Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(36)

She steals a look at Beau Palais over the wall of Dovré and pulls me off the road, under the cover of the trees. “We’re still searching for her. We followed her captors’ trail for six miles, but they kept changing paths.” Her deep-set brown eyes lower. “We eventually lost their tracks where they merged into a stream.”

I give her hand a comforting squeeze. Damiana tried her best, but I hope the other elders didn’t give up so easily. “Didn’t anyone pursue them down the stream?”

She nods and rubs her wrinkled olive brow. Damiana is almost sixty years old. I can’t imagine she’ll ferry much longer—or spend many more nights joining search parties for the matrone’s missing daughter. “The stream soon met a wide river, you see. Pernelle, Chantae, and Nadine are still there, doing what they can, but when I left, Nadine still hadn’t picked up Ailesse’s scent.” Damiana shakes her head. “Her sense of smell is powerful, too.”

I nod, picturing Nadine’s eel skull hair comb. “What about Milicent, Roxane, and Dolssa?”

“They set off in separate directions in a blind search for Ailesse. Meanwhile, I traced the captors’ trail back here to make sure we didn’t miss any clues as to where they could have gone.”

“I’ve already searched Castelpont and the riverbed.” I say. “All I found was Ailesse’s ritual knife.”

Damiana releases a heavy exhale. “None of us want to return to Chateau Creux until we’ve exhausted the search, but we finally agreed to meet there by nightfall to report to the matrone. You should go there now, Sabine. You can tell her what I’ve told you.”

“No.” I shrug a step back. “I can’t. Not without Ailesse. Not without more graces.” My brows pull together. “I should have had them to begin with.”

Damiana tilts her head and pats my cheek. “It’s best not to fight your life’s design for you, Sabine.”

“And what is that?” I force a shaky smile. “To be a killer?” Every Leurress who survives has the same destiny.

“No, my dear.” Damiana leans closer. Her silver-streaked braid slips in front of her shoulder. “An instrument of the gods. Neither Tyrus nor Elara can walk this earth, so they trust us to guide departed souls into their realms. We must do what it takes to rise to the occasion.”

I meet her fervent eyes, and a measure of courage steals into me, as strong as a heady breath of Elara’s Light.

I need to do what she says—rise to the occasion and be the person I’m meant to be. Someone capable of rescuing Ailesse. My friend won’t be saved without me. It isn’t just stubbornness that tells me so, but a deep sense—an innate grace all its own—that warns me her life is in my hands. The elders haven’t found Ailesse yet, and who knows if the strange ritual Odiva performed last night resulted in anything? I don’t trust it. Or her.

I need more graces. It’s as simple as that.

I give Damiana a parting embrace and hurry away into the forest. My focus for now must be hunting.

The hours pass swiftly as I search for the right animal—maybe a pit viper for heat vision or a wild boar for muscle—but I only come across small birds, martens, and rabbits. I shoot two arrows at what I hope is a fox, but it’s only the wind howling through the tall grass.

Twilight descends, and I’ve still found nothing satisfactory. I’m somewhere in the forest, maybe two miles outside Dovré. I weave through the trees, my senses alert. I don’t have Ailesse beside me to warn when the breeze shifts and I should move downwind of my prey. I’ve never had a gift for hunting. I traveled with her and mimicked her stealthy movements, but I put off learning the art of killing for myself. Now I must learn. And quickly.

Sweat collects on the back of my neck. I wipe it away and readjust my grip on my bow. Despite my resolve, every tense muscle in my body whispers what I’m doing is wrong. Why should an innocent creature pay for my mistakes? But Odiva’s voice rings louder in my mind: You are not a child anymore. If you had obtained more graces before tonight, you would have been able to overpower your assailant. Ailesse would have had a fighting chance.

The branches close in around me, and I tread deeper into the woods. A dull ache throbs through my head; my wounds have almost healed. If only my fire salamander grace could give me endless energy. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, but I can’t stop now.

I blow out a shaky breath. You can do this, Sabine. If I’m killing creatures to save Ailesse, I can forgive myself. I will forgive myself.

Something rustles above me. I flinch and glance up. My eyes grow wide.

A silver owl.

I fumble for an arrow in my quiver. Elara is finally smiling down on me. An owl will give me heightened hearing, as well as talon-grip strength.

I nock my bow. Swallow. Fire my arrow. The silver owl is too quick. She swoops from the branches and dodges my clumsy aim.

A few feet ahead, she lands on another branch. I grab a second arrow, but when I move closer, the bird screeches and flies another two trees away.

I stare at the owl. She stares back with her striking black eyes. A prickle of familiarity runs through me. Is this the same owl that flew over Castelpont before Ailesse’s rite of passage?

No. What a ridiculous thought. Many silver owls must live near Dovré. Still, I can’t take another owl sighting lightly. Ailesse and I didn’t heed the owl’s warning at Castelpont. We should have left when we saw the bird.