Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(75)

“You need your grace bones first,” Bastien replies in a soothing voice. “I can manage to avoid the dead, but you . . .” He rubs the back of his neck.

I nod listlessly and look into the black space where the quarry is. It isn’t fair that I’m able to hide to protect myself when innocent people can’t do the same. “What did you bring this time?” I ask, struggling to lighten my tone. I’m tired of talking in circles about an impossible situation.

He shifts into a cross-legged position and pushes his satchel toward me. I pull away from the relief of Chateau Creux, flushing from the effort that even that small movement takes me, and peek inside. I can’t refrain from smiling as I withdraw another lantern and several candles. I look up at Bastien and find he’s watching me carefully. “It’s not the Night Heavens,” he says, “but two lanterns are better than one.”

Warmth streams inside my chest. He’s doing everything he can to make this place welcoming. “Thank you.”

He holds my gaze a long moment, and my warmth spreads, radiating to my fingertips and the ends of my toes. “There’s some food in there, too.” He points at the satchel.

Food, I expected. I’m more curious about the cloth-wrapped bundle. “What about that?”

His brows rise when he sees where I’m looking. “Oh . . . that’s, um . . . well . . .” He clears his throat. Scratches his arm. Pops a knuckle. “Really, how much longer can you go around wearing that ragged thing”—he waves a hand at the general direction of my body—“before it falls off you completely?” He winces. “Before it tears to shreds, I mean.” Is he blushing? I can’t be sure in the light of our one glowing lantern.

“You got me a dress?” My own cheeks warm.

He swallows and nods.

We’re both quiet for a moment. “Can I see it?”

“Um, sure.” He slowly passes over the bundle.

A whirlwind of butterflies dance inside me as I unwrap the cloth and see the fabric of the dress within, fine and woolen and fern green. My fingers run over its smooth weave, and I softly smile. “This is Sabine’s favorite color.”

“Your friend from the bridge?” Bastien asks. I lift surprised eyes at him. “Sometimes you call out her name while you’re sleeping,” he explains.

“Do I?” My throat constricts. I wish I remembered those dreams. I haven’t had a vision of Sabine since before I saw her at the land bridge. It makes her absence all the more difficult. “She’s one of my sister Leurress,” I say. “Not my real sister—each Leurress only has enough time to conceive one child before . . .” Before the child’s father must die. I bite my lip and chance another glance at Bastien. He doesn’t look angry or resigned or even accepting. Maybe he’s still trying to process the fact that a year after meeting me he’ll die, whether or not my knife is in his heart. “Sabine is my best friend.”

“You must miss her,” he murmurs.

The deep ache in my chest rises. It feels like a lifetime ago since Sabine and I walked the forest path to Castelpont, our arms linked as she asked me to dream of who I wished my amouré to be. I never imagined someone like Bastien—not fully—but now I can’t imagine anyone else. “You must miss Jules and Marcel,” I counter.

He looks down and rubs a scuff on his boot. I pick at my fingernails, watching him. How much does he miss Jules? She’s like family to him, that I know, but do his feelings for her run any deeper? He rolls out the muscles in his back and shoulders and stands. “Want to have a bath?”

My brows shoot up.

“Alone, I mean.” He cringes at himself, and I suppress a smile. “I’ll walk you down to the pool, if you want. You can change into your new dress afterward.”

“All right.”

He lights the second lantern, and I pick up the other. I move slowly, careful to pace out my waning strength. He guides me down the scaffolding and onto the floor of the quarry. One of its tunnels leads to a pool of clean groundwater. I’ve bathed here twice already, but when I have to put on my tattered rite of passage dress afterward, I feel dirty again.

“Do you need help coming back?” Bastien asks. “I can wait outside here.”

I clutch the fern-green dress close to my chest. “I’ll be fine.”

Bastien nods. Twice. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to pull an indifferent expression, the same one he mastered in our old catacombs chamber. It doesn’t look so masterful now. He keeps taking deep breaths and avoiding my eyes. “See you soon,” he finally says, and strides away. I stifle a laugh.

The water is warm and divine. I languidly scrub my hair and body until every speck of limestone dust vanishes, then I comb my fingers through my hair while I sit at the edge of the pool. When all the tangles are gone, I slip on the fern-green dress and leave my ruined rite of passage dress behind. A deep calmness settles over me as I make my way back to Bastien’s room. I feel lighter than I have in days. My skin doesn’t itch, finally able to breathe. I’ll never take clean clothes for granted again.

My leg and arm muscles shake as I climb the scaffolding. At the moment, I don’t mind the effort. Bastien’s back is turned when I step into the room. He’s lighting a candle he’s placed on a shelf ledge. My lips part as I glance around me. At least ten more candles are lit within and perched on various places along the floor and walls. The flickering amber glow against the limestone is beautiful. I could grow accustomed to this place, if it always looked this way. “I thought you’d ration those candles for the lanterns,” I chide him gently.