A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 24 Ren Monroe

24 REN MONROE

Gods, she’s lost her mind. They all have.

“That’s not possible” were the kindest words she could summon. “Mother, there is no way to destroy magic. It’s in the air. It’s in the ground. It’s soaked into the stones and the buildings. We’ve been using magic for so long that it’s in our bodies. Woven into our bloodstreams.”

“Not after this,” her mother replied. “Not after the disease finishes its work.”

Agnes Monroe tugged down the collar of her blouse. There were discolorations at the base of her throat that had nearly faded, but not quite. Ghosts of some previous pain.

“I am proof of what happens next.”

Ren recoiled. “You were a test subject.”

“Hundreds of us volunteered, yes,” she confirmed. “You know that I swore off magic years ago, but when I tested the disease, I sacrificed my ability permanently. Ren, I promise you, the disease works. I have tried every old spell I’ve ever learned. Spells I used when your father was still alive. None of them work. No magic runs in these veins. It has been burned out.”

It was the first time that Ren felt a genuine pulse of fear. She could sense Theo across their bond, gently probing her with his concern. Her mother’s words—however improbable—struck at the heart of all that Ren was. Her stomach tightened uncomfortably. Sweat began to run down her neck. Ren shoved to her feet. She backpedaled slowly away from her mother. Everything felt like a threat now. She’d spent far too long developing her magical arsenal to lose it to whatever this was.

“I know you’re scared,” her mother said softly. “I know that for someone like you, it sounds like a death sentence. Magic is how you advanced. It’s how you beat the odds. But consider this, Ren: the removal of magic is how everyone else moves forward. You achieved so much. Just think about what might happen if we make the door you walked through wide enough for the rest of us.”

Ren shook her head. “Mother, this won’t work.”

“It already has.”

“I have to go. Please don’t ask for my help. I will take no part in this.”

“You’ve already helped.”

Ren looked up sharply. It felt like something was lodged in her throat. The words she wanted to speak simply would not come out. Everything was choking and clawing at her.

“In a way, you were the one who started all of this,” her mother said cryptically. There was that weight between them again. Something dark and unspoken. Then her mother went on, “You sacked House Brood. Your work with the Tin’Voris advanced our cause by decades. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see my own revolution. Not until you. The Broods’ protection of the city was nearly flawless. Landwin Brood, for all his sins, was a damned good shield for Kathor. When Theo took over their house, there was chaos. However brief. The contracts for several key city defenses lapsed. You and Theo… you left the door wide open. All the Makers had to do was walk through it.”

Gods, the water treatment facility.

Her mind traced back to the meeting they’d had with Viceroy Gray. They had discussed the buildings then. Loyal members of House Brood had been locked out for almost a week. Such a small window of time, but now the city was suffering because of it. Ren did not like the implication. Her mother’s words were almost threatening. Accuse us of this, and we can accuse you. The entire situation had Ren feeling backed into a corner. It drew out her claws.

“Father would be ashamed of you. Using me to advance your cause. Sacrificing the innocent to a plague. All for what? To destroy magic? He loved magic. He taught me my first spells. He was always asking what I was learning at school. He wouldn’t do this….”

He wouldn’t do this to me.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the selfish part aloud. Ren understood there were grander implications, but in the heat of this moment, she could only think about the fact that her mother had started something that would destroy Ren’s most treasured possession: her magic. And what was the point of all of this if she did not have that? She expected mercy or sympathy. Instead, her mother aimed right back at her.

“You didn’t know the real Roland Monroe. How could you? You were so young when he died. Sure, he liked the occasional spell. He delighted in clever magic. But that was not what he spent his evenings debating. That was not what he read about in the morning paper. Your father was a quiet man—but when he raised his voice, it was always against injustice. He voted, time and again, to limit the magical expansion of the great houses. He did not fight for magic , Ren. He fought for people . And now it’s your turn to choose. Will you defend magic? Or will you defend freedom?”

“Freedom,” Ren threw back. “Right. Look, if you remove magic something else will rise up to replace it. That’s just human nature. Have you asked that question yet? Who will rule next? Because there’s never been a world where everyone was equal. Someone always ends up with a little more power than everyone else. Who will it be this time? People with physical strength? Or military prowess? The families who have the most farmland or the best weapons? What you’re imagining is a utopia. Set aside magic and the people of Kathor will hold hands by the fire and sing. Nothing like that has happened in the course of our people’s history. The Makers are offering you false gold.”

Her mother sank back into her chair. “What an answer. The great houses keep us underfoot for centuries—and your answer is to do nothing? Attempt no change? Ren, our city has a rotten limb. If we do not amputate, the rest of the body will die. The rest of the body has been dying.”

