The bone dust burns cold against my palm as I measure it into the scrying bowl, each grain carrying the weight of memory and the promise of truth. Dawn light filters through the orchard beyond my window, painting the standing dead in shades of gold and shadow.
It should be a peaceful morning. It isn’t.
“He broke his oath,” Talya Thorne declares, her voice sharp enough to cut bone. “I demand enforcement.”
I don’t look up from my preparations. Twenty-three years old, two years as Settlement Bonekeeper, and I’ve learned that disputed oaths require careful handling. Especially when they involve former lovers and the kind of anger that makes the standing dead lean forward in their graves.
“The oath in question?” I ask, though I already know. Half the settlement has been whispering about Talya and Jorik’s failed betrothal for weeks.
“A binding promise to wed at summer’s end. Sworn before witnesses, sealed with blood and bone.” Her fingers twist the mourning ribbon at her throat. “He swore it, Kira. Now he’s chosen another.”
Jorik Aldren shifts in his chair, and my pulse does something inconvenient. He’s been watching me work with an intensity that makes my hands unsteady, storm-gray eyes following every movement as I arrange the ritual components.
“I never swore to wed at summer’s end,” he says quietly. “I swore to wed when love was true on both sides.”
“The same thing!”
“Is it?” I finally meet his gaze, and the question hangs between us like a blade. “Jorik, what exactly were the words spoken?”
“I swear by bone and blood to take Talya Thorne as wife when love flows true between us, witnessed by the standing dead and sealed by this token.” He produces a carved bone ring, its surface inscribed with runes I recognize. “I gave this freely. I spoke the words freely.”
“And I accepted them freely,” Talya snaps. “Love was true then.”
“Was it?” Jorik’s voice is soft, but the bone dust in my bowl responds to the emotion beneath it, swirling without any wind to move it. “Or was it expected? Convenient? Our families wished it, the settlement needed the alliance—”
“Don’t you dare.” Talya’s eyes flash. “Don’t rewrite history because you’ve found someone prettier.”
My cheeks burn, but I keep my voice steady. “The bone will reveal the truth of what was sworn and what was meant. That’s what we’re here for.”
Except I’m not supposed to be here for anything but professional duty. I’m not supposed to care that Jorik’s been visiting my workshop three times a week for the past month, bringing flowers from the meadow and staying to discuss bone lore until the sun sets. I’m not supposed to notice the way he looks at me like I’m something precious.
I’m definitely not supposed to want him to be telling the truth about the conditional nature of his oath.
“Very well.” I sprinkle the bone dust into water drawn from the orchard’s sacred spring. “Place your hands over the bowl, both of you. The bone remembers what was sworn, and by whom, and in what spirit.”
They comply, Talya’s hand trembling with rage, Jorik’s steady as stone. When their fingers hover over the water, the bone dust begins to move in patterns that will reveal the truth.
That’s when I see the real problem.
The bone ring he offered as token isn’t just inscribed with binding runes. Hidden beneath them, carved so fine only someone with my training would notice, are runes of compulsion.
Jorik didn’t just make a conditional oath.
He made it under magical influence.
The standing dead in the orchard turn their heads toward my window in unison, and I know they sense it too. Someone has been tampering with oath magic in my territory.
Someone who wanted this betrothal to happen regardless of Jorik’s true feelings.
I have a choice to make. Reveal the compulsion and destroy Talya’s case, possibly humiliating her in front of the settlement. Or pretend I don’t see it and let an influenced oath stand as binding.
Either way, I’m about to make an enemy.
The bone dust swirls faster, demanding an answer.
I try to find a middle path and immediately regret it.
“The bone shows… complexity in the original oath,” I say carefully, watching the compulsion runes gleam like accusations beneath the water’s surface. “I need to examine the token more closely before making a ruling.”
Talya’s eyes narrow. “What kind of complexity?”
“The sort that requires privacy to unravel.” I lift the bowl with hands that barely shake. “I’ll need to consult the settlement records, review the witness testimonies, perhaps commune with the standing dead who observed the original swearing.”
“That could take days,” Jorik says, and there’s something in his voice—relief? Fear?
“Truth takes time,” I reply, though the lie tastes like ash. I can read the compulsion clear as daylight, but revealing it will raise questions I’m not prepared to answer. Who placed it? Why? How long has someone been manipulating oath magic in my settlement?
“Fine.” Talya stands abruptly. “But I’m not leaving this unresolved. My reputation, my family’s honor—”
“Will be protected by truth,” I finish. “Whatever that truth may be.”
