Free Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel by Samantha Shannon

you have any questions?” His unpitying eyes searched every inch of my face.
    “Where do I sleep?”
    “I will have a room prepared for you. For now you will sleep here.” He indicated the daybed. “Anything else?”
    “No.”
    “I will be away tomorrow. You may acquaint yourself with the city in my absence. You will be back by dawn every day. You will return to this room at once if you hear the siren. If you steal or touch or otherwise meddle with anything, I will know.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The sir just slipped out.
    “Take this.” He held out a capsule. “Take a second tomorrow night, along with the others.”
    I didn’t take it. Arcturus poured a glass of water from a decanter, not looking at me. He handed me the glass and the capsule. I wet my lips.
    “What if I don’t take it?”
    There was a long silence.
    “It was an order,” he said. “Not a request.”
    My heart palpitated. I rolled it between my fingers. It was olive in color, tinged with gray. I swallowed it. It tasted bitter.
    He took the glass.
    “One more thing.” Arcturus grasped the back of my head in his free hand, turning it to face him. A cold tremor rolled down my spine. “You will address me only by my ceremonial title: Warden. Is that understood?”
    “Yes.”
    I forced myself to say it. He looked right into my eyes, burning his message into my skull, before he loosened his hand. “We will begin your training upon my return.” He made for the door. “Sleep well.”
    I couldn’t help it. I laughed a low, bitter laugh.
    He half-turned his head. I watched his eyes empty. Without another word, he left. The key turned in the lock.

5
    The Indifferent
    A red sun glinted through the window. The light roused me from a deep sleep. There was a bad taste in my mouth. For a moment I thought I was back in my bedroom in I-5, away from Jax, away from work.
    Then I remembered. Bone Seasons. Rephaim. A gunshot and a body.
    I was definitely not in I-5.
    The cushions lay on the floor, cast off in the night. I sat up to assess my surroundings, rubbing my stiff neck. The small of my back ached, and my head pounded. One of my “hangovers,’’ as Nick called them. Arcturus—Warden—was nowhere to be seen.
    The gramophone was still sorrowing away. I recognized Saint-Saënss’s “Danse Macabre” immediately, and with alarm: Jax listened to it when he was particularly cantankerous, usually over a glass of vintage wine. It had always given me the creeps. I switched it off, pushed the drapes from the window, and looked down at the east-facing courtyard. There was a Rephaite guard positioned by a pair of giant oak doors.
    A fresh uniform had been laid out on the bed. I found a note on the pillow, written in a bold black cursive.
     
    Wait for the bell.
     
    I thought back to the oration. Nobody had mentioned a bell. I scrunched the note into my hand and tossed it into the hearth, where other scraps were waiting to be burned.
    I spent a few minutes scouring the room, checking every corner. There were no bars on these windows, but they couldn’t be opened. The walls hid no secret seams or sliding panels. There were two more doors, one of which was hidden behind thick red drapes—and locked. The other led to a large bathroom. Finding no light switch, I took one of the oil lamps inside. The bath was the same black marble as the library floor, surrounded by diaphanous curtains. A gilded mirror took up most of one wall. I approached this first, curious to see if the mutilation of my life showed on my face.
    It didn’t. Save for the cut lip, I looked just the same as I had before they caught me. I sat in the darkness, thinking.
    The Rephaim had struck their deal in 1859, exactly two centuries ago. That was Lord Palmerston’s time in office, if I remembered my classes correctly. It was long before the end of the monarchy in 1901, when a new Republic of England took power and declared war on unnaturalness. The republic had taken the country through nearly