A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 26 Nevelyn Tin’vori

26 NEVELYN TIN’VORI

As the days passed, Nevelyn felt as if she were watching the second act of an elaborate play. Almost certainly a tragedy. The Makers—easily visible because of their bright red ribbons—arrived at the same time every day to deliver food to the masses. A seemingly endless supply of noodles and beans and dried fruit. No one ever questioned where it came from, or why anyone would give away so many precious resources at a time like this. Nevelyn watched with a mounting, inevitable dread. The Makers were quietly swaying the populace to their side of the table. When they had enough support, what would the next step be?

“None of it works.”

Her sister collapsed into the chair beside her. Ava had recovered in nearly every sense of the word. Her bruises had faded. Her other symptoms had vanished. Only the brain fog associated with the disease remained. Ava couldn’t even recall the basic steps of certain spells.

“You’re still recovering,” Nevelyn repeated. “It will return when you’re fully healthy.”

Ava refused to take any comfort from that. The fact that the three of them hadn’t gotten sick was starting to really grate on her sister’s nerves. She felt targeted by fate. As if the illness was some terrible, personal affront—instead of something that had just devastated the entire city.

Their discussions of magic led to another discovery. Josey was completely untrained. It was clear he hadn’t grown up as they had. Magic had been an endless resource on the Tin’Vori estate. Their father’s magical allotment had been substantial. Practice in the neighborhood archive room? As routine to them as brushing their teeth before bed. Josey only needed one hand to count the number of spells he’d learned so far.

Only four in total.

He knew a basic light cantrip that he used to read at night. He also had a rather clever spell that muted the sound of his footsteps. Nevelyn had found that choice rather suspicious. The final two spells were opposites: one for heating and one for cooling. A sensible choice for a boy who’d grown up needing to ward off the peaks and valleys of Kathor’s shifting seasons. When Ava pointed out how poor his education had been, Josey had burst into tears. It had taken nearly an hour to extract him from the closet he’d decided to hide in. Surprisingly, it was Dahvid who’d managed to coax him out. Her brother, it seemed, had a small admirer in the house.

“How’s Josey?” Nevelyn asked.

“He’s fine,” Ava said. “Dahvid is running him through the basics.”

“Spellwork?”

“Combat. What does Dahvid know about spellwork?”

“Lovely.”

She couldn’t find a good reason to complain about the decision, though. After all that they’d witnessed from this very window, would it really hurt for the boy to learn how to defend himself? She was about to suggest they search the library for proper textbooks on magic when she spied movement in the streets below. A group of people hustled past. Then another group. And another.

All of them moving with haste. Before long, there was a literal crowd streaming past the front door of the Tin’Vori estate. Nevelyn went to stand by the window. It wasn’t flight. She traced a path back to where they’d come from and saw no signs of danger. No fire or threat. The passing faces appeared eager. As if they were all heading somewhere they wanted to go.

“I’m going,” Ava announced.

Her sister was thundering down the steps before Nevelyn could even turn.

“Ava! Wait a minute!”

Even after suffering through a plague, her baby sister still moved twice as fast as her. Nevelyn muttered a curse. She reached the top of the steps at the same time that Ava reached the landing below. Their commotion drew Dahvid and Josey like moths to flame. Ava started unbolting the extra locks as their entire group converged in the front hallway.

“What’s going on?” Dahvid asked. “Is someone here?”

“I want to see,” Josey piped in.

Ava ignored them all. She was working through the series of locks like a woman possessed.

“Ava. Hold on. Let’s at least discuss this.”

Her sister spun around. “Screw that. Whenever we discuss anything these days, it’s just you deciding what the rest of us should do. Look, you were right. Hoarding food was smart. Barricading in here was the right move. Credit where credit is due. But if you think I’m going to spend the rest of my life trapped in this house, you’re wrong. We need to know what’s happening.”

“I want to come!” Josey added.

All three Tin’Vori siblings shot him looks that would have made their mother proud. He withered immediately, chin dipping to his chest. The boy was smart enough not to ask again.

“I’m our best scout,” Ava said, unbolting the final lock. “I’ll follow the crowd, gather information, and return. We need to take the city’s pulse. You know we do, Nev.”

