Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(119)

Inara’s gaze skittered away, something like shame flashing in her eyes. Then she shrugged—or tried to, with Wren’s hands pressed against her chest. “He offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”

“Which was?”

Inara laughed, but there was no humor in it. “He told me to do it or else. He’s the heir of our house, Wren. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“So… the bet? The stakes? Everything?”

Inara lifted her chin. “He even dug the hole. Or made someone else do it, more like.”

Wren nodded, releasing her. It hurt, but distantly. In reality, this last bit of truth made things clearer in her mind. Easier.

“What’s happened?” Inara asked into the silence. “What is he up to?”

“Currently?” Wren asked, running a hand through her hair. “Covering his tracks.”

After that? She had thoroughly messed up his original plans by failing to get kidnapped, but now that he’d heard everything about the Corpse Queen and… the boy… it seemed he had new plans involving the well. Of course, his mother knew nothing about it, and he intended to keep it that way for now. She’d be furious at him for striking a deal with their enemies and potentially further embroiling the House of Bone in scandal, never mind the decades of lies about Locke and the truth of Wren’s parentage.

Wren suspected Vance would keep Svetlana busy and distracted with the political angle, as they had both rescued a prince and wound up with a high-value prisoner of their own in Julian. Meanwhile, he’d plan a journey east of the Wall. A journey that would likely include Wren.

Too bad she intended to make a journey of her own.

She had no idea what his ultimate goal was—to be a greater hero than Locke? To reclaim the royal bride he’d lost? Or did he actually intend to marry Ravenna, like he’d claimed to Odile, even knowing what she was? Surely not. His mother would never allow it. Regardless, she knew he intended to get to the well and the power within, so she’d have to beat him to it.

She left Inara behind and crossed the room, swinging the doors to the balcony wide. She leapt across, heedless of the danger, and was back in her father’s chambers in seconds.

The familiar smell of him, clinging to his clothes strewn about the place, turned her stomach, but she couldn’t afford to be queasy.

She doubted she had much time.

Recalling what Leo had said about Galen’s letters, Wren wondered if her father might not have some of his own. They could be enough to incriminate him, or at the very least, direct suspicion his way and trap him here for a time. But whatever papers he had been reviewing at the table earlier were gone, and what remained were benign letters and scraps of incoherent notes.

She wasn’t surprised—he was not a careless man—but it had been worth a shot. She hesitated over a couple of the remnants, one of which held his signature and the other a botched glob of wax with his seal.

Back on the opposite balcony, Inara was waiting for her.

“What do you mean?” her cousin said without preamble. “Covering what tracks?”

Wren wavered over what to tell Inara. It wasn’t just the lifelong animosity between them but the fact that Wren didn’t want to drag her any further into her father’s schemes.

“Just stay out of it for once, okay?” Wren said. “And pretend you never saw me. If he asks, say you found this.”

She withdrew Ghostbane. It truly was a beautiful weapon, but all she could see when she looked at it was her father.

She held it out to her cousin.

Inara blinked. “What’re you…?” She trailed off, taking Ghostbane. Her gaze was searching, but Wren avoided her eye.

“I owed you an ancestral blade, remember?”

“Since when do you pay your debts?” Inara asked, staring down at the weapon. Then realization dawned on her face. “You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?”

“By your standards, everything I do is stupid.”

“Not everything,” Inara admitted, and that meant something to Wren. It occurred to her how much more fun she would have had in her life if she and Inara had been on the same side from the start. But that was a dangerous line of thinking, one she’d been tempted to follow all night. What if she’d grown up with a mother and a brother? What if her father wasn’t who she’d always thought?

What if, what if.

As before, the images wouldn’t stick, like water on wings.

“I guess this is goodbye,” Wren said. “For now, anyway.”

Inara frowned, then nodded. “For now.”

Then she turned her back on the life she’d always known, leaving Ghostbane, her father, and her family behind.



* * *



Perhaps Wren should have waited until the following night—given herself a chance to pack and prepare—but that really wasn’t her style. It had worked out before, hadn’t it?

Besides, look what her father had managed to do in a single night. She didn’t want to give him even another minute to wreak more havoc on herself, Leo, or Julian.

The halls were quiet as she moved through the fort—no doubt her father and the commander were holed up together right now, discussing the night’s events—but the places she needed to go would be well guarded. Her father’s men would be posted outside Leo’s door, and she knew from experience they couldn’t be cajoled or reasoned with. Wren wouldn’t be surprised if her father had shoehorned some of his men into the dungeons as well, ensuring everything was within his control, but she’d worry about that later. First she had to save a prince.