d prefer not to waste more blood than necessary.” Kyla’s tone is joking, but her eyes are narrowed, watching the interplay.

Eventually Wren sighs, then pulls up her tunic to expose smooth, pale skin marked by a single, bright red slice along her side.

Tucked between her belt and hip is a strange, jagged, ivory knife with a segmented handle.

She wraps her hand around it quickly and holds it out toward Kylabet, but in reverse.

The tip of the knife is pointing towards Wren, almost as if she’s about to stab herself in the sternum.

Kyla hums under her breath; the Binder is clearly attempting to be non-threatening in the presentation of her blade, which is an unexpected thoughtfulness in a tense situation.

Quickly, Kyla reaches out and carefully lets three drops of blood fall to the strange weapon.

It is only because I’m watching so carefully, only because nothing about this entire situation feels right, that I catch the almost imperceptible widening of Wren’s eyes when the blood hits the blade, that I see the brief flare of her nostrils as though she’s inhaled sharply in surprise or alarm.

But then it is gone as if it never existed, and I’m distracted by Kyla’s question.

“Alright, Binder. You have your promise. Now. How could you tell your companions entered the clearing?”

In answer, Wren pulls off her tunic in a swift motion.

Both of the men yelp in alarm, almost leaping towards her, hands outstretched as though to stop her, but halt when they see she is still covered by a short shirt underneath.

And then I see what I haven’t before, what I somehow didn’t notice in our time together.

I knew she wore bracelets or arm guards of a sort of course, could feel them on her when we rode together and I had her pressed against me over long days.

But I spent most of my time with her trying to ignore the feel of her body, cool and distractingly soft, trying to block out the curve of her between my thighs, the brush of her braids on my skin.

So I pushed everything about her to the sides, other than her binding, other than the curse of her moon hair and snow eyes.

Now I could kick myself; running the length of her forearms, from wrist to elbow, are bracers made entirely of bones.

Sickness surges in my stomach, mirrored on Kyla’s face, and the Binder sighs.

“They volunteered,” she offers quietly, which explains nothing.

“Binder,” I reply, voice tight, “we will need more than that, or you will die by my hands here and now, promises be damned.” Kyla’s head whips around to face me in alarm; it was not my blood on the blade, but hers, and I grit my teeth in frustration.

Fairy bargains, poorly made . Even a starving demon gnawing my skin couldn’t make me risk Kyla, so my sword will stay sheathed.

The creature in front of me doesn’t need to know that, though. “ Explain .”

The Binder nods, and shakes her forearms. She is thoughtful, almost hesitant in the way she speaks.

Clearly she is choosing her words carefully.

“In our village, when the home of your body grows old or cannot support the weight of your soul, you are brought to your second life in bone. To share your memories, to remain a part of your people, your family. Over time I have had souls who wished to do more than reminisce on old stories, and was asked to wear them for protection. Those who asked I accepted gratefully as eyes and ears. So I wear bones close to me—” here she points to her ears, where I realize the jewelry decorating them are tiny, white bone fragments, to her hair, where there are small, white bones that look like beads, and to her arms, where bones are woven together in bracelets tight against her skin.

“They have been with me so long they are a part of me now. And the bones tell me what I need to know. I’ve never forced a soul to live against my skin — any there now are there willingly, and I’d release them from that duty immediately if ever asked.

I’d never compel…” Her voice catches slightly on the last sentence.