Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(48)

“Did the boy die, too?”

Pernelle nods, her face darkening. “We can thank the gods for that. Odiva said his life ended the moment Ailesse’s did.”

I frown. “You didn’t see it happen?”

“We were already gone.” Roxane joins us. Milicent and Dolssa hover nearby. Their grief is almost palpable, pressing a great weight on my chest. “The tunnel was unstable, so Odiva commanded us to leave.”

I shake my head slightly. Everything they’re saying hinges on Odiva’s word alone. It isn’t enough for me.

“Go inside and rest.” Pernelle rubs my arm. “You can join the hunt tomorrow.”

She means the hunt for the golden jackal. Ridiculous. “No, I’ll go today. I’ll go now.” I shrug away from them, but I still feel their worried eyes bore into the back of my skull.

“What about your bird?” Dolssa asks.

Dazed, I glance down to see my nighthawk limply dangling from my hand. Oh.

On wooden legs, I walk to the ruins of the garden wall. Flop the bird onto a stone. Withdraw Ailesse’s bone knife.

Thwack.

I take the severed leg. Cut my palm with the sharp bone so it meets my blood. There. The ceremony is finished. I close my fist around the leg, its claw still attached. The elders watch in strained silence.

I cast the nighthawk aside on the stone. I leave the elders, the overgrown garden, the rocky grounds of the Chateau Creux. I run. Away from the sea cliffs, across the plateau, into the forestland, past webbing streams and rivers, across bridge after bridge after bridge. I keep going, pushing myself past my limits, until I’m numb to the burning in my lungs and the cramping in my side. Until the cut in my palm stops stinging and my eyes run dry.

I’m almost to the catacombs entrance. I have every intention of blazing inside, but when I near the edge of the ravine, I come to an abrupt stop.

All my breath leaves my lungs. My heart shoots up my throat. I waver on my feet.

The beautiful and knowing eyes of the silver owl are staring back at me.

She’s here. Under the stark moonlight. On the ground, not in a tree. She’s perched on the cusp of the ravine.

She’s a sign I was right.

Ailesse is alive.

I move another step closer, and the silver owl spreads her wings and points them downward in a defensive stance. She doesn’t want me to pass.

My racing heartbeat slows. I register the ache in my muscles and trembling limbs. Blood drips from my fisted hand. The leg and blunt claw are still curled inside and digging at my wound.

I never received the nighthawk’s graces, I realize.

Did I offend the gods? It was a kill made in rage and a grace bone taken thoughtlessly.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Tyrus and Elara, but I’m looking at the silver owl. “I did it to save Ailesse.”

The owl folds her wings.

Warmth rushes over my skin, and I startle. The world around me changes like another sun has risen, only it casts a faint violet glow. I know what I’m seeing—Ailesse described this after she killed her peregrine falcon. This is vision with an additional color. I haven’t seen the color yet. But I will whenever I first see the dead. Every Ferrier needs this grace.

The gods have forgiven me.

“I will save her,” I tell the silver owl, like we speak the same language. “I know I’m the only one who can.”

She screeches softly, almost a purring sound.

“And I’ll be wise when I choose my next kill.” The nighthawk’s graces aren’t worthless, but they don’t give me strength, which is what I need most. “I’ll also be clever and strategic.” If Odiva and four elder Leurress couldn’t rescue Ailesse, I’ll need to plot as carefully as Bastien and his friends have done.

The owl bobs her heart-shaped face, forward and back, side to side.

My resolve forges bone-deep. I’m going to have to exercise patience in order to succeed. I can afford a little time. Ailesse must have told Bastien by now that their soul-bond ties them in life and death, and he must believe her or he’d have killed her already, especially after losing his chance to kill her mother.

“I won’t fail.”

The owl opens her wings. My vision changes again. This time it isn’t cast in violet, but shimmers with silver, like the ring around a full moon. Whatever I’m seeing, it can’t be from my nighthawk grace.

An image appears in my mind. Or maybe I’m actually seeing it. It’s translucent and struggling to take shape before me.

I gasp. It’s Ailesse. She’s sitting on a stone bench, tied up by her wrists and ankles. Her head droops to the side as she listlessly leans against a wall. Her auburn hair is matted. She’s scraped up and filthy, and her eyes look hollow. All her fire is gone. “Oh, Ailesse,” I whisper, my chest aching.

As soon as I speak, her gaze lifts. Our eyes meet. My heart quickens. “Sabine?” Her voice cracks with shock and hope.

I smile with desperate relief. I believed she was still alive, but it’s another thing to see her. “Stay strong,” I tell her. “I’m coming for you.”

A tear streaks down her face.

I reach out to touch her arm. She’s that close. But as soon as I try, the vision ripples like disturbed water. Ailesse disappears.

My heart gives a hard pound. “What just happened?”