A construction worker stopped her at the gate to what had once been the statue garden. “Private construction zone, ma’am. The owner is not present, so no visitors—”
“Zera!”
She saw Guine, closer to fully clothed than she’d ever seen him, scramble over the tools and stacks of wood, skirt a pile of stone, and jog toward her. She felt a flood of relief. “Guine, you’re alive!”
“You’realive! We didn’t know!” He wrapped his arms around her hard, and she laughed at how enthusiastic his squeeze was. It was lovely to know he cared too.
“Yet you proceeded with reconstruction anyway.”
“What can I say? I’m an optimist.” He grabbed her hand. “Come! I’ll show you everything we’re doing. You’re going tolove it. I told them to double the size of your office. You’re going to need it.”
She let him pull her through the construction zone that was her house. He pointed out all the improvements he’d ordered: ordinary columns to support the foyer (so no helpful friends would be tempted to make her ceiling collapse again), extra bedrooms instead of the extraneous music and sitting rooms (for her friends who wanted to visit), and her new office. It wasn’t complete yet—the workers were framing out a large window with a view of the valley and mountains. “It’s all fantastic, Guine,” she told him. “You’ve done an amazing job.”
He preened. “I hoped... Iknewyou’d come back to us. The city needs you.”
She squeezed his hand. “I... Thank you.” She hesitated before asking the question she’d been dreading. “The others... Who is... Who didn’t...”
He knew what she was asking. Soberly, he listed off those who had lived and those who had died. Many had lost family members. She realized as he went through the list that she only recognized about half the names.They worked for me, they lived with me, and I didn’t know them... I have to do better.
She made a mental note to send them funds to help pay for whatever expenses they had. At least those who’d worked for her and befriended her shouldn’t have to worry about where to live and how to eat while they pieced their lives back together. She’d visit them eventually, she promised herself, and make it clear they always would have a place with her, if they wanted it. This time, she promised herself she’d learn their names. Friends deserved that much. And more. “The hospitals will need more money,” she said. “We’ll send it to them, yes?”
“I’ve already set up my office,” Guine said. “I’ll run throughyour finances with you, after . . . When you passed through the gates, you used your name? People know you’re here?”
“Yes, shouldn’t I have?” Zera immediately thought of Kreya and the lines she’d crossed.No, the lineswecrossed together.What did people know about what they’d done? And what would they be most unhappy about?
“The bone worker guild has been asking for you daily,” Guine said. “Very insistent. If they know you’re here, they’ll be sending someone for you soon.” He wrinkled his nose at her coat. “We have to get you into something more appropriate to wear.”
She laughed to hide her concern and let him choose more elegant clothes for her. He frowned when she donned her once-exquisite bone worker’s coat, however. Much of it was stained with blood, soot, and dirt. But he said nothing.
“Did they give any indication as to why they’re so anxious to speak with me?” she asked.
He hesitated. “I... have my suspicions. But I think it’s best if they tell you themselves.”
Zera raised her eyebrows at him. He’d changed, perhaps because of the battle, perhaps because she’d left him to handle the aftermath. Before this, he never would have pushed back on any question or request. She liked this change in him. “You’re in need of a promotion. How do you like the title ‘manager’? Or perhaps ‘director’?”
He grinned. “Ooh, director of bones? Senior manager of skeletons?”
“Your choice. But I want it official. You are my right-hand man.”
That affected him. For an instant, she saw through all the artifice—he cared that she valued him. It made her all the morecertain she was doing the right thing by promoting him. She should have recognized his worth long ago. Perhaps in a few years, she’d make him her business partner. “I won’t let you down,” he promised.
“You never do.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now I’d better go see what Lorn and the council want.” She could avoid them, stay and rebuild, until they forced the issue. Or she could return to the farmhouse, avoid them altogether, and leave the business exclusively to Guine.Except that feels more like running,Zera thought. And she had no reason to think the guild wanted to blame her for any of this.
They wouldn’t care about the things she did bear the blame for: For not being certain Eklor was gone. For not staying closer to Kreya and Marso and Stran. For wasting those twenty-five years, harboring old pain. Squaring her shoulders, Zera left her palace and returned to the third tier.
This time, in her bone worker’s coat, with her hood back, she was recognized. Men, women, and children drew closer to her. A few thanked her. A few merely touched the edge of her coat as if they were touching a relic. Most stared with expressions that were a mix of so many emotions that she couldn’t read them: exhaustion, pain, hope. Even some anger. She understood it all.
She reached the Bone Workers Guild headquarters and climbed the familiar steps. The massive doors stood open—mostly because they’d been smashed down and still hadn’t been fixed—and the guards greeted her with: “Oh thank the bones, you’ve returned! They’ve been waiting for you.”
Zera wasn’t certain that was a good sign.
Walking with purpose, she swept through the main hall to the guild masters’ offices in the back. She wasn’t stopped, thoughmany called out a greeting. Later, she told herself, she’d ask for a list of who had survived. For now, though, she needed to know what the guild wanted of her. And whether she was able—and willing—to give it.
She pushed through the door to find three masters she knew moderately well clustered around the grand master’s desk. It was overflowing with papers, as if it had erupted. All three of them jumped away from the desk as she approached.
“Masters Sirelle, Pudone, and Lamar.” She inclined her head. All three were well-respected bone workers, each of them advanced in years. She noted that Master Sirelle had wrinkles that folded onto other wrinkles, and Master Pudone held a black cane with a white-as-bone head.
Politely, they bowed their heads at her. “Master Zera,” Master Sirelle said. “We are so pleased you have returned. Reports were... unclear as to your whereabouts.”
