Bonesmith (House of the Dead, #1)(29)

“So you’re the second spare.”

“The spare’s spare.”

Wren laughed. “But you’re the only goldsmith, right? Surely that counts for something?”

“Besides an extra name in my official title that people rarely bother to use? Not really. They won’t let me actually use my ability. Princes don’t work, Wren Graven, not even prince-smiths—surely you know that,” he said with a smirk. “Once I’d finished my education…” He shrugged. “No expectations. No responsibility. Hence the Breachfort visit. It’s one of a dozen stops I’ve made in the past few weeks, tours and inspections all to keep me busy.”

“And behaving?” Wren asked.

“Mostly behaving,” he amended, raising his flask.

“Sounds like an easy life,” Wren said, though she suspected that wasn’t quite true. She knew what it was to have people expect the worst from you, all the ways you could rebel against or play into those perceptions. Wren herself had only ever done half the stupid things she’d done for the attention. She’d wanted to be caught, to be seen, to be talked about and remembered.

She’d always assumed any attention was better than no attention. Better for people to expect the worst than for them to expect nothing at all.

Then again, that behavior had landed her here.

“An easy life, yes,” Leo said, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. “But also an invisible one.”

“Could be worse,” Wren said bracingly. “You could have failed the test you’ve been training for your whole life, been banished from your family, and exiled, rather than just popping by for a visit.”

Leo’s attention dropped back down to her. His expression was serious. “What kind of idiots would exile you?”

His tone was incredulous, as if the very idea of it was beyond comprehension. As if, after knowing her for only a few short hours, he saw her value more than her own blood.

“The kind I’m related to,” Wren said with a sigh.

Leo nodded. “Ah, yes, the very worst kind of idiots. I know from experience.”

Wren laughed, and Leo offered her the flask.

“To the worst kind of idiots,” she said, raising the flask before tossing back a burning mouthful.

“And to new friends,” he added, taking it back and draining the container in one.



* * *



The lights in Commander Duncan’s council room went dark not long after, forcing Wren and Leo to abandon their perch and hustle back the way they’d come. As it turned out, Leo hadn’t climbed out his window as much as fallen, and with the late hour and excess alcohol, he wasn’t managing to scale the two-story distance without help.

And help unfortunately came in the form of Wren, standing on the ground beneath his window while he perched painfully on her shoulders, kicking her head and bruising her collarbone as he reached and scrambled and finally, mercifully, got a hold of the window ledge and hauled himself up.

Once inside, Leo poked his head out the open window, tossing her a wink before disappearing back inside.

Smiling, Wren returned to her room—but she took the stairs.



* * *



The following day dawned obnoxiously bright, the bell tolling the shift change impossibly loudly—and earlier than usual, Wren was sure—but it didn’t matter, as she was already awake.

Suddenly, for the first time in weeks, her life felt like it had purpose. She didn’t truly know what Leo could or couldn’t do for her, but at least it was something, and if she happened to have fun in the process? All the better.

Yes, her head pounded a bit, and her mouth was dry, but a spot of breakfast would surely cure what ailed her.

If Wren was feeling the effects of her late night, Leo was much, much worse. Their eyes met across the dining hall, and though his hair still shone like spun gold and his jacket was pristine, his skin looked pale, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle. Despite being a bit under the weather, he smiled at Wren and nodded in acknowledgment as she entered the room.

She hovered, uncertain. Should she sit at the high table again? Odile was absent once more, and the other representatives were there, but this was definitely a less formal affair than the welcoming feast. Wren was needed to perform Odile’s duties, not to warm her seat. When no one called her over, she decided to slide onto a bench and eat with the rest of the tributes.

Still, she watched the high table as breakfast wore on.

Leo sat perfectly straight, not a button or hair out of place, head resting elegantly on his hand—though his eyes were closed. Despite this fact, he managed to flag down a servant for more coffee without needing to open them, his empty mug held aloft until someone had the presence of mind to fill it. The Breachfort did not usually serve coffee, an expensive import from Selnor, but as the prince downed his third cup, Wren could only assume Leo had brought the beans himself.

Finally, Commander Duncan stood, and the room fell silent. Leo’s eyes opened.

“As a part of his official inspection, Prince Leopold will accompany me and a small party east of the Wall so he may examine our defenses in greater detail and ensure they meet with royal approval.”

Leo nodded imperiously, but there was new tension in him that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps he was nervous to go beyond the Border? Or maybe he was just anxious to perform his royal duties correctly.