Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(43)

Don’t think about the bond now. Focus on the task at hand.

Across the chasm from one another, Jules and I shove the plank into the pit. It falls silently into the darkness, and I swallow hard. Now the queen won’t be able to get to our side, and Ailesse can’t escape the ledge. But I can’t either. I’m stuck here with her perfect smell and warm body until Jules brings both of us back across the chasm when this is over. She’s already devised a way involving rope.

Jules picks up her gear and forces an encouraging smile. I try and fail to give her one back. She’s risking her neck, same as me, but I don’t want to lead her on. Instead, I nod and look away—from both girls, my soulmate and my best friend. Merde, my head is a mess.

Jules’s ring of lamplight fades. Then she’s gone. My heart kicks faster. I’m hyperaware of being stranded with Ailesse. If I moved a little closer, I could fill my lungs with her scent. I could touch her hair and . . .

I blow out a sharp breath. Pull yourself together, Bastien. Ailesse’s allure is still affecting me from her dark spell at Castelpont. It should have worn off after Jules dug up her last bone under the bridge.

What if it did wear off and my attraction is real?

I pace the narrow length of our six-foot ledge. I rub the back of my neck and roll out my shoulders. I try not to meet Ailesse’s eyes. Or wonder. But as the wait drags out for the queen to come, my curiosity builds. There’s so much I still don’t know about Ailesse. The conversation she had with Marcel keeps needling my mind. “Why do you need physical strength to ferry the dead?” I blurt, unable to resist talking to her. “If that’s the point of your bone magic, I don’t understand. The dead don’t have bodies, right? They’re just ghosts.”

Ailesse’s brows lift at my sudden interest. “Not exactly. The dead are kind of in between. They become tangible after they rise from their graves.” She brushes a few strands of tangled hair from her eyes with her tied hands. My fingers twitch, wanting to help her. “Some souls are destined for the Underworld, and they rebel.”

I chew on that for a moment. “What happens if they don’t go to the Underworld?”

“They escape back to the mortal realm and hurt innocent people.”

“So your goal is to protect people?”

“Yes.”

I can barely comprehend that. My chest grows heavy, and I shift on my feet. I can’t shake the realization sinking inside me. I have no idea who Ailesse really is. “If you’re trying to protect the innocent, then why do you kill them—the ones you meet on bridges?”

Lines crease between her auburn brows. “Because . . .” Her mouth parts as she searches for what to say. Has she ever even thought about this before? “Tyrus and Elara won’t let us help anyone if we don’t.”

And just like that, my blood runs hot again. “You know, there’s a reason people stopped worshipping your gods.”

She stiffens. “Slaying our amourés proves our commitment to the gods and their path for our lives, not our own. It’s about loyalty, obedience.”

“That absolves everything, doesn’t it?”

Her nostrils flare. She takes a step toward me. I take a step toward her.

She’s facing the chasm. My back is to it. One sharp kick, and she could send me to my death. I quickly step aside. Ailesse’s breath catches as she stares across the pit. I jerk around to follow her gaze. In the distance, just past the last of the six torches, a dim figure appears.

The queen.

I react on instinct. Withdraw my knife. Grab Ailesse. Hold her against me on the ledge, her back to my chest, my blade to her throat.

The queen sweeps into the amber glow of the torchlight and stalks forward. Four attendants flank her. I only spare them a brief glance. I can’t tear my focus from Ailesse’s mother, the most formidable woman I’ve ever seen.

More torchlight shines on her as she draws closer. Her dress is waterlogged with the catacombs’ silt, but it only makes her look more threateningly beautiful. Light-headedness rushes through me. She’s almost lovelier than her daughter—except in a severe and opposing way. Stark-white skin and raven hair. Black eyes and bloodred lips. Smooth cheeks and a sharp jawline. I make a quick study of her bones of power: a jagged crown, a necklace of claws, and talons on each shoulder. One claw and one talon are bigger, whiter. They’re the carved bones.

She takes another step, five feet from the drop-off of the pit, and another fifteen feet from where we’re standing on the opposite ledge. “That’s far enough.” I nod, pointing out the fragile ground at her feet. “Unless you want the princess to die where she stands.”

She stops without tensing and lifts a hand. The other Bone Criers halt. I look at each woman closer. A wave of hot then cold rolls through me. They’re all stunning and unique, with different shades of skin and impressive bones, especially the wreath of antlers on one woman and the rib cage necklace on another—though none are as striking as the queen’s. “You won’t kill Ailesse,” she says calmly, but her rich voice cuts the dense air and booms across the divide. “She must have told you that you would die, too.”

I give her a stony glare, though my stomach drops. She just confirmed my life really is tied to her daughter’s. “You’d be surprised how far I’m willing to go for revenge.” I bear down on my blade, and Ailesse sucks in a pinched breath.