Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(51)

Bastien looks from Marcel to me. “Is that significant?” His gaze roams over my face, and I try to smooth away any trace of anxiety. “What happens on the new moon?”

I shake my head. “Nothing . . . I just . . .” I glance away from him. His concern confuses me when I know he plans to kill me. “I had a bad dream, that’s all.” I can’t hold myself upright anymore, so I scoot back to the corner wall of the slab and lean against it.

Now Jules stares at me with worried eyes, too—which is even more disconcerting. “How much strength do you have left?” she asks, and lowers her voice. “Does it run out on the new moon?”

I have no idea. “I’m fine,” I reply, though I know it’s really Bastien that Jules is distressed about. Who knows how much longer I can stay alive once my last spark of Elara’s Light is gone?

She shifts her weight onto her left leg. Her knee has finally healed. “You should rest while I’m gone, all right?”

I give her a halfhearted nod. That’s all I do, anyway.

She grabs her empty pack and heads for the door, stopping when she reaches Marcel. “We’re running out of time,” she murmurs to him. “You need to figure out how to break the soul-bond now.”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do every day?” He gestures at his piles of notes and books all over the table.

“Well, try harder,” she snaps. He frowns, and she drops her head with a sigh. “Sorry, just please . . . try harder.” She kisses his cheek, then turns pained eyes on Bastien before she ducks out of the chamber.

Try harder. Her words remind me what Sabine said—or what the silver owl said—in my dream: Don’t give up, Ailesse. There’s always something you can do.

What does it all mean? Am I having visions? I brushed off the flickering image I saw of Sabine two weeks ago as a hallucination brought on from my head injury. I haven’t seen another one since. But now I wonder . . . has she found a way to communicate with me? Hope sparks in my chest.

Bastien walks over with a tumbler of settled water. His footsteps are cautious, his gaze averted, his expression blank. It’s how he usually handles being this near me. He passes me the tumbler, and our fingers graze. My skin prickles with warmth, and I release a shaky breath. Being this close to him is no small task for me either. I balance the tumbler between my hands—a tricky endeavor because they’re still tied—and drink until the water runs dry. “Thank you.”

Our eyes collide. He looks startled, questioning. I’ve never thanked him for anything, not directly.

I give him back the tumbler, and this time when our hands touch, it’s Bastien who shivers. “Do you want more?” he asks. Before I have a chance to answer, he adds, “I can get you some more.” He walks over to the water bucket and peeks inside. “Oh. Empty, too.” He shoots me a nervous look. “That’s all right.” He wags his thumb at the door and walks backward toward it. “I’ll just— I won’t be long.” I suppress a smile as he trips out of the chamber. He’s never this awkward.

It’s almost adorable . . . for someone who wants me dead.

Marcel lifts another piece of parchment from the table and mumbles something about moons, earth, and water.

I tilt my head at him. “It’s strange . . . I didn’t think anyone knew about the Leurress, until I met you three.”

He turns around and blinks twice, still half lost in his thoughts. “Some people do. There are legends, superstitions, the occasional folk song . . . but not really much to go by.”

“Yet you know so much.”

He gives a modest shrug. “It’s a bit of a hobby, really. I’m restless unless my mind has something big to chew on.”

Marcel, restless? My shoulders tremble with stifled laughter. He grins, unsure why I’m amused. I can’t help warming up to him. Unlike Bastien and Jules, Marcel doesn’t seem to have a natural prejudice against me. “What if I told you that you didn’t know enough?”

“I’d admit that’s no surprise. Can anyone really know enough—about anything?”

I bite my lip. “What if I also told you I’m willing to add to your knowledge?”

His brows crinkle, and he darts a glance at the door. “Is this a trick?”

“It’s an offer. Believe it or not, I don’t wish to die. And since I can’t kill my amouré at the moment, I want to help you break my soul-bond with him.” I shut out the ingrained voice in me that says that’s an impossible task. Instead, I listen to Sabine’s voice: Don’t give up, Ailesse.

Marcel slides a hand in his pocket. A sign he’s getting more comfortable. “All right.” He drifts nearer, mulling over his sheet of parchment. “Can you tell me what an upside-down crescent moon means?”

“What does that have to do with the soul-bond?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem—but maybe it’s the answer, too. I often find solving one mystery unlocks the next.”

That makes sense, and I suppose we need to start somewhere. “An upside-down crescent is a setting moon. But it can also represent a bridge.”

“A bridge . . .” Marcel scratches his jaw. “I hadn’t thought of that. And what if it’s touching another symbol?” He shows me his sheet of parchment, and my brows rise. It’s a drawing of the bone flute. I didn’t realize Marcel had a chance to study it before Jules broke it. “See here?” He points below the lowest tone hole on the flute to an inverted triangle that’s balanced on an upside-down crescent moon—right in the spot where the engraving was on the real instrument. “That triangle means water, right?”