Dahvid stepped forward. “I’ll go with you then. For protection.”

“Not a chance,” Nevelyn replied. “You know you’re far too visible. We’re not going to risk exposing you to a crowd. Ava is right.” Her sister looked satisfied to have someone agree with her for once, until Nevelyn added the last part. “I’ll go with you. If things get dangerous, I’m the only one who can hide us.”

Her siblings knew enough about Nevelyn’s gift to understand what she meant. How many times had she slipped around guards when they were children, without being noticed? She wasn’t certain her magic could properly shield Ava, but she knew it was better than nothing.

“Fine,” Ava said. “Can you at least try to keep up for once?”

Dahvid snorted. That earned him a kick from Nevelyn. He hissed when her foot connected with his shin. “Gods! Come on! She’s the one who said it, not me!”

That had Ava grinning wildly. It was like they were children all over again. Nevelyn quietly adjusted her shawl. “Let’s go.”

Debate settled, the door to the outside world was opened. For the first time in weeks, Nevelyn stepped across the threshold. Her chest felt tight. She realized she wasn’t breathing. Her first instinct was to not take in whatever had grown in the air these past few weeks.

People were still passing their door. Nearly all of them in small packs. Nevelyn and Ava fell in behind a larger group and did their best to not draw attention. The crowd’s chosen path wound through the Wedding District. It was clear that other streets were serving as tributaries too. The road grew more and more packed until a proper crowd manifested before them. Ava glided like a shadow through the gathered ranks and Nevelyn was forced to follow with far less grace, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she went. The entire time she kept one hand on the dangling charm of her necklace. The shadowed side was facing out. By the time they reached the front rows, her breathing was labored. She tried to settle down while also taking in the sprawling scene.

The mass had gathered in a thick half-moon around the gates of Blythe House.

Named for the original matriarch of the Winters family, it remained the primary residence of the current heir. Nevelyn couldn’t remember who that was off the top of her head, but she’d visited the house once when she was younger. Some kind of formal dance. The gates fronting the property were hammered into the shape of the family’s house emblem: the knowing eye. It was always rendered in silver instead of gold. A nod to the idea that the Winterses cared more for knowledge than wealth. Judging from the size of the mansion on their estate, that appeared to be more of a clever idea than an actual practice. The massive eye on the gate stared unflinchingly at the waiting crowd.

Nevelyn saw dozens of house guards on the other side of the iron-wrought fence. All standing in formation and properly armored. A man with dark, sweeping hair stood at the back of the group. Even at this distance, Nevelyn could see his eyes were a piercing blue. His gaze swept over the group outside the gates with clear disdain.

“Marc Winters,” Ava whispered. “The current heir. His younger brother is the one who died a few years ago. Clyde. He didn’t survive that journey through the woods with our old friend.”

Their old friend being Ren Monroe. The girl seemed tangled up with every house in the city at this point. She’d certainly weaved quite a web. Nevelyn couldn’t help wondering where the little spider was now. Likely barricaded on one of the Broods’ estates. Safe and sound.

Nevelyn’s attention was drawn to a second group.

A tight circle of people who were all wearing the now-familiar red scarves. Before the crowd could start to grow agitated, one of their number separated from the others. A hush fell instantly over those assembled. He was bald with light brown skin. Unremarkable in appearance, but his voice boomed out for all to hear. Deep and resonant.

“Friends! Thank you for gathering! We are here because the noble houses have abandoned us. When the markets ran out of food, did they share their bounty? When you and your families needed protection in Kathor’s streets, did their guards keep the peace?”

He did not need to answer the questions he asked. The crowd murmured the answers for him until they were all stirring and buzzing with discontent.

“We are the Makers,” the man said. “Many of you have seen us in the market squares these past few days. We have broken bread with you. Shared our food. Tell me, why have the great houses not done the same?”

He glanced back through the iron gates. Every eye followed his gaze. Nevelyn saw now that House Winters had made a terrible error by trotting their heir out here. Marc Winters provided the Makers a rather appealing target. The cold stare. The pristine cloak draped over his shoulders. All their hatred could be aimed at him.

