Page 52

“Of course,” I echo. “Symmetry, I suppose. But for bathing and washing, for non-drinking water, we have brackish pools all over. You may have seen some when you came in?”

“The salt ponds?”

I nod. “They’re not perfect, but they do what they need to.

And the children like to swim in them during the summer when they’re able.

As for crops, the first bloom is always poisonous, but after, for the first and second harvest, the roots pull from the water below, not the water on the surface or the rains, and those are usually fine.

Our livestock gets cistern water, and each of our people get a measure weekly for their home. ”

“What happens if you run out? If you go through your water too quickly for some reason?”

My eyes widen in surprise, and I tilt my head, brows almost to my hairline. “Would you step off a cliff willingly, Trader, knowing there is nothing at the bottom but sharp stones that will kill you?”

“Of course not…” he replies, a question in his voice.

“Why, then, would you think someone would go through their water too quickly? It would be jumping off that cliff — what good would it do for someone to jump after you? You would both crack open on the floor below. You must be wise with water in our village, Trader. We learn from birth.”

“Right. Differences. Open mind,” he teases back, and though his tone is forced, I appreciate the effort.

There is a long silence, and then, heart pounding, I glance cautiously around before whispering, “Do you have so much water where you are from?” I know we are not meant to speak of life outside the village, but I can’t help it. And no one is near enough to hear but Kaden and the bones.

He mimics my caution, and lowers his voice.

“Enough to swim in and sail on. Enough that you can’t see the other side of the largest lakes, Flame.

You could drink for days and never even sip a fragment of it.

” A thought strikes him, and he fumbles for a moment at his waist before pulling out a flask and holding it out to me. “Here.”

Stepping back from him, I press my body into the wall. The bones are silent, but aware, and their presence soothes me.

He shakes it insistently. “Here, Flame. You can have all of it. My water is yours for as long as I’m able.”

My throat clenches at the thought, and I can’t help my hand from drifting up to accept it, when Lorcan’s teeth bite my spine, and I jerk to a stop in surprise.

Keeper ! His voice is a growl along my skin, and I bend to almost breaking.

Wren, Wren. That life is not for you. I chide myself angrily, ignoring Lorcan’s instant remorse.

I didn’t mean–

But I know. I know already.

“Thank you for your offer, Trader,” I whisper, and stupidly, stupidly, tears fill my eyes. Blinking them away, I turn from Kaden, who hovers, confused and unsure.

“What have I done?” he asks, voice gentle and worried, and I shrug helplessly.

“I…in our village…” I stutter to a stop, feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach. He doesn’t know what he offered. He doesn’t know what it means for me to accept .

“Can we pretend for a moment that there is no you and me, that there is only us, and that…that there is no space between us for misunderstanding or embarrassment? That we are friends, and it is safe here to speak freely?” He is hesitant, hopeful, and what can I say?

“You made an offer of pure water,” I say softly. “It is a…a proposition of sorts? Or a request, more accurately. A promise. Did they not speak to you of this?”

And suddenly his face goes flame red, a hot, flushed color, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head in understanding. “Oh. Oh. Flame, I didn’t mean…”

And somehow that’s worse. That he didn’t mean. That he just…that he was just kind enough to want to share water with me, for no other purpose. Because why would he offer pure water to this strange girl clothed all in bone, with full moon eyes and colorless skin, this shadow in a shadowed world.

I force my voice to lighten. “I know. It’s fine.” A wobbly grin sits awkwardly on my face, but I push ahead. “At least you didn’t find yourself bound to a ghost girl for three days. Can you imagine?”

He does not mirror my faux amusement, just stares down at me through gem green eyes. “I can imagine,” he whispers, so soft that if I were not used to listening to bone I would not have heard him. Then, louder, “How would I share my water, then, Flame?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know, to be honest. We don’t…that’s not a practice here. Not like you’re suggesting.”

“That’s right. I forgot.” He says the words to himself, as though I am not meant to hear, and I narrow my eyes.

“What did you forget?” I stare at the ground, unable to look directly at him.

He forgot? There is more to the words than I understand, and the bones shift uneasily now.

I am making bad choices. I know this, but the easy camaraderie is not something I can give up lightly.

It’s like taking a single bite of food when you are starving.

Sometimes a taste of something only heightens the ache of missing it, and suddenly I feel a stabbing hole in my belly.

Food will not fill this though , I think, blinking fiercely.

Loneliness cannot be satisfied with bread .

He hesitates at my question, and lowers his voice.

“My uncle was a Trader here once, years ago.” A sort of rueful grin crosses his face.

“Two of my nephews came from that trade.” My head jerks up in a painful movement, and his eyes flare in a sort of panic.

“I shouldn’t have said that! Please. Ignore my carelessness.

” His breath is fast, his smile forced now.

“What is wrong with me?” he mumbles, shaking his head. “You make me forget myself.”

“What did you mean? When you said that. What did you mean?”

He sighs, and shakes his head before looking at me.

“My uncle came here as a Trader. 24 years ago. He met my aunt here, just the three prescribed days. But he couldn’t leave her, so he smuggled her out.

Imagine that,” he says, voice whisper-soft, “seeing someone for a moment, speaking with them for a song, and knowing your heartbeat has changed to echo theirs forever. How could you leave them behind?”

I cover my mouth with my hand. The words are sacrilegious. Worse, almost. It’s unheard of. “They check every wagon…” I whisper, my voice trailing off. No one but the Hunters and the Council leaves. No one.

“They do,” he confirms. “But there are ways. It has happened.” He is not quite smiling — a strained grimace that mimics the smiles I grew up with — and he is unsure, but continues.

“My aunt told me stories of her village though. Fantastical stories. I wasn’t supposed to come, but I had to see what made her.

” His ruddy face has too much roundness and life for this place.

There is too much color to him, too much vitality.

He is like a bird in a small cage, flapping frantically to free itself.

I would not even need to hear him speak to know he is foreign to us.

I’ve been quiet too long, and his words come faster, some inner, innate cheerfulness bubbling back up, despite our situation.

“She told me so many things I didn’t really believe.

A wall of bone miles long. A colorless world.

She even said there was a person who could hear—” but his words are interrupted by a shout in the distance, and he jerks his head up, stopping himself.

“What else did she say?” I ask quietly, and he shrugs.

Someone left the village? Someone…there are pieces of our life somewhere else?

I want to shake the answers out of him, but am scared of what it could mean.

Where would I go, if I left? Could I leave the souls here to the silence forever?

Just to play pretend at being a real girl? I feel sick at the thought.

“She said that water was precious. That pure water even more so. And she says I talk too much. In case you hadn’t noticed.

” He grins at me ruefully, before grabbing his flask, and staring at me.

“Um…in our land, if something is left with no claim, it’s open to anyone.

Shall we try a cultural exchange of a sort?

” Looking around thoughtfully, he spots a bare rock, almost a seat, curving up into the mountain, and walks over, then puts his flask on it.

“I’m abandoning this canteen here,” he declares loudly, dramatically, looking over his shoulder to make sure I hear him clearly.

“I forfeit all rights to it and its contents. If anyone finds this, or stumbles across it, it belongs to them free and clear.” He’s oddly formal, but teasingly so, strutting away from the flask like a chicken until he’s as far from it as he can get on the small outcropping.

Then, covering his eyes, he whispers almost as loudly as he spoke, “Is that enough, Flame?” and I can’t help but laugh in response, the sound rippling down the rocks around us, echoing off the mountains, swallowed by the bone wall.