After they leave, I stare at the bone ring until my eyes water. The compulsion runes are masterwork, woven into the binding so subtly that most Bonekeepers would miss them entirely. This isn’t amateur meddling. This is someone with serious training in bone magic.
Someone like another Bonekeeper.
I spend the morning researching, pulling settlement records and examining previous oath disputes. What I find makes my blood run cold. Three other betrothals in the past year, all involving reluctant grooms, all sealed with tokens bearing similar hidden compulsions.
All approved by my predecessor before her sudden death.
The pattern is unmistakable. Someone has been forcing marriages in this settlement for at least a year, and my predecessor either participated willingly or was eliminated for refusing to cooperate.
When Jorik returns at sunset, I’m ready for him. Almost.
“You found something,” he says, reading my expression easily.
“Someone placed compulsion runes on your betrothal token.” I show him the carved bone, pointing out the hidden symbols. “Your oath wasn’t freely given. It was magically influenced.”
Relief washes over his features, followed quickly by anger. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know yet. But Jorik—” I hesitate, then forge ahead. “This means other oaths might be compromised. Other marriages forced through magical manipulation.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the meadow flowers in his hair. “What will you do?”
“What I have to. Investigate. Expose whoever is behind this. Dissolve the false oaths and face whatever consequences come.”
“Even if it destroys your position here? Even if whoever did this has more power than you?”
The question hangs between us, and I realize this is larger than one disputed betrothal. If I expose the compulsion, I’ll be declaring war on someone with the skill and resources to eliminate my predecessor.
Someone who might come for me next.
“Even then,” I say, and mean it.
Jorik’s hand covers mine on the bone ring. “Then you won’t face it alone.”
The warmth of his touch sends heat racing up my arm, and I know I’m already in too deep. Personal feelings aside, this is about justice. About protecting future generations from magical coercion.
But when Talya appears in my doorway, her face twisted with rage, I realize she’s been listening to every word.
“Liar,” she hisses. “Both of you. You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? The mysterious complications, the need for privacy—you just wanted time to fabricate evidence.”
“Talya, that’s not—”
“Don’t.” She holds up a hand, and I see something glinting between her fingers. Another bone token, this one carved with runes I don’t recognize. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing, Bonekeeper. And I know how to stop it.”
The standing dead in the orchard begin to moan, a low, warning sound that raises the hair on my arms.
Whatever runes Talya is holding, they’re powerful enough to disturb the dead.
Powerful enough to be dangerous.
“Where did you get that?” I demand, but Talya is already activating the token.
Power floods the room, not the clean, cold authority of proper bone magic, but something corrupt and hungry. The standing dead outside begin to wail, their voices carrying across the settlement like a funeral dirge.
“From the same place your predecessor got hers,” Talya says, her voice echoing with unnatural resonance. “From someone who understands that order requires control. That love is chaos unless properly directed.”
The bone ring in my hand grows hot, its compulsion runes flaring to visibility. But now I can see the full pattern, the way the hidden symbols connect to form something larger and more sinister.
“You,” I breathe. “You’ve been placing the compulsions.”
“Me?” She laughs, and the sound makes the windows rattle. “I’m just the tool. The willing servant of someone who sees the bigger picture.”
Jorik lunges forward, but the magic doesn’t allow it. It holds him back like a grave refusing a second burial.
“Talya, stop this. Whatever you think you’re doing—”
“I’m ensuring the future,” she snarls. “Ensuring that the bloodlines continue as they should. That the settlement grows strong through proper alliances, not the chaos of individual choice.”
The truth slams into place with sickening clarity. The forced betrothals weren’t random. They were part of a breeding program. Someone has been manipulating the genetic future of the settlement, forcing specific unions to produce specific magical traits.
“The children,” I whisper. “You’re trying to breed magical ability.”
“Someone has to.” The corruption in her voice deepens. “The old ways are dying. Bonekeepers grow fewer each generation. Unless we take action, unless we control the bloodlines—”
“You’ll destroy everything authentic about love and choice!” I grab for my own bone tools, but the corrupted magic interferes with my connection to the standing dead. My power feels muffled, distant.
“Authenticity is a luxury we can’t afford.” Mira advances, the token in her hand pulsing with sick light. “Your predecessor understood that, eventually. She fought at first, just like you. But when she saw the greater good—”
“You killed her.”
“I convinced her. And when she still refused to cooperate, I did what was necessary.”
