Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(68)

The silver owl.

“We will retire to Chateau Creux and offer prayers to Tyrus,” Odiva says. “Tomorrow, we shall begin the hunt anew.”

“What about Ailesse?” I blurt.

Pernelle looks at me like she’s wondering the same thing. She fidgets with her fox vertebra pendant and steps closer to Odiva. “I can lead another search party, Matrone. We might have better luck this time.”

Odiva takes a moment to respond. Her eyes are on Pernelle, but the noctule bat skull on her crown seems to stare down at me. “No one is more concerned than I about my daughter,” she says carefully. “But we must place our trust in the gods. If Tyrus has shown us the sign of his sacred jackal, we can rest assured he will protect Ailesse until the beast is ours.”

My teeth set on edge. Maybe my faith is weak, but I don’t trust the god of the Underworld to safeguard my friend. Odiva has been praying to him in secret, murmuring of the sacrifices she’s given him and something she wants brought back in return. Whatever it is, it means more to her than Ailesse.

She gives Pernelle a curt nod. “We hunt the jackal first. We are sacred Ferriers, and this is how Tyrus has chosen to help us take care of the dead. We must honor his wishes. Sometimes our loyalty must be tested again, even after our rites of passage.”

“Yes, Matrone.” Pernelle bows her head, but I can’t. My neck is stiff, and my head won’t bend. I can’t help thinking of Ailesse’s failed rite of passage. Odiva promised me the gods would protect her daughter. Now I wonder if she chose me to be Ailesse’s witness because she knew the gods wouldn’t—at least Tyrus wouldn’t—and I wouldn’t be strong enough to intervene.

Tyrus’s sign may be the golden jackal, but I’m starting to suspect the silver owl is Elara’s. If the goddess sent her owl to attack Odiva, then she doesn’t want Odiva to take the jackal’s life.

“Our plan remains the same,” Odiva tells the Ferriers. “Should any of you find the jackal before I do, capture it but do not kill it. As Matrone, I must be the one to make the sacrifice.”

Maurille squints at Odiva with her good eye. The other one has swollen shut from the blow she took tonight. “Forgive me, Matrone, but Ailesse already has a working bone flute.” Exactly. None of this is necessary. “Perhaps a few of us should search for her, as Pernelle suggested, while the others pursue the golden jackal. Surely Tyrus would understand our wish to work toward all options.”

Odiva remains perfectly still, except for a thin smile, while her gaze narrows on Maurille. “Then you do not understand Tyrus at all. Fortunately for our famille, I do. The god of the Underworld is a jealous and exacting god. If we do not demonstrate our full allegiance, do you really believe he will lead us to his jackal?”

Maurille slowly shakes her head and casts me an apologetic glance.

Odiva looks around at the others. “Does anyone else care to speak a contrary word, or can we agree to submit to the path Tyrus has shown us?”

More heads lower in obedience. I only lower my eyes.

Odiva exhales. “Good. Let us go home, then, and recover our strength for tomorrow.”

Go home? When Ailesse is known to be alive and missing? When the dead are loose and set upon Dovré?

Odiva never knew how to be a mother, and now she’s forgotten her priorities as our matrone.

She walks close beside me as we head back for Chateau Creux. My heart won’t stop pounding. I feel like I’m already in a cage, unable to run from her presence. By now, Ailesse could be anywhere in South Galle. I’m frantic to give her back her ritual knife. The more desperate I become to save her, the easier it is to stomach the thought of her killing Bastien.

“I feel your disappointment,” Odiva says. My skin crawls when I meet her probing black eyes. “I had such high hopes for your first experience at the soul bridge. It should have brought you joy, not grief.”

I don’t know how to respond. “Joy” is the last word I’d have used to describe ferrying.

“I would like to think that even Ailesse would have been happy for you when . . .” A faint blush sweeps across her pale skin. She looks radiant for a moment, warm and full of feeling.

“When what?” I ask.

Her raven brows pull inward as she searches my eyes. Her mouth opens, struggling to form words, then shuts tight again. She exhales through her nostrils and walks onward, looking away from me. Her ceremonial dress trails through the wild grass. “When you would have seen the great Gates of the Beyond,” she finally answers, a forced lightness in her voice.

Another lie. Another cover-up for secrets. My throat burns, but I’m tired of swallowing down the bitterness. I’m done shrinking from my matrone and accepting every excuse that falls from her lips. “Does that necklace you wear help you ferry the dead when the Gates do open?” I ask, my pulse racing from my boldness.

Odiva touches the three rows of her grace bone necklace and frowns. “Which bones do you mean, the bear’s or the stingray’s? They both help me ferry.”

“I mean your other grace bone—that bird skull you keep hidden under the neckline of your dress.”

Odiva freezes. Any color that remained in her cheeks drains away. “Go,” she tells the Ferriers following us. Her voice is strained, though she affects a calm smile. “We will meet you at home shortly.”