Chapters (38)
- The Bone Thief
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
- Copyright
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Bram whips toward me. “You were lying, right? About having a vision of yourself dying?”
His concerned expression makes me hesitate. I want to say something reassuring, protect him from the truth, but the words stick in my throat. “No. I wasn’t.”
“Saskia!” My name explodes from his mouth in an urgent hiss. I feel it rush across my cheek like an angry gust of wind. “How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me everything?” His gaze falls to the love tattoo around my wrist. “You never told me that Declan betrayed you.”
I bite my lip. Say nothing.
“Did you fall in love with him?” The question makes me want to retreat. To curl up inside myself and avoid what’s coming.
I shake my head. “No.”
In the kitchen, the tea kettle whistles.
Bram narrows his eyes. “Then who?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” I say, watching Avalina arrange the kettle and a selection of teacups on a tray.
“If you weren’t in love with Declan, then how did you get that tattoo?”
Avalina picks up the tray and starts to turn.
“Bram,” I say sharply. “Later.”
Avalina comes back into the room and slides the tray onto a low table. She pours a cup and offers it to me. Fragrant steam curls around my face as I take a sip.
Both Bram and I watch Avalina expectantly. Finally she sits in the chair closest to the hearth. She curls her feet beneath her and takes a deep breath.
“My parents had an unhappy pairing.” Her index finger traces the rim of her teacup. “They fought constantly. My gramps once said that he’d never seen two people more suited to make each other miserable than my mother and father. They seemed to know exactly how to bring out the worst in each other. They rarely agreed on anything, but the one exception was their hopes for my future. They both desperately wanted me to be bone-matched. It was more important to them than anything, even than saving for my kenning. I think they wanted to spare me the misery of a pairing like theirs.”
I lean forward in my chair, fascinated. My own parents had an unusually happy relationship, even for a bone-matched pairing. It’s hard to imagine growing up any other way.