A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 23 Ren Monroe

23 REN MONROE

As Theo focused on making contact with House Brood, Ren lit a wick in the privacy of the guest bedroom. Even seated and focused, she could not stop mentally pacing. It was like her problems were all competing for which one could be most devastating.

Was it the looming threat of the plague? Or the fact that the most powerful houses in the world had collectively tried to dispose of her? Oh, or perhaps it was her mother’s potential involvement in a dark conspiracy? Gods, it’s just so hard to pick a winner….

The candle was nearly finished. Ren’s mind fixed on the image of her bedroom. The chalk-colored rug. Her bed with its pale yellow covers. The empty walls. She’d never been one for much decoration. Reaching out, she pinched that waiting flame between her fingers. Darkness claimed her. There was the briefest moment of discomfort. A slightly longer hesitation than normal where she thought she felt something in that dark space. A shadow nestled inside the larger shadows—and then she blinked to life and found herself in a room she hardly recognized.

It was not at all how she’d left it. From floor to ceiling, the room was filled to the brim. Bags of rice piled up. Boxes full of uncooked noodles. There was enough food to feed a small army. The only space left was where she stood. A small circle and an even smaller path that fed to the door. The hoarded goods felt like an ill omen. How had her mother gathered all of this during a plague?

“Ren? Is that you?”

Agnes Monroe’s voice echoed through the walls. Ren took a second to steel herself, then opened the bedroom door. There was even more food stacked up here. Boxes and crates filled the entire space. Her mother stood in the kitchen. She wore her normal, sparing outfit. Black clothes with relaxed fits. Only what she needed to cover herself and still move about her work on the docks with ease. The only notable addition was a piece of bright red cloth. The scarf was tied fashionably around her neck, knotted perfectly at her throat.

Ren didn’t see anyone else in the apartment, but there were obvious signs of previous company. Cups littered the counter. Like the aftermath of a party, or perhaps evidence that a group of revolutionaries were using their home as a safe house. When Ren finally spoke, she could not keep the accusation out of her voice. “What have you done, Mother?”

“Come. Sit with me.”

Ren did not move. “I had a visit from Aunt Sloan.”

Her mother waved the name away. As if their old neighbor was no more than a petty gossip. Idle chatter was easy to deny. Ren decided it would be easier to cut straight to the heart of things.

“I also found Lana.”

Her mother’s face went blank. No feigned surprise. No attempts to dismiss the truth. Instead, she smoothed out her features. Erasing any emotion.

“Mother…”

“It is not what you think.”

“We found four corpses,” Ren replied heatedly. “What else could that be?”

“A willing sacrifice. For the greater good. Every person you found volunteered to be there, because all of them believe in what we’re doing. They believe in what comes next.”

“Mother, you are frightening me.”

“Oh, grow up, child. Are you really going to stand there and act as if your hands are clean? I watched you murder a man not long ago. Did you forget I was there to witness that?”

“That was the man that killed my father. Your husband.”

“He did—and you called his murder justice. Isn’t that right?”

“It was justice.”

“Then tell me, what punishment would deliver justice to the houses that have oppressed an entire population? For generations? None of them have ever had to stand before the world and answer for their sins. So tell me, if Landwin Brood deserved to die—what of them?”

Agnes Monroe had always been a beautiful woman. Now that beauty sharpened into something else entirely. Her eyes had gotten darker and darker as she spoke. The normal honey-brown color verging on black. There was anger woven into her voice. Aunt Sloan had referred to her mother as Old Agnes. How long had this version of the woman existed? The truth was that Ren didn’t know. She had stopped paying attention years ago.

“You got your revenge,” her mother said. “A position with House Brood. A precious new life. Is that where justice stops? Once you are satisfied, no one else deserves to reach for the same?”

Her mother shocked her by spitting on the floor between them.

“Roland Monroe did not die for that. Your father was killed because he stood up for everyone. He was not seeking a personal reward or a better job. He was fighting for the people who lived in the Lower Quarter. Ren, we have waited a generation for this moment. The chance will not come again. Not for a hundred years.”

Ren’s stomach churned uncomfortably. Her hands trembled. It was hard to recognize the person who stood before her. “I felt guilty coming here,” she whispered. “Like I was betraying you for even asking. I thought surely, my mother would never involve herself in something like this. Lies, conspiracy, the death of innocents. Those are the tactics House Brood used against us. Mother, I saw the bodies. People are dead . The city’s hospitals are overrun. Are you really going to stand there and tell me that this was all a part of your plan?”

“Our plan,” Agnes corrected. “Our precious work.”

