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“I cannot Guide this many home to bone without my Crown and Blade, without my sigils painted.” She pauses, then continues, a sardonic lilt lacing her normally empty voice. “And I am sure the Council would never send ten to Silence when there is an able BoneKeeper.”

“Of course.” Raek’s eyes are narrow, thoughtful, but there is no reason for him to object, even though it is written in every line of his body.

“And where are your Knife and Crown, Keeper? To delay seems needlessly cruel. And I am sure the BoneKeeper would never be purposefully heartless when there is an Offering to be made.” His words are a sarcastic mirror of her own.

“My Knife is where I left it. My sigils will take time. I have to make the bone ash, to find kohl. But my Crown…” She trails off, deliberately inviting a question, and Raek is unable to leave it sit.

“Where is your crown, Keeper?” he asks, and she sighs.

“I am uncertain, Councilman. It was taken from me and not returned.”

All eyes are fixed on Wren and Raek, and it’s only by chance I see the quick glance dart between the Father and Councilman Rannoch. There’s no meaning in it, just a meeting of eyes, but it’s enough to make me wonder.

“Who took it?” Raek demands, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, though in every other way he maintains his composure. He seems more angry for her than at her. And yet, there is something…something more there.

Wren shrugs. “You know my home was ransacked, the bones inside destroyed.” In the square, there is a sharp intake of breath, a shocked murmur of sound.

Clearly most people haven’t heard this; somehow it was kept quiet by the men on stage.

But Raek doesn’t deny it, which increases the muttering noise.

“I promise you on my gift that I have no idea where my Crown is now.”

Truth is clear and undeniable in every word, and Raek’s lips press together in a thin line.

There are games being played here that I don’t understand, and I’m suddenly and oddly furious with her, a surprisingly bright flame of anger that I douse immediately.

It’s just…if only she’d stop fighting so hard.

The Council is flawed, is struggling – even the most devout can see it – but if she used honey and sweetness, she could pull some to her side, help correct the course.

The BoneKeeper has always been a balance to the Council.

While corruption is eating at the edges of our Council, there are good men on the dais who want the best for our people, who just need guidance.

If she’d just stop pushing back, then maybe things wouldn’t be so contentious.

Maybe they’d give her space for a life outside of her blessing.

Space for a home, for children, for happiness.

For me. But every time she stares them down, every time she battles them, they double down, tying her more and more tightly.

You love her as she is, Tahrik, I remind myself. If she gave in at every step, she wouldn’t be herself. I sigh. But it would be easier, a little voice whispers in my head. It would be easier.

On the stage, the Council confers quietly, before turning back to the square. This time it is the Father who speaks, though Raek and Nickolas both obviously have words ready and waiting in their mouths.

“The Council will look for the Keeper’s Crown.

Until it is found, unless the Gods demand it, we will hold on any Offerings.

If the Bones command the Keeper, we will have no choice but to move forward without it.

If the Crown is found, we will move forward on the Council’s choices.

But until then, if she says she is unable to Guide the Council’s named Offering without it, we must accept her word and her will.

” He sounds almost, almost relieved, although I have to be mistaken.

“We will find your Crown, BoneKeeper,” Nickolas hisses softly, more of a threat and less of a comforting promise.

She smiles at him suddenly, unexpectedly, the rare expression sending a wave of confusion through the crowd.

They can’t hear the exchange, but can see the strange back-and-forth.

“I will appreciate your attempts,” she replies almost sweetly, and for some reason it pulls anger from him like Everfire from the mountain depths.

Raek pushes past the Father, physically standing between Nickolas and Wren, chest to chest with his brother.

“Enough,” he whispers, face tight. If I weren’t so close to the stage, I’d never have heard him.

“ Enough .” Nickolas’s eye is wild, his jaw tight and flexing, and for once Raek seems almost alarmed at the way his brother’s body is trembling.

Raising his voice, without taking his eyes off his brother, Raek addresses the crowd.