“In times of peace, you’ll see their emblems everywhere . The great hawk of House Shiverian. The knowing eye of House Winters. The hammers of House Proctor. The shield of House Brood. The reaping sickle of House Graylantian. Go buy any good at the market, and they’ll be there to collect the tax. Cross the canals and their vassals are there, demanding coins for each passage. They have collected our money all these years with the promise that when the time comes—when that peace fades—they’ll be the first ones to shield us from danger.”

More rumbling from the crowd. It was like watching someone set fire to a field just to see which way the wind would spread the burn. Nevelyn pressed closer to Ava.

“A shield,” the speaker repeated in disbelief. “Our hospitals are overrun. Our streets are not safe. Our markets have run dry. But where are the great houses? Have they answered our cry? The promise they’ve always whispered in our ear is this: if we are strong, you are strong. Well, where are they now? When we really need them? Why do they hide behind their gates?”

His questions echoed across the clearing.

“We, the Makers, are officially petitioning the viceroy. We demand that the populace be allowed to vote on a motion of no confidence. If two thirds of Kathorians agree, we can officially remove the current governors. I’m sure it would not surprise you to know that all five positions are members of the five great houses. We can change that! If they will not help us—we must help ourselves. Under new leadership, we can start helping the people who need aid. Officials would be permitted to look through the storehouses on their estates. Any hoarded resources will be redistributed around the city. How many of you know someone who is struggling? Starving? Dying? We cannot just stand by as the great promise becomes a great lie. We must hold them accountable. You have a voice, Kathor. Will you use it? Will you join our cause?”

With the perfect amount of drama, the speaker turned.

He walked up to Blythe House’s outer gates. Once more, the Makers’ cause was helped by that stunning visual. The pristine silver gate with its priceless metalwork. The distant manse that was far larger than any one family could ever need. All the guards with their hands set delicately on the grips of sheathed swords. And framing it all: Marc Winters, who looked as if he’d never suffered a single bad day in his life. The speaker called out as if he were calling to a god.

“House Winters! Will you help us? Will you be the first house to open your gates? We, the Makers, offer to serve on your behalf. We can organize the crowd. Only families who have nothing will enter your gates. What do you say? Will you keep your promises to the people?!”

Nevelyn saw the guards on the other side of the gate shifting uncomfortably. There was a dark silence in the air. As if history itself were holding its breath to see what might happen next. Marc Winters made no reply. Instead, he raised his chin. Ever so slightly. It was one of the most pompous moments Nevelyn had ever witnessed. And then he began the long march up the hillside. Hundreds of people watched as the fool turned his back on them, and it felt as if all the houses were turning their back on them in that moment.

His retreat took a painfully long time. The hill was steep. The steps fronting Blythe House were many. By the time he reached the front door, the crowd was ready to burn down the city. People were edging forward all around them. She and Ava had been forced a few steps closer to those looming gates. It wasn’t a true rush. Not yet. Just the first flexing of a muscle before the actual lunge. When the speaker finally turned back to the crowd, he held up a hand for silence.

“We could break this gate,” he said, his voice soft but carrying. “We could sweep forward and take everything that belongs to them. Trust me, I know we are strong enough to do that. But we don’t need to resort to violence. Not when we can still use our voice. Go home!” he commanded them. “Tell your friends and your neighbors and your loved ones. Tell them what you witnessed here today. The great houses had their chance to help—and they chose not to. Vote against them when the time comes. Use your voice. We can choose each other. We are the true Kathor.”

On cue, the Makers at the front of the crowd began distributing two items. There were crates of food, but another group came forward with stacks of the bright red scarves. She watched people reach out and clutch greedily for the small pieces of fabric. Eager to join the cause. Eager to stand with their fellow Kathorians. The food was only claimed by the truly desperate. Somehow the Makers had swung them from violence to charity in less than five seconds.

Before the people passing out scarves reached where they stood, the sisters silently agreed to start the journey home. Nevelyn couldn’t help noticing how perfectly the Makers had played their part. Instead of inciting a riot, they’d come away looking reasonable, measured, benevolent. Nevelyn knew better. They were the ones who’d started this plague. She wanted to scream that truth to the crowd. Shake them out of their trances and explain that neither side was worthy of their loyalty.

Protect yourselves, she wanted to say. Protect the people you love most.

That was what she planned to do.