Those words echoed through the room. That darkness had returned to her mother’s eyes. The air in the room felt weighted. She knew her mother didn’t use magic, but there was something almost palpable looming between them. If not a spell, then a threat. It was the first time in Ren’s entire life that she wasn’t sure if her mother was on her side.

“The Makers are not the city’s castaways. We are the people. We are the blood that beats in this city’s heart. We are Kathor.” Her mother thumped one fist to her chest for emphasis. “Our numbers are in the thousands. And I promise you this: thousands more will join. The people of this city have always dreamed of change. They just didn’t know they could reach out and take it for themselves. Your target was the Broods. You hit the mark. I was proud of what you did. But we are aiming at every single house left standing. Tell me, if we succeed, what is the difference between us and you? What made your pursuit so noble? And ours so worthy of disdain?”

Ren opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again. She was about to point out the growing number of casualties, but then she remembered: her own plan had plenty of those. Death had trailed her footsteps from the beginning. How many guards and soldiers had died during their raid of the Brood estate? How many had they buried afterward? There were other casualties too. Cora and Avy and Timmons. All completely innocent. Each one of them had been dragged into the wilderness because of her mistake. The truth was that she had no moral ground to stand on. For the first time, she saw that with perfect clarity. The only difference was that her plan had been successful. She’d possessed the requisite skills to actually succeed. Her mother and this group of magicless rebels? The truth was that Ren simply could not fathom a world where they would win. The great houses were too strong.

“All right. The plague has arrived. Tell me, how does that impact the major houses? I studied pandemics in our Cities and Empires course. Mortality rates run evenly across every population in the city. Most of the time, they’re slightly worse for the poor. Since there are more of us than there are nobles, you can almost guarantee that there will be more casualties amongst the lower class. That’s just basic math. You’ve succeeded in bringing the city to its knees, but true Kathorians will suffer the most.”

“It would seem that way. From the outside looking in.”

“ Then let me in .”

Ren was growing tired of the back and forth. Either there was something of substance here—or she was about to be invited into the beginnings of a monumental fuckup.

Her mother repeated her first invitation. “Come and sit.”

This time, Ren obeyed. They settled into their favorite seats. How often had they sat like this over the years? Discussing homework or politics or crushes. Now their eyes met and they began to discuss the fate of an entire city.

“Death is not the goal,” her mother said. “It is an unfortunate byproduct of any disease. Trust me, we did everything in our power to minimize the number of casualties.”

“Then what? What was the point of all of this?”

“What is the one power the great houses have over us?”

Ren knew the answer. Her professor had asked the same question during a first-year seminar—although he’d done his best to frame the situation in a more positive light for the wealthy. After all, a fourth of the students in their class were direct descendants of the great five houses.

“Magic,” Ren said.

Her mother pounded the table between them with a fist.

“Magic. The great inequality of our age. The ancient houses own all of it. They’re the only ones with access to the supply. They control the entire market. It is what separates us from them.”

Ren couldn’t hide her disappointment. “So, you’re targeting the magic warehouses? Controlling the distribution centers is a decent strategy, but I think you’re underestimating how many of the great houses have private caches of magic. House Brood has storehouses on their estate that could refill every vessel in the city dozens of times. I can only imagine how much House Shiverian has hoarded over the years. Even if you secure every facility in the city, the wealthiest houses will survive. And then after the disease fades, they’d have the firepower to take them all back from you. This won’t work.”

Agnes Monroe only smiled in return.

“Gods, you’re smart. It took me four years to figure that out. Our master…”

Her mother’s words trailed briefly away. Ren saw her head tilt slightly, as if she were listening to some distant voice that Ren could not hear. It seemed clear that she wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate the moment. Ren was her daughter. Someone she’d always trusted, but there were still some details she probably didn’t care to divulge at this point. Ren watched until her mother’s eyes fixed back on her.

“Let’s just say we knew we had to dream bigger. It wasn’t enough to change the curtains or paint the walls. Not with a problem like Kathor. If you want to change a city this big—you knock the entire house down. You don’t leave a single brick standing. And when you’re sure the job’s finished, you build a new one.”

Ren felt trapped by her own knowledge. Her mother’s passion was plain. It was all too clear that she believed this would work. But how could they understand the history of events that they’d never bothered to study? The ancient houses could not be swept away by a simple plague. If anything, previous large-scale diseases had solidified their grip on the city. It was the smaller houses who were left compromised, unable to withstand the storm. Ren was trying to figure out a way to explain all of that when her mother spoke again.

“The great houses will see soon enough. The plague isn’t designed to kill people.”

Her mother leaned forward. The same way she had when Ren was a child. When she was hiding a piece of candy behind her back. As if she possessed a secret that was just for her.

“It kills the magic inside of them.”