Page 121 of Bone Year

“And the mark on his wrist?”

“They make it themselves when they take their vows.” He pushes a stray strand of hair from his face. “A seam, because that’s what their life revolves around.”

I stand and move to sit across from him. “But what’s the point in all of it? They burn bodies and record what they see?”

“Without those records, nobody knows what’s coming until it’s already here.” He meets my eyes. “That’s the point. They’ve been recording data and finding patterns as old as time itself. The Obsidian Throne deemed them useless and stopped funding them, but I don’t think that was a smart choice. How do we change anything without knowing our history?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of bread.

We. Not they. We.

I file it away and take a bit of crusty bread. I’m still chewing on a piece when someone knocks at the door.

Three sharp raps, hard enough that the sound cuts through the nave and makes Draven’s wolf lift his head from the hearth.

Draven is at the door before I’ve even swallowed, making me think he heard them coming before the knock. Must be nice having vampire hearing.

The man on the other side is wrapped in a coat that isn’t warm enough for the weather, and he’s gripping a boy by the wrist. The boy is small and silent, and his sleeve is dark with something that isn’t melted snow.

“The seamkeeper said—” The man stops when he sees me. His eyes move from my face to the Ashwell crest on my cloak and back again. “He said you were a healer.”

I set the bread down. “I’m a student.”

“He said you were a healer.”

Draven steps aside, and they come in.

The boy is quiet the way children become when they’ve already cried themselves out. His eyes find mine and stay there, wide and glassy, and I kneel in front of him in an instant.

“What happened?” I reach for the boy’s sleeve.

“An axe,” the father says. “He was helping me split wood, and it slipped.”

“Take a seat on the bench. I need to see it.”

He guides his son onto the bench, and I push the boy’s coat sleeve back. The wound on his forearm is deep and ragged, but it’s bleeding at a pace that means I have time, which means I can do this. It’s a clean gash from an axe and not a twisted creature, so no need to cut out any corruption.

“What’s his name?” I fold up the sleeve and pin it out of the way.

“Tomas.”

“Hi, Tomas.” I meet the boy’s emerald eyes. “I’m Maelis, and I’m going to clean this up. It’s going to hurt a little, but not as much as the axe did. Okay?”

He nods without making a sound.

“Can you tell me something about yourself while I work? Tell me about that goat outside.”

“She’s mean.” His voice is hoarse.

“Yeah, I got that impression.”

I reach back for the pack without looking and find Draven already holding it out to me. I pull out the kit Professor Bale gave us and start to work.

My hands shake twice while I’m cleaning the cut. The first time is when I see how deep it goes, and the second is when I pick up the needle. Both times I stop and breathe and start again. Tomas keeps talking because I asked him to, about the goat and his sister and the dog two houses down that doesn’t like her.

“My dad is the best at splitting wood in the whole village.” He winces as I thread the needle through skin. “This wasn’t his fault.”

“I know it wasn’t.”