Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(114)

“You don’t know shit,” Wren snapped, heading for the door, though her angry retort only proved Inara right.

“I’m actually impressed, you know,” Inara called to her retreating back.

Wren turned on the spot. Frowned.

“I always knew you were ambitious, but this? This was smart. Strategic. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The prince. Gaining his favor will get you far, I think.”

Wren hated the fact that Inara did know her well, better than most, in fact, and that those had initially been Wren’s exact thoughts. “He’s my friend,” she argued, but Inara was already speaking over her.

“I mean, after everything they did to get you here, it didn’t break your spirit.”

“They?” Wren repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who landed me here.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Inara said, shaking her head, a superior, condescending look on her face. “It still had some of your old flair, I’ll admit. Clearly you had no plan, no exit strategy. You just tore off after a prince, into unknown—and highly dangerous—territory and teamed up with a bloody ironsmith to do it. Classic you. Messy. Dangerous.” She paused. “Free. Or, at least, you were.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren asked, trying to keep up with Inara’s startling—though not without its barbs—praise.

“You’ve always been free. Honestly, when we were younger, I wanted to be you.” Her jaw clenched in embarrassment at the admission. “Not for the reasons you think—you are not, for the record, the most talented valkyr of our generation.” Wren barely registered Inara’s familiar dissent, still fixated on her initial statement. She had wanted to be Wren? “I was jealous of the way you always did what you wanted. Followed your own rules and fuck everyone else.” Her gaze landed on Ghostbane, returned to Wren’s belt. “But I guess even the great Wren Graven can be broken eventually.”

“I am not broken—”

“I mean, a cage is all the prince knows, and while you might have forced that ironsmith into his, you flew willingly into your own, little bird.”

Wren’s mouth fell open. She turned on her heel and strode from the room, but not before she caught Inara’s last words.

“I hope that knife was worth it to you.”



* * *



Out in the hall, Wren struggled to catch her breath. It was the aftermath of winding herself earlier, surely. It was late, she was tired, and… Inara’s words meant nothing.

Wren mentally sifted through all her cousin had said, focusing on the beginning of their conversation. Those guards had been posted outside Wren’s door not to keep her safe but to keep her in.

Which meant whatever her father was doing, he didn’t want her to know about it. Maybe she should forget Odile and see what he was up to instead?

She’d lost precious minutes talking to Inara, but she could catch up.

She knew this place better than Vance. Too bad she didn’t know where he was going….

Out into the main hall, Wren looked in both directions, but the corridor was deserted. She closed her eyes, trying to think of where he might go. To question Julian, maybe? To speak to Galen—or Leo?

She was on her way to check the dungeons when she caught sight of Vance disappearing down the stairs that led to the bonesmith temple.

He was going to see Odile.

To question her, maybe? To accuse? Wren had to know.

Desperate to hear their conversation but knowing that even her father’s recent goodwill toward her would not allow her to be present, Wren slipped out from her hiding place.

There were two entrances to Odile’s domain—one through the temple, which was where Vance was heading, and another that led to the storage rooms via the cellar.

Wren made her way to the cellar. She hadn’t seen Odile since she’d been back, and she wondered how the woman would react to this late-night visit. Would it be a pleasant surprise or an unwelcome intrusion?

As Wren drew near, the low rumble of voices reached her—coming from the back hall that connected to the storage room. Quickening her pace, she slipped from the cellar and into the storage room attached to Odile’s chambers. The voices grew louder, but she still couldn’t make them out. It wasn’t until she crouched behind the door itself and, with a held breath, turned the knob.

It opened barely a sliver, but it was enough to hear Odile’s words ring out, clear as day.

“… know what we have to do.”

“And what is that?” came her father’s reply. The door where Wren currently hid was behind Odile’s chair, in the shadows of the corner of the room. There was little light save for the lantern on her desk, but it was enough to see Vance’s face and Odile’s profile, her copper hair shining.

“Destroy it. Bad enough what happened to Locke, but these iron revenants, this queen… We must march on those ruins in force, bring the full might of the House of Bone to bear, and be rid of that well once and for all.”

Wren held her breath. So they did know about the well and the power within it.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said in that dismissive, slightly condescending way that Wren knew far too well. He was sitting very much at his ease, a cup of alka held loosely in his hand, but his gaze was sharp. “In order to do that, we’d have to reveal the fact that we’ve been lying about the Uprising for nearly two decades. We’d destroy our house, not to mention—”