All the Murmuring Bones by A.G. Slatter

Author:A.G. Slatter [Slatter, A.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

19

Another two days and I encounter no one on the road, which is partially luck and partially intent. Whenever I hear the sound of carriage wheels, of horses’ hooves, I duck off into the trees and hide. The horse, whom I’ve not named, keeps quiet too. Perhaps in hope of gaining a name through good behaviour. The last time I spoke to someone was just after leaving the gallows hut; a woman at a farmhouse gave me bread in exchange for some coin bits. I asked if she’d heard of Blackwater, but she squinted and asked if it was some new kind of plague. I’m still afraid of being noticed and remembered – would Aidan bother to hunt me this far?

The thing about avoiding other people is that you spend a lot of time with your own thoughts and mine are neither pleasant nor useful for I have no answers, merely speculations and more questions. At Hob’s Hallow, there was plenty of solitude if I wanted it, but there were also people to talk to when I sought company. I think back to all the times they annoyed me and offer a silent apology. Aoife and Óisín gone, Maura and Malachi equally lost to me – and I hope they’re safe.

I hope Aidan hasn’t sought to punish them for my escape. I hope he thinks I achieved it all on my own; it’s not too far a stretch to believe, after all. He sees me as an untamed thing requiring a firm hand so I’m sure he’s utterly certain it was my own mad scheme. What will he do? He can’t inherit Hob’s Hallow without me, at least not yet – as I recall he must wait ten years before he can have me declared dead and put in a claim on the estate. But then, so might any of the other distant relatives with a mind to do so. Let them fight over that crumbling pile, let them waste their remaining years doing so.

Perhaps he’ll bide his time then apply for the estate to be transferred to his own name, his own family... but to whom? There’re no longer any judges in Breakwater, no one to make such decisions. Perhaps the Queen of Thieves will be his judge; perhaps they’ll make some mutually beneficial new deal. Or perhaps she’ll take it away from him. Perhaps he’ll marry some prim miss from one of Breakwater’s last good families, if any of them choose to remain in a city of thieves. Perhaps a rich girl from elsewhere just to be sure there’s new blood in the mix – if he can’t have his cousin to wife, then let us thin the line once again, but strengthen the chins! Will he search for me? And if yes, for how long? Or will he not bother, reluctant to throw resources after an unwilling bride?

I’ve passed perhaps ten small towns and large, but always keeping at a safe distance; no one can talk to me nor get close enough to see my face isn’t that of a boy, no matter that I tuck my hair away.

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