Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(108)

He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before, but all Wren could see was that vision of herself—the picture his words painted—and she hated it.

She took a deep breath as they stared at each other, several feet of charged space between them. The shock was still evident on his face, though some of the tension had left him. He slumped against the beam.

Wren looked to Leo, who was also staring at her in surprise at what she had done.

“Let’s go,” she said. Leo left, but Wren paused in the doorway, looking back. “It’s better this way. If you came with us… I don’t know what would happen. Trust me. Just stay until daybreak. Then you can make your way to your family estate.”

“Trust?” he repeated, in exactly the same way he had in the watchtower. While then it had seemed almost a joke—what other choice did they have, when it was just the two of them?—now it seemed like a dirty word.

“You’ll be safer here,” Wren whispered.

“Is that what all this has been about?” he asked. “Safety?” Wren didn’t answer. “You think you’ll be safe there in your fort when the iron revenants march? Or will you return to your house in a blaze of glory, only to spend your life fighting undead farmers and poor folk who couldn’t afford proper burials, knowing you were meant for more?”

Her heart clenched at those last words. Meant for more. “It’s not about being safe. It’s—”

“It’s what?”

“It’s about where I belong.”

“Right. You belong there, with them. Not here.” And, unspoken: with me.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to go.

“No, you’re not,” Julian said, so quietly Wren wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it.



* * *



Wren and Leo followed the river south until dawn. It took them several hours off course, but not only did it keep them safe from the undead; it was the only way she knew to get to the fort. As soon as they reached the Old Roads, they’d head west until the Wall came into view.

There was probably a faster way, but she didn’t know it, and unfortunately, her guide was currently tied up in the mill house.

“Here,” Leo said at one point when they’d stopped to quickly water the horses. He tossed her a small iron dagger—it was Ironheart, the weapon Julian had given her. She gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “Call me sentimental, but I thought you might want a souvenir.”

Wren hesitated but returned the knife to Ghostbane’s empty sheath before glancing over her shoulder again. She kept expecting Julian to appear on their tail at any moment, but all was darkness and silence.

By the time sunlight crested the horizon and their shadows grew long on the ground before them, they were moving at a steady clip, veering west on one of the Old Roads in what Wren hoped was a straight shot for the Breachfort.

They rode all day, stopping several more times to feed and water the horses, but never for very long. Their mounts were tired, but they’d be well treated once they got to the fort.

She and Leo didn’t speak much, but as the road stretched out longer and longer—their destination feeling farther and farther away—she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Leo said, expression thoughtful. “I want to face him. My cousin. I want to understand what he’s after. I want to unravel the mystery.”

“It’ll be risky. Dangerous.”

“I think you mean thrilling,” he said, using the same intonation he had before when referring to her time with Julian. Wren scowled at him, and he laughed. “Okay, okay—maybe not that thrilling, but a man can dream.” He winked, and Wren rolled her eyes, though she was smiling.

“I’d have thought the past few days were exciting enough for you,” Wren said. “What with being kidnapped and all.”

“I didn’t much care for being a prisoner,” he conceded, “but I’m not entirely sure it’s all that different from my life in the Dominions—though the clothes and food are generally much better.”

“Is it so bad? Being a prince?”

“If you asked my brothers, I think they’d tell you it’s a grand old time. But if you were the third prince to a father who has no use for you and a mother who has no use for anyone, I think you’d find it’s rather… lonely. And dull. But not since I met you. Things have been decidedly exciting since then.”

Wren smirked. “Not sure I can take all the credit.”

“I should hope not,” he said. He cocked his head at her, squinting into the sunlight. “You might be my only friend, Wren Graven. So I’m in this with you, for better or worse.”

Wren’s throat tightened. She cleared it. “You’re definitely mine.” He beamed. “And it’ll probably be for worse, by the way,” she added, and he laughed.

As they rounded yet another bend in the road with no sign of the fort or the Wall, Wren started to worry they’d gotten lost. Then, out of nowhere, a band of riders bore down on them.

“Kidnappers!” Leo shouted, just as Wren said, “Bandits!”

They were both wrong, as it turned out.