Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(38)

The girl’s eyes tighten with hatred. “It’s the name of the boy who will kill her.”

Blood roars through my ears. I try to stab her, but she takes another backward step and drops out of sight.

My breath catches. I dart to the edge of the ravine. The girl is tumbling, but her fall is strategic. Halfway down, she straightens her body and pulls to a stop near the burrow hole. Without another glance at me, she slips feetfirst inside.

No! I can’t follow her there. Not because of the Leurress’ rules, but common sense—the one gift I have that surpasses Ailesse’s. If I crawl inside that burrow, I’ll face three opponents instead of one. I’ll enter darkness devoid of Elara’s Light, and with only one grace to aid me. It will mean my sure death. I’ll have no hope of rescuing Ailesse.

“Sabine?”

The distant sound of my name stops my heart. Ailesse?

I jerk around and scan the moonlit forest. A silhouette comes into view. I make out the clear-cut outline of a crown, and I stiffen. It’s not Ailesse. It’s my matrone.





15


Ailesse


JULES STILL HASN’T RETURNED TO our catacombs chamber, even though it must be nearing nightfall, maybe later. Bastien takes a break from rechecking his supplies and pacing. He sits with one knee bent to his chest and draws serpentine patterns on the dusty ground, then grumbles at his pictures. I know what he’s doing—plotting a strategy to kill my mother with his knowledge of the mazelike catacombs—though he doesn’t look like much of a killer at the moment. He’s chewing on the end of his tongue, the way a little child does, and it softens every harsh edge of his expression.

He sits back and runs his hands through his dark hair. His sea-blue eyes trail over to where I’m bound up on the limestone slab, ten feet away. His brows furrow. Too late I realize my gaze is soft on him and my lips are curved upward. I immediately stiffen and school my features.

Bastien picks at his fingernails, then scoots over to Marcel and whispers something in his ear. The younger boy peers up at me. “All right,” he says, and shuts his book. He stands and stretches, then picks up a tumbler of settled water and brings it over to me. My throat parches at the sight of it. This was Bastien’s idea? I glance at him, but he’s studiously avoiding my gaze.

“It isn’t poisoned,” Marcel says, when I don’t touch it. Of course it isn’t poisoned. My captors wouldn’t risk killing Bastien by killing me. “Although you do have to grow accustomed to the taste,” he adds.

I accept the tumbler, sniff the water, and take a tentative sip. The mineral taste of limestone is heavy, but at least no grit coats my mouth. I drink the rest in one long gulp and release a small sigh. “Thank you.” The words spill out before I think better of them, and Bastien’s brows lift and wrinkle again. I pass the tumbler back to Marcel.

“So . . . how many of you are there?” Marcel asks.

“What are you doing?” Bastien frowns at him.

“Until I get my other books, I’ve no better resource than her. I might as well try to learn something. Jules will be back any time now, which means the queen will be, too.”

Bastien snorts. “Good luck getting her to talk.”

Unruffled by the challenge, Marcel crosses his arms and stares me down. He doesn’t look as though he’s trying to intimidate me. Maybe that’s why I answer him.

“Forty-seven.” Or maybe I answered because Bastien said I wouldn’t.

Marcel’s eyes fly wide. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him. “So many?”

Bastien huffs. “She’s lying. Everyone would know if that many Bone Criers lived around here. We certainly would.”

My gaze flits between the boys. I wasn’t lying. “Would you like to know more?” I ask Marcel, making a point to speak to him and not Bastien. I can test Marcel’s knowledge of the Leurress while he tests mine—and make sure he doesn’t know anything more that can endanger my famille. Better yet, I’ll distract him from plotting a way to kill my mother.

He gives an unabashed laugh. “I always like to know more. About everything.”

I smile. I shouldn’t like him, but I do. Marcel’s candidness reminds me of Sabine. He’s a year or two younger, like her, maybe fifteen or sixteen. “Then why don’t we strike a bargain? For every question I answer, I’ll do so truthfully, but you must answer one of mine in return.”

“This is ridiculous,” Bastien says, but Marcel waves him off like he would a gnat.

“Agreed.”

I scoot into a more comfortable position and prop myself against the wall of the slab. “Do you know why the Leurress exist?” I begin.

Marcel cocks his head. “Leurress?”

“You call us Bone Criers.”

“None of my books mention that name.”

“I doubt any were written by my famille.”

He gives a conceding nod. “Well, you exist to—”

“Torment men,” Bastien interjects. “Murder them. Sacrifice them to your gods.”

“She wasn’t asking you,” Marcel says. Bastien rolls his eyes. “You Bone Criers—Leurress, that is—are parasitic in nature. You can’t thrive on your own. You need the moon and stars and animal bones . . . and, well, what Bastien said—human sacrifice.”