Free The Bonemender's Choice by Holly Bennett

dockside farewell.
    She does look old, thought Dominic. Had a bad night, despite the brave face. Solange’s features were drawn and sallow, the age lines harsher in the morning light than was usual.
    Well, they were all of them getting older. Justine liked to tease Dominic about the grizzle at his temples and beard, but to be honest he hardly noticed the changes in her. Only when Gabrielle came to visit—Gabrielle, who looked as fresh and willowy as she had at twenty—did he really see the march of time through his family. How strange it must be for her, he thought, to watch us wither.
    Dominic gave himself a mental shake. He was a practical man, no philosopher, and he was not withered yet. It was time to set sail.
    Gabrielle was already making her good-byes with the women. Dom turned first to Tristan.
    “It’s killing me not to come with you—you know that, right?” Tristan’s hard grip on Dominic’s forearm underlined his words. “Just say the word, and I’m on board.”
    Dominic hesitated. There was nothing he would like better than to have his brother at his side. But more than defending the coast was at stake. Dominic knew that Solange was thinking about the kingship too, when she insisted Tristan remain behind. She would not talk about bad outcomes, but she would plan for them nonetheless, because she was queen. If they were killed in this attempt—and they might well be—then Verdeau would still have a worthy heir to the throne.
    Dominic shook his head. “This one’s mine, Tris. But I’ll miss you, brother.”
    Then it was Justine. After fifteen years together, few words were needed.
    “Bring them home, Dom,” she whispered as he held her close.
    “I will,” he promised. High spirits help him, he was sailing blind into an unknown land with a dancing girl as his guide, but he held his promise as an oath. He would return with his children—or not at all.
    N IGHT WAS COMING on again. Madeleine’s throat tightened into a hard knot at the thought. Evil as their days were, it was the nights that she feared. When the blackness closed down upon them, the crawling endless hours eating at their courage, the hope in her heart shredded away like mist.
    Was this their sixth night? It didn’t seem to matter anymore. They had been at sea long enough that Madeleine could find grimamusement at how horrified she had been at the rusty bucket in the corner of their cell, which served as a communal toilet. She had not thought she would ever be able to relieve herself in full view of a strange boy—not until the cramping took her and her bowels, loosened by fear and the brackish water that was their only drink, decided the matter for her. The three children had all filled the hold with the reek of their waste, sharing the shame of it as they shared the itch of bed lice and the wretched food that two days’ hunger had taught her to eat.
    By day they talked, they helped each other, they argued. Each kept up a brave front for the others. They learned to make the long hours pass with Matthieu’s riddles or Madeleine’s retelling of their favorite childhood stories—even lessons from Luc on the parts of a ship and fishing methods. They learned too, to avoid talk of home, the memories that sapped their strength and left them in helpless tears. At night, though, Madeleine was alone. They were each alone. She felt Matthieu’s back pressed against hers, and held him when he cried in the dark, but she couldn’t beat back the black shadow that enclosed him. She heard Luc sometimes too, snuffling and gasping, trying to hide his weeping.
    The ship lurched—an alarming sideways yaw that was replicated exactly by Madeleine’s stomach. Matthieu groaned, his arms pressed tight around his waist. The seas had been growing rougher all day and now, it seemed, the night would bring worse. Another high-cresting climb and lurching sideslip followed the first. They landed hard, the impact jostling the three children against each other