A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 8 Nevelyn Tin’vori

8 NEVELYN TIN’VORI

Nevelyn did not dream that night.

In the morning, she tiptoed down the stairs. A part of her hoped the others would still be asleep. Maybe she could set to her morning tasks uninterrupted. Instead, she found their kitchen lamp already glowing. She crept through the shadows of the hallway. A peek around the corner showed Dahvid was seated at their kitchen table. So was Josey. The two were sizing each other up.

After a long pause, Josey whispered, “You’re tall.”

Dahvid nodded. “I am.”

“And you have a lot of tattoos.”

“I do.”

“Did they hurt?”

“Pain is a road to power.”

Nevelyn rolled her eyes at that, but Josey nodded as if that made perfect sense.

“What’s that one?”

Dahvid held out his wrist for the boy to see. “It’s a sword.”

“How old were you? When you got it?”

Her brother leaned forward conspiratorially. “Five.”

Josey’s eyes went wide as a pair of winter moons. “But I just turned nine! I can get one!”

Nevelyn took that as her cue to enter the kitchen. “You’re not getting a tattoo. Dahvid is unique. He’s an image-bearer. Those tattoos are magical.”

The denial earned her a world-class scowl from their young guest. “That’s what adults always say. When they don’t want you to have something. It’s magic. It costs too much. Maybe next time.”

In response, Dahvid reached out and swiped a finger against the skin of his wrist. A second later, the weapon materialized in midair, settling smoothly into his grasp. Josey’s eyes shocked even wider. The boy reached out to try to touch the blade with the tip of one of his pale fingers.

“Hey,” Nevelyn said. “Don’t touch that. You just said you’re nine years old. You’re not two. Don’t nine-year-olds know they can’t touch sharp things?”

Josey shrugged. “I’m hungry. Your brother tried to make eggs.”

Nevelyn glanced over to the stove. There was, indeed, a gathering of scorched remains in one of their skillets. Entirely unsalvageable. “Do you like honey bread, Josey?”

The boy nodded. Dahvid raised his hand like a child. “I’d like some as well.”

“It’s early, but Marta’s stand should be opening soon. I’ll be right back.”

She could not help smiling to herself. This was the most she’d heard Dahvid speak since Cath’s death. He’d thrown himself into training and practice duels. Anything physical to help him forget the pain of that loss. She supposed she’d been doing the same thing—except she was using books instead of swords. The appearance of a random child in their house would not have been her first bet for what might draw them back to their former selves—but she wasn’t going to ignore the possibility that Josey’s arrival could be very good for them.

As she walked back through the unlit front hall, she could hear Josey launching into a new round of questions. Nevelyn was about to open the door when he asked: “What about that one?”

This time the answer was silence. Nevelyn had no visual on them, but she knew exactly which tattoo the boy had pointed to. It would be the hand reaching toward the surface of the water. The tattoo that Dahvid had used in his duel with Thugar Tin’Vori. The one that had unintentionally drained Cath’s life to heal him. She heard her brother mutter an answer. A quick dismissal of the subject. Being only nine, Josey moved on without question, barely noticing at all.

Nevelyn slipped out their front door.

After breakfast, Nevelyn asked Ava to watch Josey.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” her sister had asked.

“I don’t know. Play games with him. Kids like games.”

Ava looked thoughtful. “Hmm. I guess I could show him how to pick a lock.”

“No criminal activity.”

And with that warning, she headed out to participate in some criminal activity herself. She made her way north, past some of the busier markets. The route led her to Stepfast Street. It was not a road she’d have visited as a child. She thought about that sometimes. The fact that Ren Monroe—whatever her position now—had grown up here. A step above poverty. Nevelyn turned the heart charm dangling at her collarbone so that the black side faced outward. For the second time in two days, she activated her magic.

Two long strides brought her to a pearl-blue door. She trotted up the steps, skirting an elderly woman who did not even glance her way. The apartment she was looking for was already unlocked, though Nevelyn knew Agnes Monroe was not home. She’d checked the work schedule three times just to be sure. The older woman would not be on break for another hour. That gave Nevelyn plenty of time. The door swung inward with a small groan.