“Brother Nickolas is clearly distraught that someone would dare to touch one of the BoneKeeper’s sacred tools.

We…all of us…will do everything within our power to find her Crown.

” It is a vow, but an uncomfortably cold one.

“Until then,” the Father’s deep voice interrupts Raek’s higher, thinner one, “everyone may return home. Immediately.” There’s a long, pregnant silence, then a rush of movement, the ten Offerings almost falling forward into the arms of their families, their spouses, their parents.

Beside me Bri is suddenly and silently pressed against Davvy, her body shaking with suppressed sobs, answering tears streaming down Davvy’s face as he cradles her head with one hand against him, the other still wrapped around their infant.

Water not wasted in this case. Without speaking, he turns, leading her and their small family away.

I watch them go, watch the rest of the crowd leave the square somberly and silently.

The gift of this borrowed time is only a hanging axe, a pause in the rains.

It’s no reprieve, just a short relief, and it is almost worse than just having faced the Rending or Reaping when first called.

As the last of the villagers shuffle from the darkening keep, I can’t help but turn back to look at the stage.

Wren is still there, motionless, blank eyes staring beyond the crowd, beyond the First Gate, far from anywhere I can find her.

She is lost somewhere in her head, or speaking with someone I can’t hear, though her hands aren’t touching bone or floating to her neck.

The Father and Councilman Rannoch are slightly behind her and off to one side, exchanging words, eyes darting from Wren to the dissipating crowd to the rest of the Council, who are exiting from the stage through the massive doors of the Council House. No one seems at ease.

“Keeper…” The Father almost whispers her name, heavy with something I’ve never heard in his voice, and he clears his throat roughly, as though he is about to try again.

She turns to him, as blank as I have ever seen her, as though no piece of her remains in her body, and terror flows like storm-poisoned rain through my veins.

I don’t know where she goes when she locks herself away, but sometimes she’s so far gone I’m scared she won’t return, that she’ll drift far enough from me that she’ll never find her way back.

“I would not speak if I were you, Father,” she says blankly. “You’ll find no purchase for your footsteps here.”

“Keeper,” Councilman Rannoch’s voice is a mirrored echo of the Father’s, and elicits the same response.

“You are making choices, Rannoch.”

Suddenly I’m reminded of her young Protector’s words — the schoolboy who loves her so fervently — on the day we walked away from her and left her on her own. There is always a choice, he said. We are making the wrong one.

Those left on the stage are tense and silent, and it feels as though we are running headlong toward a cliff without slowing.

The Father looks like he’s fighting against screaming, jaw clenched so tightly I’m surprised I can’t hear his teeth breaking.

But Rannoch steps forward, hand outstretched in supplication, and, almost without my permission, I lurch toward the stage in awkward motion, drawing their attention.

“BoneKeeper!” The word bursts from me, too loud in the frozen square, surprising all of us. Make a choice, Tahrik, I think. Inhaling slowly, I try to calm my tone, to sound respectful but distant. “Do you need someone to walk you home? I am headed close to that way. I can go with you, if you wish.”

Nothing obvious changes in her face, but her shoulders drop, just enough to let me know that she’s let out a breath.

“Thank you, Miller. I appreciate your offer, and gratefully accept.”

Beside her, both the Father and Councilman Rannoch tense, but don’t move to stop her.

I walk to the steps, reaching out to take her hand, and am surprised by the way her fingers tighten around mine, betraying her placid face with their white-knuckle grip.

We don’t speak as I lead her from the square, don’t speak as I walk her to her home, don’t speak as I open her door and make sure it is safe for her inside.

I want desperately to fill the silence, to say some thing, but the longer it goes, the harder it is to find anything to offer.

And so I leave, a canyon of unsaid things between us.

But at least I made a choice.

And perhaps, even though it was a small one, it will be enough to help bridge this strange gap that is somehow growing between us.