A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 29 Mercy Whitaker

29 MERCY WHITAKER

Mercy was one of the first to answer the viceroy’s summons.

Even in her current state of depression, she could not resist the idea of gathering more data. She wanted to know who’d survived the plague with their magic intact—and she wanted to know why. Would immunity be random? Linked to a specific genetic trait or ancestry? Any answers would be helpful in continuing to form the wider perspective on the disease and its impact on the city.

Besides, what else was there to do?

Williams had woken up that morning covered in bruises. She felt so guilty. He’d avoided the plague for so long. Sipping on his boiled teas. Narrowly escaping one of the most widespread contagions in history. Until she’d been foolish enough to bring live doses to his morgue. Mercy had never been the sort of person who beat themselves up over innocent mistakes. Logic told her she couldn’t have known she was putting him in danger. But she still mourned the loss of yet another partner on this treacherous journey. Devlin was dead. So was Dr. Horn.

I won’t let you die, Williams. If it comes to that, I won’t let you die.

Her fingers itched every time she thought about it. She had left him nestled in a bed at Safe Harbor. Three pitchers of water on his bedside table. A tray of rations and nuts there as well. After making sure he lacked for nothing, she’d visited Horn’s office one more time.

The three glowing embers had finally paused in their movement. It felt obvious that they’d reached their destinations. Two were in Running Hills. A note from the houndmaster explained that he would rendezvous with those dogs first, then head to the second location. That one was still a question mark. Due west of the city. Right where the foothills began to transform into proper mountains. She had cross-checked the location with every map she could find in the hospital library—but there was nothing marked out there. No towns or outposts or natural landmarks. Instinct told her there were answers there. She just needed to figure out how to safely get there.

For now, she quietly sipped a glass of wine and watched the city’s other wizards arrive at Beacon House. A dozen other “immune” people were in the room. Every few minutes, there was another arrival answering the viceroy’s summons. All of them were offered food and drinks. The “servers” were Brightsword paladins. Seeing their gold-threaded emblems was enough to turn her stomach. She could not help thinking of Devlin. A dead weight that sat in her gut. Conversations swirled around the room. People spoke as if they were distinguished guests, rather than the survivors of some terrible tragedy. As Mercy eavesdropped, she felt a mounting distaste for the entire group.

“… could be seen as an opportunity. I mean, we’re the only ones with magic. We could draw up contracts for specific services? The key will be to avoid undercutting….”

“You can hardly call what I do magic. I just enhance other people’s magic. It’s boring. Pays well, but it’s so boring.”

“My favorite spells are all purple .”

The last quote, at least, made her smile. It came from a little girl, no older than seven, who had bright curly hair and a wide smile. She was speaking with a boy who appeared slightly older than her. The boy leaned close and whispered that he liked any spells that used fire . Her eyes went wide and the two of them appeared to become instant friends. Everyone else in the room felt slightly less redeemable. Mercy sipped and listened until she simply could not bear it any more. The casual conversations. The angles they were taking in discussing how to capitalize on their situation. She realized she did not want to be here any longer than was strictly necessary.

Time to begin gathering information.

She set down her wine and aimed for the nearest conversation. The two wizards were discussing passive magic systems—something about the number of spells that required daily refreshing around the city. Mercy ignored that topic and leapt right in.

“Hello. Do you both still have your magic?”

They looked at her as if she were an idiot.

“Of course. Why else would we be here?”

“Great. Any specialties? What’s your focus?…”

The two of them were initially taken aback by the way she’d knifed into their conversation, but Mercy quickly discovered just how much they loved talking about themselves. She learned their occupations: a manipulator and an enhancer. Once she had that information, she moved on. One of them was midsentence. Discussing his connection with one of the great houses. She cared so very little about that. Instead, she abandoned them and went to the next group.

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering…”