Nevelyn listened for sounds within. Nothing. She ducked inside, closed the door behind her, and released the magic that had been veiling her presence. Thankfully, the place was small. Agnes Monroe’s possessions were meager. One of the bedrooms had been half-filled with food. Like an extra pantry. There were boxes of noodles and jars with pickled vegetables. Another set of crates was filled to the brim with way candles. Nevelyn found the stockpile curious, but it wasn’t why she was here. In the main bedroom, she found the stack of borrowed books. Each one matched what she’d seen listed in the ledgers. It was as Nevelyn had guessed: Agnes Monroe had pretended to be her daughter. That facade had granted her access to the Safe Harbor library. The woman had signed out these books. There was a chain of events that Nevelyn could follow, if she could just get her fingers around the logic of the first link.

And the only logical conclusion was that Agnes was also researching the Broods. Unbeknownst to her daughter. That was very curious. Nevelyn didn’t have time to formulate proper guesses about the woman’s motivation. All she knew was that she needed to borrow from the borrower. She began turning through the pages, searching for the volumes that might prove most fruitful for her own plans. As she did, a small square of paper fluttered free.

Nevelyn watched it twirl in the air before settling on the ground. She turned the pages and another one fell. They were notes. Each one packed with Agnes Monroe’s cramped handwriting. She saw lists, questions, commentary. Even a few drawings. This wasn’t a brief survey of the Broods’ defenses. It was proper research. Thorough research.

“What are you up to?…”

Back in the main room, a soft click sounded.

The main door opened with that same groan. Nevelyn’s hand slid instinctively up to her locket. She gave her magic a practiced shove forward. All while backpedaling into the nearest corner, one of the library books still clutched to her chest. Do not see me. I am not here. Do not see me.

A second later, Agnes Monroe appeared in the doorway. No more than a few paces from where Nevelyn had just been standing. The woman’s entire body went rigid.

Gods, it’s the stray note. She’s spotted in on the floor.

Nevelyn cursed her own carelessness. She stood in the corner, waiting for Agnes to search the closet or under the bed. Instead, the woman looked up. Right at her. Eyes seemingly piercing the great veil of Nevelyn’s spell. Agnes smiled.

“You can release your spell, Nan. It won’t work on me twice.”

Nevelyn’s eyes shocked wide. She shoved an even stronger wave of the magic forward. Briefly, she thought of poor Kersey, who’d never fully recovered from the strength of the spell Nevelyn had used against her. But the second casting didn’t strike Agnes in the same way. She was not rocked back on her heels. There was no dazed expression on her face. Instead, the woman lowered one shoulder. Like she was determined to walk into a hurricane. The magic dispersed all around her. Agnes smiled through gritted teeth.

“I told you. Magic that worked once will not work again.”

Nevelyn could only stare. “How are you doing that?”

“We can talk about the magic—or we could talk about that book you’ve got in your hands.”

Nevelyn had forgotten she was clutching it. She accidentally fumbled it to the ground. The book landed with a dull thud. Agnes was slowly closing the distance between them. The same way a person might approach a feral cat that had snuck in through an open window.

“Or,” Agnes said, “if you’re ready, we can talk about the future.”

Nevelyn frowned. There was a strange tone to her voice. It felt odd. As if Agnes Monroe had somehow arranged this meeting between them—rather than Nevelyn being the one who had infiltrated her home. It had the feeling of a conversation that was long overdue. But they were not friends. They’d spoken only a handful of times, and never with even a hint of partnership.

“The future?”

Agnes nodded. “The time is coming. People like you will have to make a choice. Do you want to walk down this road?” She gestured to an imagined path with her right hand before lifting her left. “Or this one? You aren’t like the other elite in this city. You might have a home in the Wedding Quarter—but you’ve lived with despair. You’ve gone to bed not knowing when your next meal would come. You are as much like us as you are like them. You know both worlds.”

Agnes came to a stop in front of Nevelyn. They were standing in striking distance of each other. The older woman bent down. She collected the fallen book and set it on the edge of her own bed. Patiently, she turned the pages. Nevelyn saw flickers of blueprints, great blocks of texts, all in brief snapshots.

“I’m inviting you to make your decision now. Before everyone else.”

“How charitable of you,” Nevelyn remarked. “Do tell, what am I deciding?”

Agnes only smiled. She stopped on a very specific page. It unfolded neatly from the book. Nevelyn saw it was a map of the entire city. Kathor, rendered quarter by quarter, district by district. It was detailed enough that if she looked closely, she’d be able to find the exact corner on which the Tin’Vori home was etched. Agnes tapped the map with one finger.

“Everything,” she whispered. “We are deciding… everything.”