I kept blinking until the fixtures around me became clear. Embers smoldered in a fireplace flanked by towering bookcases. Further down the wall, curtains were drawn tight over a large window with an armchair facing it. And in front of me, a cluttered coffee table offered a mug of water I presumed to be mine.
Reaching for the drink rolled me off the couch where I knocked over the bucket and barely avoided landing in my own vomit. I stayed on all fours, and my head swam as I raised it slowly. Half a dozen books filled the coffee table, all in various states of decay. Some were open, one on topof the other, and others were dotted with bookmarks and dog-eared pages.
I worked my way to sitting with my back against the sofa and grabbed the mug. Despite my desperate thirst, I nursed it, fearing my stomach might rebel and begin another unstoppable purge.
Memories from the previous night slowly filtered in. Kit agreed to help. Either out of pity or an attempt to pacify me, I accepted it either way. Whether he offered the map I had requested or a guided tour into the depths of the abyss itself, I would thank him for it. Returning home with my father’s body and laying him to rest would make any effort worthwhile.
Only after I’d emptied the mug and set it aside did I reach for the nearest book. We had a modest library at home, and I’d always enjoyed reading. I wondered what sorts of subjects interested the reclusive Kit Mosel as I slid the tome off the table and into my lap. Despite the headache pounding, I squinted at the scrawled text. Handwritten words with dates over a decade past topped each page. It was a journal. One of Kit’s, maybe?
I glanced at the leather-bound books strewn across the table. As a writer, he was quite prolific. My eyes remained bleary from the previous night’s drink, so I had to strain to discern one word from the next. When I finally began reading, I did so slowly.
It is such a small thing,the entry began,to wear the mark of Eeus…
Before I could get further, the tome was snatched from my grasp and held aloft. My eyes went wide as they traveled up feet, legs, and chest to the face of my host, finding it as full of irritation as ever.
“You’re nothing if not predictable.” Kit looked me over before his gaze landed on the regurgitated ale soaking intothe tapestry rug. He sighed. “And skilled, I must say, at doing everything wrong.”
I’d told him already he reminded me of my brother, and it was Merrick’s voice I heard now.
“Did you write these?” I gestured to the books littering the tabletop.
Kit’s stubbled cheeks washed pale. He swayed back, holding the journal he’d plucked from my grasp. “Why would you think…?” He looked down at it, then shook his head. “How much did you see?”
“Only the first line.”
Flipping open the cracked leather cover, Kit peered inside and skimmed the words. His lip curled. “I suppose I already said I’d tell you. Let you prepare yourself.” He dropped the book unceremoniously into my lap.
Dodging the puddle of puke, Kit sat on the sofa beside me. He reached over and opened the journal with a flick of one finger. “Go ahead, if it interests you.”
I squinted at the weathered parchment while rubbing my throbbing temple. “What is it?”
“A journal written by a member of the Bone Men. It details the first of the Oaths of initiation.” He tapped the page.
The words were written in a narrow, flowing script, annotated with sketches and symbols. The right-hand page was taken up entirely by a well-rendered drawing of a human spine curved like a serpent with the tailbone as its head and rib bones for wings.
“Oaths of initiation?” I echoed. “How many are there?”
“Seven.” Kit indicated the serpent made of bone. “This is the first.” He sat back, and I tracked his hand as it moved to undo the first few buttons of his shirt.
My breath caught as he tugged the left side of it open.The exposed expanse of his chest made for a pleasant view, and I didn’t mind the tattoo, either. A sprawling design in multicolor, it was a fiery bird with massive wings and a feathered tail, staining his skin from his shoulder to halfway down his ribs.
But the ink had texture. More than the curves and dips of Kit’s torso, it looked almost bumpy. It took longer than it should have for me to connect the skeletal drawing in the book to the mark branded onto Kit’s skin.
I hissed a breath and curled my hands, stretching the scarred flesh.
I glanced at the drawing of the bone serpent, then at Kit’s marred chest. Suddenly, it made sense why he didn’t remove his shirt when working in the forge. No doubt he would rather endure the heat than risk arrest or the judgment of any passerby who recognized Eeus’s mark.
My horror must have been plain on my face because Kit continued in a level tone. “The Oaths needn’t concern you. They’re reserved for the most zealous members, those interested in pursuing positions of leadership.”
“So, you were a leader there?” I asked, trying to reset my expression to neutral.
He shook his head, pulling his shirt closed and refastening the buttons. “This is the only Oath I completed. I never intended to complete the rest, but it seems my plans have changed.”
“Why?” I asked.
Kit shot me a sideways glance. “Hmm?”
“Why change your plans? This is my burden,” I explained. “You needn’t have a part in it.”