“That’s a surprisingly perfect analogy,” Ren replied. “A century ago, amputation was the only treatment for certain diseases. If there was rot in a limb or an infection in someone’s foot—doctors would cut it off without a second thought. But then amputations decreased by seventy-three percent. There had been an advancement in the world of medicine. Any guess what it was?”

Her mother said nothing. But Ren, of course, knew the answer.

“Magic. They invented new treatments using magic. Spells that could keep people whole . That’s what magic does. It provides new paths. Better solutions.” Ren’s voice was shaking now. She could feel tears rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. “Let’s say your plan works. Magic vanishes. Do you know how much of this city depends on it? Our ability to travel, gone. Our ability to purify water, gone. Our ability to irrigate large tracts of land, gone. Our ability to stabilize old buildings, gone. Our ability to treat the sick, gone. Our ability to protect ourselves, gone. The plan you’re suggesting would throw civilization into one of the darkest ages it’s experienced since we set sail for this continent in the first place.”

Her mother only shrugged. “There are alternative methods for every single issue you’ve mentioned. We can survive without magic. I have for a decade. But tell me this, Ren. If we succeed—if all of this works—what would happen to the great houses?”

It was Ren’s turn to bite her tongue. She could not bring herself to answer the question.

“Gone,” her mother said into the silence. “Our tyrants would finally be gone .”

She had no counter to that. Her mother was right. If they could truly destroy magic, it would decimate the entire social structure. All the great houses would be reduced with devastating swiftness. It would give the general populace a chance to overrun them. As Ren imagined that possibility, she felt like a fraud. All these years, she’d claimed to want the destruction of the great houses. It wasn’t long ago that she’d looked up at the Heights and compared the great houses to the dragons. She’d silently promised to guide them to the same extinction. Why did she flinch now? Was it simply because she doubted her mother’s ability to beat them? Or was it because the solution—neat and elegant as it sounded—would take the one thing that she had ever truly loved?

The weight of all those questions finally broke her.

Ren’s normal talent for compartmentalization failed. Tidal waves of consequence swept through her mind, ripping past her defenses, drowning every thought. It was too much. It all weighed too much. Her mother caught her as she fell. She wanted to push away. She wanted to rage and scream, but she was too weak to do anything but sag into that waiting embrace. She buried herself in the familiar scent. It was a touch no one could outgrow. A mother was always a shelter against life’s storms—even if her mother had been the one to stir these particular currents.

“No matter what you choose,” Agnes whispered, “I will love you forever. For always. But understand I have choices I must make too. I will not abandon our precious work.”

Something whispered between them. It wasn’t magic. Or at least, no magic that Ren had ever felt before. This was something raw and unspoken and wild. A power as old as time itself. Her mother released her at the exact moment that the idea of being touched became unbearable.

Ren stood there in a stupor. After a moment, she wiped the tears away with the back of her sleeve. Her mother was in the kitchen, fussing over a pot of tea that had come to boil. On the table, she’d left out a large square of red fabric. A perfect match with the one that her mother was wearing now. The same colors that the Makers were reportedly wearing around the city to mark themselves. She reached out and grazed the material with her outstretched fingers. It was deliciously soft. Bright, alluring. It felt like the loveliest sort of trap to fall into. That first touch gave her a glimpse of what would happen next. Like a promise spinning into existence. She would join this rebellion. They would win. They would overthrow the great houses, once and for all. And then the entire city would belong to the people. It all felt so terribly logical.

She had a thousand reasons to flee. Fear of who her mother had become. Anger at how she’d been used to achieve her mother’s goals. She knew she should return home. Discuss matters with Theo. Isolate herself from the plague that was already slouching through the streets like some invisible monster. But that smaller voice whispered to reach for the red square of fabric, and so she did. Ren carefully folded the fabric and tucked it into her coat pocket.

When her mother brought over a cup of tea, Ren accepted.

The heat scalded her hands.

The first sip scorched her tongue.

Still, she did not turn to leave.

“Tell me what to do.”

Agnes Monroe tilted her head. Once more, it was like she was listening to some distant voice. Ren watched as her mother navigated through the stack of crates in the far corner of the room. She returned with a way candle of all things. Her mother set the candle down on the table between them and lit the wick.

“Drink your tea. Go back to Theo. Wait for more instructions.”

Obediently, Ren sipped. The time it took to finish her cup was nearly an exact match for how long it took for the stub of a way candle to burn down. Ren nodded one more time to her mother before pinching the candle between her fingers. The darkness was like a whisper in her ear. A voice that beckoned and promised and whispered a thousand lies.

And then she was elsewhere.