Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(113)

The silver owl swoops right in front of us and rasps shrilly.

I release an exasperated sigh. What more do you want from me? I tried my best to save Ailesse.

She wheels around and flies toward my face. Briand whips out a dagger.

“Don’t!” I say.

The owl beats her wings back and dodges his swipe. She screeches once more, then soars away.

My mind clears in a sudden rush. I understand what she was trying to tell me: I haven’t tried my best. And I don’t need my grace bones to do so. My body is only in shock from losing them so suddenly. Even without them around my neck, I know what it is to be salamander-agile, nighthawk-quick, and jackal-strong.

A surge of hope floods my veins. I inhale a deep and sustaining breath.

I’ll find a way to escape. I’ll get back my grace bones, and I’ll come for Ailesse.

I’ll save her.

And this time I won’t fail.





54


Ailesse


A STAB OF SORROW AWAKENS me. My eyes open to radiant light, but I shut them again. I fold my arms over the deep ache in my stomach. I haven’t seen the sun in thirty days—the day of my rite of passage—and now I don’t want to. My mother is gone. Bastien is gone. And I don’t know whether or not he survived.

My hands tighten into fists. I can’t lie here any longer. I need to find him.

I throw my blanket back and sit up. A shock of pain shoots through me. I suck in a harsh breath and hitch up the skirt of the nightdress I’m wearing. My knee has been wrapped in a linen bandage. Merde. I forgot about my injured leg. Hopefully it can still support my weight.

I press my lips together and slowly slide both legs off my mattress. I search for something to lean on, and take a long look around me.

I’m in a stunningly ornate bedroom. Even my mother’s fur-laden chamber in Chateau Creux can’t compare. The fireplace is a masterpiece of carved stone, the furniture shines dark and glossy, and scarlet tapestries cover the stone walls.

I scoot toward my bedpost and rise up on my good leg. I grab the back of a nearby chair and hop, hissing as it jostles my knee. From there, I brace my hands on a table for support. I hop slowly to the end of the table, then pause, staring at a tall window ten feet away. Between the table and the window is only empty space.

I inhale deeply and prepare for unavoidable pain. I take my first step on my broken leg.

A hundred knives pierce my knee. I shriek and collapse.

The door bursts open. Casimir. My nostrils flare. I look away from him and hold back another cry of terrible pain.

He picks me up and carries me back to the bed. “I wouldn’t suggest jumping from that window. There’s a hundred-foot drop to the river.” He lays me down, and I wince as he gently prods my knee. “Please be careful. We haven’t set the bone yet.”

He pulls up a stool and sits beside me. I fight for breath as the pain gradually subsides. “What is this place?” I ask, glancing at the velvet canopy above me. “This isn’t the room of a soldier.”

“We’re in Beau Palais.”

My brows lift. “You live here?”

He nods like he’s embarrassed. “I’m, um, the dauphin.”

The prince? I don’t believe him at first, but then my eyes stray to the fine clothes he’s wearing, as well as a jeweled ring on his finger. “Why were you in uniform last night?”

He shrugs. “The successor to the throne must learn the art of warfare.”

I’m at a loss for words. The heir of the kingdom of South Galle is my amouré? What are the gods thinking?

“Are you comfortable?” Cas’s cheeks flush. “I asked my maids to change you into that nightdress.”

I don’t care about my clothes. “Where’s Sabine?” I long to see her again, but my chest aches. She isn’t the Leurress my mother preferred over me; she’s the daughter my mother loved more than me. It isn’t Sabine’s fault, but it still weighs heavy on my heart.

Casimir scratches his light strawberry-blond hair. “What is the last thing you remember about her?”

I concentrate, but those memories are foggy. “She was battling your soldiers.”

He nods and fidgets with his fingers. “She escaped.”

I exhale with relief. That’s something to be grateful for.

His expression grows soft as he gazes at me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you on that bridge,” he confesses. “Your fighting was incredible.” His fingertips skim the corner of his lip. “Your power is connected to the bones in that pouch you wore, isn’t it?” When I frown, he explains, “You grew weak after your mother took them away.”

“How do you know what was inside the pouch?”

“Oh . . . I was safeguarding it for you.”

“Was?”

He glances aimlessly around the room. “I’m afraid I lost it on the journey back to Beau Palais.”

I study his stone-blue eyes, suspicious of everything he tells me.

He clears his throat. “Can you tell me about that dust storm your mother jumped through? I’ve never believed in magic, but what other explanation is there?”

I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t understand it either.”

Now Casimir is the one contemplating me. “I’m not your enemy, Ailesse.”