Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(54)

“Sabine.” She looks me up and down, and thin lines crease across her forehead. “What are you doing here? You’re needed at home.” On ferrying night, I’m supposed to remain with the younger girls and those too old to ferry, while the majority of the Leurress attend to their duty on the soul bridge.

“I’m on my way there, Matrone.” I don’t know why I’m lying; Odiva wants me to earn my third grace bone as much as I do. She might approve of why I’m out here. “I lost track of the time.” One disadvantage of night vision is that I can’t judge the light of the sky very well to determine the hour, even though I’ve had this grace for two weeks. I hope I’ll acclimate.

“Hurry along. Your new grace bone should help with your speed.”

“Yes, Matrone.”

She passes by me, and the other Ferriers trail behind her. I know without counting there are thirty-four of them, including Odiva. As they walk, they assert a strong elegance, their staffs in hand and posture exact. Each of them maintains a rigorous training schedule to prepare for monthly ferrying nights. They don’t look prepared now. Their lips move quietly, and their pleading eyes glance to the Night Heavens—and even below to the Underworld. They’re offering desperate prayers, more anxious than ever about the new bone flute.

When Odiva reaches the bottom of the hill, she turns to consider me again. “On second thought, Sabine, I would like you to come with us.”

“Come ferrying?” My voice pitches higher.

“No, to observe ferrying.”

My breath bottles in my chest. I can’t summon a response. Novices aren’t allowed to come anywhere close to the soul bridge. It’s too dangerous to be near the Chained.

Odiva beckons me with a subtle wave of her hand. I reluctantly go to her, my gaze dropping from her black eyes to the lump of her hidden necklace beneath her dress: the bird skull with a ruby in its beak. I bite the inside of my lip. What else is the matrone hiding from me—and all our famille? “You will be able to see the dead now, thanks to this.” She lifts the nighthawk leg bone I wear on Ailesse’s shoulder necklace.

“Yes, but . . . I don’t have my third grace bone. What about my rite of passage?” A sick flush of nausea cramps my stomach. “I’m not ready.”

I don’t dare move. Odiva still hasn’t let go of my nighthawk leg. She traces its claw with her pointed fingernail, and my pulse throbs in my throat. “Some members of our famille have confided in me their concerns about you,” she says, shaking her head with false sorrow. “They say you are unsure if you want to become a Ferrier at all.”

“I’m only sixteen.” My voice cracks. “I still have time to decide.”

“No, Sabine. I am afraid time is the last thing you have.” She releases my necklace and tips up my chin. Her touch is gentle, but her fingers feel like ice. “Time is at an end for all of us.” My brow wrinkles. What does she mean? Her eyes glitter with anticipation, but it’s feverish and forced. “Come, we mustn’t delay.” She walks on, confident I’ll follow. “You will watch from a safe distance on the shore. Perhaps if you witness ferrying for yourself, you will understand the importance of your duty.”

I consider sneaking away and facing punishment later, but then I think of Ailesse. This night would have been her first time on the soul bridge. Every long hunt she endured, every grace she won, she did to achieve her dream of becoming a masterful Ferrier.

I draw a sustaining breath, fist my clammy hands, and join the sisters of my famille.

I’ll go to honor Ailesse.

We soon arrive at another set of high cliffs that drop into a sheltered inlet of the Nivous Sea. The Leurress lead me through a narrow gap between two boulders, and the space inside widens just enough so we can walk single file. A steep, carved stairway descends at our feet. I support my hands against the limestone walls and tread carefully, wishing for the balance of Ailesse’s ibex grace.

I count 167 steps before I walk onto the fine sand of the shore. I’m standing in a cave. Grayish light glows beyond its mouth. I advance toward it with the Ferriers, and we trail out onto a starlit beach. The water laps gently, and a shower of awe prickles across my shoulders. A faint shimmer of rocks dot an increasingly visible pathway in the sea.

The tide is lowering. The land bridge begins to emerge.





23


Bastien


AILESSE ISN’T GONE. SHE CAN’T be. But no matter how hard I try to convince myself, I can’t peel my groggy eyes off the evidence. The limestone slab. It’s vacant. Except for a pile of rope.

My pounding heart is a physical pain in my chest.

This is impossible.

No. I catch myself. No, this was very possible. I knew all along Ailesse was capable of outmaneuvering me—even bound, even weak, even without her grace bones.

Her grace bones.

I jump to my feet and run, tripping over Marcel and Jules asleep on the floor. “Ouch!” Jules growls. Marcel’s snoring catches.

I scramble for the shelves. The chipped pitcher isn’t there. I spin around and see it on the table. A few coins from Jules’s pouch are scattered around it. I rush over and peer inside the pitcher. Empty. “Merde!” I shove it back. It slides off the table and shatters on the ground.

Jules bolts upright. Half her hair has come undone from her braid. “Bastien, what are—?” Her gaze lands on the slab, and her jaw drops. She grabs her brother’s shoulder and rattles it. His eyes crack open. She points to the slab.