Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(35)

“I only need my Bone Crier collection.”

He has more than one book about the Leurress? I didn’t realize any existed. We have a few books in Chateau Creux, thanks to Rosalinde, who learned to read from her amouré and taught all the novices. But none of the books are about us.

Marcel rights a tipped-over lamp and pours more oil into it. “I came across a passage once about ritual soulmates, but I can’t remember the exact phrasing. If I can find a way to break the bond between Bastien and her”—he waves an idle hand at me—“then we can kill her. Problem solved.”

Jules smiles. “In that case, I’ll happily be your pack mule.”

I bite my tongue. Their efforts will be pointless. The gods forged the bond I share with Bastien; no mortal can break it. But the longer these three are preoccupied by trying, the better my chances will be to outsmart them.

“One book is in the loft above Troupe de Lions,” Marcel says, stifling a yawn like he’s had the most uneventful night of his life. “Two are in the threadmaker’s cellar, and the fourth is in the abandoned stables behind Maison de Chalon.”

Why are Marcel’s books scattered throughout the city instead of in one place? Doesn’t he have a home? Do any of them? Or are they always on the run?

“Got it.” Jules heads for the door. I fidget on the slab. I hope I won’t have to relieve myself while she’s gone. I’m not asking one of the boys to take me to wherever it is that passes as a privy chamber down here.

Bastien lights another wick. “Pinch some more lamp oil if you can.” Pinch? As in steal? Why am I not surprised? “And be back before nightfall. The queen will come tonight, and we need to be ready.”

Jules nods. “Be careful while I’m gone. That Bone Crier is shiftier than the three of us combined.”

“I won’t take my eyes off her.”

Jules frowns like that’s exactly what she’s afraid of. She ducks out through the low door and pushes it closed. The air is a little lighter now. Until Bastien spins around to face me with folded arms. His biceps flex beneath his sleeves. I sit up straighter and square my shoulders, showing him I have plenty of my own strength left. “Do you intend to stare at me until my mother comes?” I ask, offering him a honeyed smile. “What a brilliant strategy.”

His eyes narrow. He rolls his tongue in his cheek. “Marcel, open your book again.” He turns away and scrubs a hand over his face. “We have work to do.”

“Good luck.” I settle back against the slab wall. “You’re going to need that and a miracle.”





14


Sabine


I TREMBLE AS I REACH the bend in the forest path, intersecting the road to Castelpont.

Please, Elara, let Ailesse be alive.

I take a steeling breath and step onto the road. Twenty feet ahead, the ancient stone bridge and dry riverbed beneath it look stark and desolate in the morning sun, no longer mysterious under the full moon or foreboding in surrounding fog. Now they’re only a painful reminder of Ailesse’s overconfidence and my own inadequacy.

My feet pad the ground as I force my quaking legs closer. No sign of Ailesse yet, but her amouré could have stashed her body in the shadow of a parapet.

I set foot on the bridge. I don’t see Ailesse lying on the stones. I glance at the riverbed below. She’s not dashed to pieces down there either. Swallowing, I tentatively press forward to the high arch of the bridge, craning my neck so I can see down its other side. No sign of her. My legs give way with relief, and I lean against a parapet.

Ailesse is alive.

She has to be. Her amouré wouldn’t have taken the pains to drag her anywhere else, only to kill her when he could do it here. He abducted her, like I suspected. Which is terrible, but at least her heart is still beating.

A glimpse of white snags the corner of my vision—five feet to my right, tucked up against the parapet.

Ailesse’s bone knife.

I move to pick it up. This isn’t the ritual weapon she used to kill the tiger shark; it’s the knife she crafted for her rite of passage. Every Ferrier before her has done the same. I’ve never been taught if that’s because of custom or necessity. Will Ailesse need this knife to make her sacrifice acceptable to the gods? I slip it under my belt, just in case.

I hurry off the bridge and climb down the riverbank, praying I’ll see another flash of white. Odiva’s warnings flood my mind.

The Chained need to be ferried. If they aren’t, they’ll feed off the souls of the living. Innocent people will die an everlasting death.

I walk the width of the riverbed, then back again several times, scanning any area where the bone flute could have fallen. I turn over rocks and kick the loose earth where I buried Ailesse’s grace bones. It’s no use. The bone flute isn’t anywhere. The lie I told Odiva must be true—Ailesse’s captors took it. I have to find them.

I race up the riverbank, but stop short when I see an elder Leurress peek out from the forest, using a different trail than mine. “Sabine,” Damiana calls quietly. Her wolf fang bracelet glints in the sunlight as she motions me closer with a rapid wave of her hand.

I rush over to her. “Where are the others?” I glance around for the six elders she set off with last night. “Have you found Ailesse?” Desperate hope fills my chest.