Sofi and the Bone Song

Sofi and the Bone Song

In this gorgeous standalone fantasy with a “sweet sapphic romance” ( Booklist ), a young musician sets out to expose her rival for illegal use of magic only to discover the deception goes deeper than she could have imagined—perfect for fans of An Enchantment of Ravens ! Music runs in Sofi’s blood. Her father is a Musik, one of only five musicians in the country licensed to compose and perform original songs. In the kingdom of Aell, where winter is endless and magic is accessible to all, there are strict anti-magic laws ensuring music remains the last untouched art. Sofi has spent her entire life training to inherit her father’s title. But on the day of the auditions, she is presented with unexpected competition in the form of Lara, a girl who has never before played the lute. Yet somehow, to Sofi’s horror, Lara puts on a performance that thoroughly enchants the judges. Almost like magic. The same day Lara wins the title of Musik, Sofi’s father dies, and a grieving Sofi sets out to prove Lara is using illegal magic in her performances. But the more time she spends with Lara, the more Sofi begins to doubt everything she knows about her family, her music, and the girl she thought was her enemy. As Sofi works to reclaim her rightful place as a Musik, she is forced to face the dark secrets of her past and the magic she was trained to avoid—all while trying not to fall for the girl who stole her future. Adrienne Tooley grew up in Southern California, majored in musical theater in Pittsburgh, and now lives in Brooklyn with her wife, six guitars, and a banjo. In addition to writing novels, she is a singer/songwriter who has currently released three indie-folk EPs. She’s the author of Sweet & Bitter Magic and Sofi & the Bone Song . You can find her online at AdrienneTooley.com. Chapter One ONE THE KING came to Juuri on a third day, which meant that upon his arrival, Sofi was otherwise engaged. While her father welcomed King Jovan and his attendants in their parlor, Sofi pressed her knees against the firm floor of her closet and called out to the Muse. “Sing to me, O Muse, for without you I am lost. Pray for me, O Muse, for without you I am empty. Let your notes be played, let your song be sung. I will hear you, if only you will speak to me. Let me be worthy—” Her voice broke on the word, as it did each time she spoke the prayer. “Let me be heard.” Even though Sofi knew her father was downstairs, she could practically hear him on the other side of the door, commanding her to repeat the prayer: “Again.” She obeyed. Even when Frederik Ollenholt was elsewhere, his voice still echoed in her head, as sharp and cold as a fresh layer of snow. “Sing to me, O Muse, for without you I am lost.” Sofi’s father was not known for his kindness, but then, kindness and talent were not one and the same. What Frederik Ollenholt lacked in niceties he made up for in his command of the Muse, in the intricate, complex music that poured from his fingers to his lute. As one of the five members of the Guild of Musiks and the only lutenist licensed to cross the border of their Kingdom of Aell into the wider world, her father didn’t need to be kind. He needed talent . So if Sofi ever wanted to become her father’s Apprentice—which she desperately, gut-wrenchingly did—she needed to ensure the Muse was on her side. Sofi fumbled in the darkness for the dress nearest to her, tugging it from its hanger and pulling it tightly around her shoulders like a blanket. “Pray for me, O Muse, for without you I am empty.” For ten of the sixteen years of her life, Sofi had prayed to the Muse every third day, yet there was something about that exact moment—the scratch of wool against her cheek, the muted echo of the royal party downstairs—that made the prayer’s words ring differently in her ears. This time, her voice echoed around the closet like Sofi was at the bottom of a well, the prayer reverberating against ice and stone, hollow and sprawling. Sprawling . That was it. Sofi got to her feet so quickly she nearly smacked her head against the top of the closet. She had long grown out of the small, cramped space, but the dark helped her focus. Concentration was especially important on third days. Third days were for praying. Sunlight flooded into the small space as Sofi pushed open the closet door and spilled into her bedroom, heading directly for her desk. She rifled through the endless sheaf of papers littering its surface until she found a scrap that wasn’t covered with words she liked or the fragment of a concept or the sketch of a song. She fumbled for a pencil that had not yet been sharpened all the way to its nub, one that was long enough to still fit between her fingers. Sofi scrambled to put down the lyric that had sprung fully formed into her head, her left hand smearing her words as it hurried across the page. She’d been working on a song about Saint Brielle, but the final line of the chorus had eluded h