Free The Bone Palace by Amanda Downum Page A

wide yellow eyes, glistened onivory fangs bared in a grin. Animal teeth in a mockery of a human face. Batlike ears hung with gold and silver hoops pricked forward under cobweb hair.
    “Spider.” A whisper, but too loud in this place. She dropped her hand. The ring hung quiescent against her sternum and she held her breath against a relieved sigh.
    “Hello, little witch.” He straightened, his head nearly brushing the ceiling—a creature of sharp angles and spindle-thin limbs, attenuated to the point of grotesquerie. “I thought I heard your heartbeat.” He bowed with marionette grace. “What brings you to my doorstep?” His eyes flickered briefly over Ciaran and returned to her.
    The scars on her left shoulder tingled. Spider still carried silver burns from their first meeting as well. “I need to speak with your elders.”
    He cocked one white brow. “Really? Do you come on your own business, necromancer, or your Crown’s?”
    Her smile felt tight. “Somewhere in between. It’s important.”
    He moved between eye-blinks, between heartbeats. She never saw him stir, and then he had closed two yards to stand beside her, stooping till his face was near hers. Not yellow like an animal’s, his eyes, but brilliant and crystalline as brimstone. His nostrils flared. “Your heart is beating very fast.”
    Isyllt tilted her head and smiled, breathing in his unnerving aroma of decaying leaves and anise, old blood and older earth. “You do have that effect on me.”
    Fangs flashed with his laugh. “Would you like to see my scars?”
    “Maybe some other night. I want to see the elders before dawn.”
    Spider sighed—an affectation, since she was certain he didn’t need breath—and stepped back. “Oh, very well. Your companion—”
    “Comes with me,” Isyllt said. She was willing to risk both their lives on Ciaran’s discretion. He’d use anything as fodder for a song, but could usually be convinced to change the important bits.
    Spider nodded. “Then follow me, witch. I’ll take you down.”
    In another flickering movement he vanished down the tunnel. Ciaran’s hand closed on Isyllt’s elbow, and she wasn’t sure whom he meant to reassure.
    Spider led them deeper into the earth, through narrow twisting crawlspaces that she and Ciaran cursed and struggled their way through. The walls glistened with moisture, sparked with flecks of crystal. She was thoroughly lost before long; only the vrykoloi’s goodwill would see them safely out again. The silver knife weighed heavy on her back.
    Finally the cramped corridor opened, only to end abruptly in a black pit. Isyllt sent her witchlight dancing over the precipice, but its glow couldn’t reach the bottom.
    “Watch your step,” Spider said, laying a cold hand on her arm.
    “Do we fly down from here?”
    His eyes glittered. “Almost.”
    And before she could reply, he scooped her into his arms and leapt over the edge.
    Isyllt didn’t scream, mostly because she didn’t have enough breath. A dizzying rush of air, then the jolt of landing. Spider’s long legs absorbed most of the impact, but the force still rippled through her hard enough tocrack her teeth together. Her control slipped and the light went out.
    She couldn’t breathe. Spider’s arms, impossibly strong for their gauntness, cradled her against his chest. Her heart tripped against her ribs and her stomach thought it was still falling. Colors swam in front of her as her eyes strained against the black and the taste of blood filled her mouth; she’d bitten her lip.
    Spider’s breath wafted cold against her cheek. “I remember what you taste like.” His tongue, long and rough as a cat’s, brushed her mouth and she shuddered.
    Then he was gone. Wavering on her feet, she called the light again in time to see him scurrying up the rock, nimble as his namesake. He returned a moment later carrying Ciaran.
    “Don’t worry,” he said as he deposited the minstrel. “That’s nearly the hardest