Bones and Ashes by Gemma Holden Page A

had seen from her window the night before. 
    “Are you hurt?” he asked.
    She didn’t answer. How long had he been standing there?
    “Do you want my jacket?” He started to shrug out of it.
    “No,” she said. She wanted him to go away. Her eyes felt swollen, her throat raw. She must look a mess. She could feel her hair brushing her neck where it had come down.  
    The door opened. Raiden was relieved to see it was Cassade. The boy hesitated. “I’ll go,” he said, backing away into the shadows. He disappeared into the darkness.
    Cassade sat down next to Raiden and put her arm around her shoulder. “I heard what happened,” Cassade said. “I think it will come out of your dress.” 
    “It’s not about the dress.”
    “I know,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
    They sat in silence. Raiden rested her head on Cassade’s shoulder.
    “It won’t be for much longer,” Cassade said, her voice sounding far away and distant. “Another year and we’ll be free of this place.”
    She didn’t argue with Cassade, or point out that once they left here they would be expected to find a husband.
    “It all won’t seem so bad tomorrow,” Cassade continued, stroking Raiden’s hair.
    “I wish…” Raiden trailed off. She didn’t know what she wished or what she wanted.
    “I know, dearest. I know.”
    They sat together in the darkness. Raiden stared out into the inky black night. There were no stars. There were never any stars in London. The air was too thick with smoke and fog.
    “We should go back inside.” Cassade got to her feet and offered Raiden her hand. “Grumble will come looking for us soon.” She pulled Raiden up. “Go and get some sleep, dearest. I’ll tell Grumble you’re not feeling well if she asks where you are.”
    Numb, she followed Cassade back inside. Cassade squeezed her hand and left her at the bottom of the stairs. Raiden could hear music and the murmur of voices coming from the hall. She walked away from the light and the warmth, up the stairs into the darkness.
    The younger girls’ floor was silent as she passed. They were all asleep. She took the tiny stone steps up to her bedroom. Marielle sat in the armchair mending one of the dresses the imp had ruined. She set her mending aside as Raiden came in.
    Raiden couldn’t speak. She simply turned her back to the ghost so she could unlace the dress. The dress fell in a sodden heap onto the floor. She unlaced her boots and allowed them to fall beside it. The lemonade had soaked through to her petticoats. Raiden stripped them off as well and then pulled on her nightdress. Marielle gathered up the layers of fabric and disappeared. She came back with a damp washcloth. Raiden had forgotten about the paint on her face. She looked in the mirror. Black paint was smeared across her cheeks where she had rubbed her eyes. She scrubbed it off and handed the cloth back to Marielle. The ghost hovered by the door. Raiden knew she wanted to comfort her, but she didn’t want to talk to her. Eventually, Marielle gathered up her boots and left.
    Raiden blew out the candle and got wearily into bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked them tightly around her. She felt fragile, as if the weight of the covers would bruise her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and pretended the weight of the covers was her mother’s arms around her, holding her tight.
     

 
     
    Chapter Eight
     
    Raiden woke to find Marielle by her bed, hovering anxiously. The ghost opened the curtains slowly as she was afraid the sudden light would hurt her. Peters appeared with a cup of tea, his forehead creased with concern.
    “I’m fine,” Raiden told them as she accepted the cup. Neither of them looked convinced.  
    She sipped the hot tea. She didn’t want to face the other girls after her humiliation last night. She wanted to stay in bed and hide until the gossip had died down and they had found someone else to talk about. But she was a Feralis; at