The token flares brighter, and I feel something fundamental about my connection to the bone magic begin to fray. She’s not just threatening me, she’s trying to sever my abilities entirely.
Jorik lunges forward, grabbing for the token, but Talya’s enhanced strength sends him crashing into the wall. The impact drives the breath from his lungs, and I hear ribs crack.
“Don’t worry,” Talya says, advancing on me with the token raised. “I’ll make sure you understand the necessity before you die. Just like she did.”
The corrupted magic washes over me, and I feel my connection to the standing dead begin to dissolve. Without that connection, I’m just a woman with academic knowledge of bone lore. Without it, I can’t fight back.
But as the power drains away, I notice something Talya has missed.
The bone ring Jorik offered as token, the one with the compulsion runes, is beginning to crack under the pressure of the corrupted magic. And as it cracks, I can see what lies beneath.
Not just compulsion runes.
Trap runes.
The ring wasn’t designed to force a betrothal. It was designed to catch whoever tried to force it.
My predecessor wasn’t just investigating the magical coercion. She was laying a trap for whoever was behind it.
And Talya just walked right into it.
“You’re right about one thing,” I tell Talya, and my voice carries new authority as the trap runes activate. “The old ways are dying. But not because we lack control.”
The bone ring shatters completely, releasing power that’s been building for over a year. Clean, pure bone magic floods the room, washing away the corruption like sunlight burning through fog.
“Because some people,” I continue, feeling my connection to the standing dead return stronger than ever, “have forgotten that bone magic serves truth, not convenience.”
Talya stumbles backward as the trap magic takes hold, binding her in chains of light and memory. “This is impossible. The predecessor was weak—”
“She was brilliant.” I stand, drawing power from every standing grave in the orchard. They lean toward us now, offering their strength to someone who serves justice rather than manipulation. “She knew someone was corrupting oath magic, so she created a trap that would only spring when fed enough corrupted power.”
The chains of light tighten, and Talya’s stolen strength begins to drain away. “You don’t understand. Without guidance, without control, the bloodlines will weaken—”
“Without choice, there are no bloodlines worth preserving.” I approach her carefully, Jorik moving to support me despite his injured ribs. “Magic born from compulsion isn’t magic at all. It’s just another form of slavery.”
The corrupted token in her hand crumbles to dust, its power exhausted. As it falls, I see other tokens scattered around her feet, evidence of all the forced betrothals, all the manipulated oaths.
“The settlement council will want answers,” I say. “About who taught you the corruption techniques. About who ordered the bloodline manipulation.”
“I’ll never—”
“You’ll tell them everything.” I pick up a shard of the shattered bone ring, feeling the truth-compelling magic still active within it. “Because that’s what the bone demands. Truth. Always truth.”
As the trap magic completes its work, Talya collapses, the fight going out of her along with the stolen power. What’s left is just a woman who made terrible choices for reasons she thought were noble.
“Will she be punished?” Jorik asks, his arm still around my waist for support.
“By the law, yes. By the bone magic itself—” I touch the largest shard of the ring, feeling its judgment. “She’ll never be able to use corrupted magic again. The bone remembers betrayal, and it won’t forget.”
I help him to a chair, checking his ribs with gentle fingers. The touch sends warmth shooting between us, and when he covers my hand with his, I don’t pull away.
“So the betrothal?” he asks.
“Dissolved. The oath was given under compulsion, which makes it void.” I meet his eyes, seeing hope and something deeper flickering there. “You’re free to choose your own path.”
“And if I choose to stay here? To court the woman who saved my freedom?”
My heart does something complicated and wonderful. “That would depend on whether she wants to be courted.”
“Kira.” His voice is soft, uncertain. “Do you?”
I look out the window at the standing dead, now peaceful in their graves, their duty to justice fulfilled. I think about my predecessor, who died protecting the authenticity of choice and love.
I think about the future we can build now that the corruption has been exposed.
“Yes,” I say, and the word tastes like sunrise. “But I choose slowly. Carefully. With eyes open and heart protected.”
His smile could light the orchard. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
As the settlement council arrives to deal with Talya and collect evidence of the magical coercion, I feel the bone magic settle around me like a blessing. This is what it’s supposed to feel like, power serving truth, authority protecting choice.
The standing dead turn back to their eternal watch, and morning light floods the orchard with gold.
Some bonds are forced. Some are chosen.
And some, like the warmth building between Jorik and me, are discovered slowly, honestly, with trust earned one day at a time.
The bone remembers everything. Including love freely given.