Which meant that the bones were still there, even after twenty-five years, waiting for her.
She knew Jentt would agree with her about the guild master. She also knew he would hate what she was thinking about doing. He never wanted her to risk herself.
One of the rag dolls let out a trill, to signify they’d finished rewrapping her husband. And as if the finality of that act signaled the start of a new one, Kreya made the decision to cross yet another line she’d sworn never to cross. “Sorry, Jentt. But that asshole’s cowardice might save your life. And besides, if I get myself killed, you won’t ever know.”
Pivoting, Kreya strode past her husband’s linen-wrapped body without looking at him.
A little voice inside whispered, This is a stupid idea. That same little voice had told her not to keep the books that let her save Jentt. It had told her not to study them, not to steal her first bone, not to pervert nature by violating the permanence of death. By now, she was an expert at ignoring it.
What she couldn’t ignore was the fact that if she was going to cross the mountains and sneak past the guild’s soldiers over the barrier wall, she’d need power. Lots of it.
Her first step had to be to acquire more talismans. In truth, that had to be the first step in any plan. Even if she wanted to continue stealing shards of bone from nearby villages, she’d need new talismans. If I get to the wall and chicken out, they’ll still be useful, she thought, climbing the stairs to the library.
Crossing to her desk, she checked her stash of gold: pathetic.
“Can’t buy them.” Besides, even if she had enough to buy from the traveling merchants that crisscrossed the mountains, the quality wouldn’t be as high as the ones she’d had—the ones made by her old friend Zera. The majority of bone wizards created talismans that only lasted for short spurts, but Zera . . . Her talismans could weather multiple uses and be used for sustained lengths of time before they cracked. She was an artist.
Years ago, Zera had been their team’s own bone wizard, supplying them with a steady stream of talismans, culled from nearly every animal imaginable and carved with elaborate spells of her invention. She’d also been Kreya’s closest friend.
Had been. Past tense.
“Maybe it’s time for a reunion.”
The bird construct whirred behind her.
“You’ll have to keep watch over the tower while I’m gone. Keep watch over Jentt. It’ll take me a few days to reach Cerre.” Zera lived on the fifth tier of the city. Or she had. It was possible that Zera had moved. Or died. But Kreya didn’t think that was likely. “I’d have heard. Zera’s a famous hero, after all. People love to gossip about famous heroes.”
She cringed, remembering some of the gossip from back in the day. A few of the “songs” about Kreya and Jentt had been appalling.
Kreya hauled out her travel pack. She began to stuff it with the essentials for travel: leather-reinforced pants, underthings, climbing gear . . . only to pause, once more second-guessing herself. Visiting the city wasn’t the same as hiking across the mountains. Kneeling in front of a chest, she opened it and rifled through until she found a silken shirt and embroidered slippers, the only fancy clothes she still owned. She pulled them out and laid them on her desk, on top of the strewn papers.
Touching the fabric, she remembered the last time she’d worn this: on a visit to the Tririan Waterfall. She and Jentt dined in the glass-globe restaurant, suspended in the middle of the falls itself, with the water cascading all around the glass. The spots that discolored the shirt were from drops of water sprayed by the falls when they’d crossed the bridge into the globe. She remembered the waiter had apologized, but she hadn’t cared. She’d been too transfixed by the way the curve of the glass and the spray of the falls caught the sunlight. It felt like being encased in a million rainbows.
She couldn’t wear it again, not without Jentt. She put it back in the chest, along with the embroidered slippers. She’d worn those on their first wedding anniversary, before the war.
Zera would have to take her as she was.
If she takes me at all, Kreya thought.
The trip to Cerre started with a trek down the mountain by switchback trails, followed by a cable car ride across the crevasse of Triault and another up the slope of Androus. She then hiked the highway of Renntak, which had been cut into the rocky side of the massive Mount Eirr. She could have hitched a ride, but that would have required talking to people, and she was in no mood for that. Better to have the company of her own mind and memories than to bear the weight of others with all their curiosity, indifference, and expectations for her behavior. She kept her coat with many pockets tight around her, acutely aware of how empty those pockets were and how useless they’d be if she ran into trouble. But the journey went smoothly, and she arrived in Cerre without incident five days after she’d left.
The famous city was carved into the stone, with its renowned aqueducts creating its shape: arch after arch in multiple tiers, like an elaborate cake. Its people lived in houses that jutted out of the mountain, with more rooms carved into the rock—the richest in vast palaces that put the word “cave” to shame. Diamonds, rubies, and emeralds adorned nearly every building, though Kreya had heard rumors that most of the gems had been replaced with glass to fund the hobbies of the aristocrats. Regardless, it still glittered, dripping with the illusion of wealth, in the morning light.
“Hate this place,” Kreya muttered.
She adjusted the pack on her shoulders and trudged toward the first gate.
Every tier had its own gate, to separate the wealthy from the riffraff. The first gate, which led to the lowest level, was only loosely guarded. Farmers, goatherders, travelers, and visitors flowed beneath the blue-painted arch while three red-clad guards watched for anyone who looked suspicious—or, more accurately, anyone who irritated the guards enough for them to stir from their cushioned benches. Kreya kept her head down and lips pressed shut.
The number of people in the first tier made her skin crawl. It felt as if everyone were chattering at the same time, oblivious to the fact that it meant no one was listening. Shopkeepers were hawking their wares to passersby. Passersby were gabbing to one another, or else shouting at one another to move out of the way. Kids were running through the streets and splashing through the fountains without any heed for, well, anything.
She used to love coming to the city with Zera and Jentt and watching all the people. Now she couldn’t help but look at everyone and wonder what loss they were hiding. All of it—all the rushing, all the shouting—felt tinged with frenetic desperation.
Or maybe it’s just me, Kreya thought.
She passed by the second gate using a false name, one of several she’d used before. The guards found it in their records and let her pass. The second tier was for the middle class: merchants, academics, and artisans, for the most part. The bulk of the people of Cerre lived split between the first and second tiers.
In the third tier were the headquarters of the guilds who ruled Vos, as well as all the institutions of higher learning. The University of Cerre and the Great Library were both in the third tier, sheathed in their gold (i.e., painted yellow) walls and diamond (i.e., studded with glass) décor, as well as the teaching hospital and the official guild headquarters of the bone workers, the glassworkers, the mechanics, the merchants, and so forth. It was calmer than the first two tiers, with fewer people clogging the streets and fewer shops for anyone to linger over. People came to the third tier purely to study and work.