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The silence is deafening, the Father’s face a storm of anger, but he swallows back whatever words press against his teeth.

“Brother Aleksander? Brother Malik? Would you get some small amount of cleansing oil and clean cloth, then meet us? The Keeper needs tending. Nickolas, you can return to the Council House. We’ll speak further there.”

Two of the three men scurry away without question, but Nickolas hovers.

“I’ll remain. It is perhaps unwise to leave you alone, Father?

” His voice is poison, and I wonder how others do not hear or see the veins of blackness that run through him.

He is a pit of venom, and should be Rendered to the Gods.

Even the bones draw back from his presence .

“Brother.” It is all The Father says, but it is enough, and Nickolas spins in an angry turn.

“Careful, now, Nickolas.” He stills, though Nickolas does not acknowledge the words.

“Perhaps we need a more substantial Offering to show our faith and fervor. I is for Infant. ” We all owe our due , I can’t help but finish the rhyme, and see the Councilman’s shoulder’s tense, an answer now forced from his mouth.

“I am an untouchable, Father.” It is as close to a curse as he is able to form, and I see the Father’s lips turn up, as though he was waiting for that answer.

“ U for the Unknown, those lost to Belows. There is no word of untouchable in the First Lesson, Nickolas. You would do well to remember that. You are dismissed.”

He turns to me, giving his back to Nickolas, and misses the hiss from the Councilman’s lips, the jutted jaw and narrowed eyes. Then again, I think, staring at the muscles tight in the Father’s shoulders, perhaps he has not.

He waits, a beat, and another, until Nickolas finally stomps away.

Everything is silent for a long, long moment before the tightness in his body loosens and he exhales slowly.

Without speaking, the Father examines my face carefully, taking in the rivulets of blood running down my face, my blank expression, the way my body sways back toward the bone wall as though pulled there.

I’ve never had the full weight of the Father’s gaze directly on me, and it makes me unaccountably nervous.

He is not often in the village or at the Council meetings, choosing to go out with the Hunters as frequently as possible, usually accompanied by Rannoch.

In the rare times we are together, he avoids looking at me, as though something about me disgusts him or personally offends him.

To be honest, until a week or two ago, I don’t know if I would even have registered him seeking me out in any case.

I spent so much of my time deep in memories when I sat with the Council that I can’t recall ever speaking to him, if not for the bones.

It is the only way for me to stay sane in this village; I am alone too often, and would be driven mad by my thoughts if I had no company at all.

But there is no place which has welcomed me other than the walls of the city, and I am not comfortable anywhere but with the living bone.

Even with Tahrik it feels as though I’ve stepped into someone else’s life for a brief, glorious moment, giving me a hint of what things would have been like had I just been a girl with dust brown eyes and the hope of happiness reflected back at me.

With Tahrik I do not have to be myself, if only for the space of a breath or two.

Silas’s face is soft, considering.

“How goes the questioning, Keeper?” he asks quietly.

Picking up the corner of my shirt, I wipe the blood from my face slowly to give me time. Lorcan is almost electric on my back; he has never been bathed with blood twice in a month like this, and I’m distracted by the feel of his energy down my spine.

“It…goes.” It’s an answer and not an answer, and while I’m trying my best to be respectful, there is something in my voice that makes it clear I’d rather be anywhere else in this moment than standing here with him.

“Ah.” Silas is stone still, not looking away from my face, and I feel as though he can see through me. It’s unnerving, and I pull my hair over my shoulder, fumbling fingers finding the Hunter in my braids, looking for comfort.

He seems sleepy, which makes me even more nervous. The Hunter was just anointed in my blood; he should be awake, not distant.

Hunter? I call anxiously.

Here, BoneKeeper. Be at peace. I feel better at his immediate reply, but still ask,

Do you need anointing? I have enough, and can do it without being seen.

PULL ME AROUND, KEEPER! Lorcan’s voice is a shout interrupting us, loud enough that I wince, and he apologizes immediately. Bring me to the front, Keeper. I know Silas. I’ll watch for you.

The Hunter feels wry in his response. It seems your Protector has had enough for both of us. I am well, Keeper. You don’t need two lunatics yelling in your ears.

Lorcan huffs in response, but says Around your neck, Little Keeper, so I can watch all sides .

Hesitantly I loop Lorcan around my hands and drape him over my fingers. The Father watches, unspeaking, as I wrap the long strand around my neck, a collar of crimson and white..

“Was…was that your Protector, Keeper?” He is respectful, but his words light a fire within me.

“He is my Protector, Father.”

“Lorcan?”

I nod.

“He was a good man,” the Father says sadly, and I frown.

“He is a good man,” I snap back, bite in my voice for the first time. “Don’t speak of him as though he’s not here. It’s ill-mannered.”

For a second, there’s a ghost of a smile on the Father’s face — for some reason my response amuses him — but then he freezes, attention caught by something on the ground. The smile and softness blow out like a candle flame, and he stares at me through narrowed eyes, careful and considering.

“You will come with me to the Blood Tree, Keeper,” he commands abruptly, voice raw and thunderous. In the blink of an eye he has shifted from a stag to a hawk, the former careful and silent, the latter talons bared and screaming down.

I don’t know what’s changed, but when I can’t see the path, there are no safe steps other than emotionless compliance. “As you wish, Sir,” I murmur, nodding placidly.

He frowns at my docile reply, but doesn't take his eyes from mine, as though wanting to see the effects his next words will have on me. “And Rannoch?” he growls, so low it is hard to hear him, “We need to talk.”

I am as still as a rabbit in a hunter’s trap, face blank, eyes empty as the Father’s waits for me to react in some way. But I give nothing, and less than nothing, until he finally turns away.

“You are being foolish, Rannoch. Correct your course. I won’t warn you again. BoneKeeper. Your hand? I will guide you there.”

I cannot move, am still barely breathing.

Little Keeper! Lorcan is loud from blood, and snaps me out of my fear. You are not prey. Straighten your spine .

Taking a deep breath, I shake my vertebracelets at the Father. “I have others holding my hand, Sir. I don’t need your assistance.” A pause, and then as an afterthought, “But thank you.”

He presses his lips together but acquiesces, turning to walk away. I follow a few steps behind, trying to calm my shaking, wondering how he knew, what he knows. Just as I leave, I notice the smallest curve of peel from the fruit laying in the dust, and a shiver runs through me.