The Gate of Bones by Emily Drake Page A

him. FireAnn removed the towel as she turned about, and both women stared at him with venomous hatred.
    Jonnard returned their stares. “Don’t blame me,” he stated, “if your training has been erroneous these many years and now you suffer the consequences.”
    â€œConsequences?” Eleanora’s mouth twisted as if she fought not to hiss the word at him. “Your mother is a parasite and those Leucators . . . those parasitic constructs . . . are what takes the life from me breath by breath and gives it to her.”
    He straightened, with a yawn. “Fun time is over. You would do well to remember you are here by Isabella’s sufferance, and should be accordingly grateful.”
    â€œGrateful?” FireAnn spat on the wooden floor. “You sided with a viper, lad. Take care it doesn’t bite you in the ass as well!”
    Eleanora reached out a slender hand, trying to keep it from trembling, as she laid it on the other’s arm. “FireAnn,” she cautioned.
    â€œYes, FireAnn, you should listen.” He started to turn away, but bitter words brought him abruptly about face again as FireAnn cried out, “Oh, yes, fine advice from the son who murdered his father for his mother’s sake.”
    â€œYou know little of us, I see, for all the time you’ve spent here.” Jon drew his chin up. “My father was burned out, done, and he would rather have died than have lived a day without Magick coursing in his veins. I did him a kindness, like putting an old, crippled dog to sleep. He knew that, and she and I know that.”
    â€œI’m certain you tell yourself that on nights when you cannot sleep.” Eleanora looked into his face, and held her gaze firm.
    He smiled again, coldly. “I sleep quite well, thank you. Let us pray you do.”
    He slammed the huge door into place at his exit, using strength from outside his own body to do it, feeling the very timber shake at his touch as he dropped and then locked the bar down.
    Fool! He’d let them get to him, after all.
    Who would have guessed that there were days when he missed his father Brennard keenly? Who would have guessed?
    Jon tossed the key in his pouch and tied it away again, and left the prison wing.

    Gavan frowned at Bailey. “At this point, I doubt I need to say how dangerous that was.”
    â€œI was trying to keep up.” Bailey shifted her weight from one foot to the other, patted her pony’s neck, and tried to look contrite but didn’t quite succeed. “It’s not my fault you guys went off and left me.”
    His rainwater eyes darkened to a stormy blue, and his mouth opened to drop a scathing reply when Trent called out, “She’s right—it wasn’t her fault. Look here,” and he traced a line along the hillside only he seemed to see. “This was laid here, and it’s only Bailey’s luck she’s the one who was misled by it.”
    Gavan’s mouth snapped shut. He traded a look with Jason, who said quietly, “What is it you see, Trent? We can’t see it.”
    â€œAh. Well,” and he snapped his fingers. “It’s like a fence, a low one. Probably the horse sensed it and just started trotting alongside it, not willing to cross it. It’s not a real barrier, more like a . . .” He frowned and drummed his hand on his thigh. “More like a nudge. It’s fading now, even as we speak.”
    â€œSo, someone would have been singled out, regardless, if they ran into it.”
    Renart shuddered. His hands went white-knuckled on his reins. Gavan thumped his shoulder. “Not meant for you, my friend. One of us.”
    â€œI’ve seen the wolfjackals,” the young trader said tightly. “I didn’t like it.”
    And he must not have, to be so blunt, Jason thought. He nodded. “It isn’t a deadly trap, or it would have been.”
    Bailey tilted her head at him, and made a