Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(81)

Odiva beams and presses her cold lips to my cheek. “Now come home soon. You have obtained all your grace bones. There is nothing more for you out here.”

I give her a stiff nod, and she rises to her feet and leaves the hollow.

A few moments after she’s gone, a silent flash of wings catches the edge of my vision. The silver owl descends on the ground a few yards away, and my eyes fly wide.

She’s perched on the spot where I buried the golden jackal.

I rush over. “Move away!” I hiss, and glance over my shoulder. Luckily, Odiva hasn’t come back.

The silver owl pecks at the ground and stares up at me.

My stomach turns. “I’m not digging up the jackal.”

She releases the quietest rasp-screech. She’s aware of the matrone’s graced hearing, too.

This is ridiculous. The only reason to dig up the jackal would be . . . “Wait, so now you want me to take a bone for a new flute?”

She bobs her head.

I frown at her angled eyes. Why has the silver owl changed her mind?

Because now you’re the matrone’s heir, Sabine. And heirs can open the Gates of the Beyond.

All my nerves catch fire. “You want me to make a flute for myself?”

The owl hops close and combs her beak through my hair. I’m so startled she’s touching me—that she’s asking this of me—that all my muscles turn to ice. Even my heart seizes up. I’m not sure how many more revelations I can handle today.

The moment blood pumps into my limbs again, I reach for the owl. “How can I—?”

She launches into the air. Her wings flutter against my face.

I gasp. “Wait!”

She soars out of the hollow, and my dazed eyes lower back to the earth over the jackal’s body.

Elara, I hope you know what you’re doing.

I inhale a deep breath.

And I start to dig.





36


Bastien


I DUCK INTO THE PERFUMERY by La Chaste Dame, and my head immediately aches. Too many fragrances fight for space in the air. How does Birdine stand it?

I spy the top of her head behind one of the counters. The afternoon sun slants in through a leaded window and catches the dust motes above her frizzy ginger hair. She hums a familiar love song as she kneels by a shelf and organizes a row of dark bottles.

I creep up and lean my folded arms against the counter. “How’s business?”

Birdine yelps and whirls around. Her hand flies to her chest, and she exhales roughly. “Merde, Bastien. You nearly stopped my heart.” She stands and smooths her apron. “Business is business. And, no, I haven’t seen Marcel.” She narrows her green eyes. “So stop pestering me.”

I’m not done yet. “Is that ink?” I nod at a stain on her left hand.

She hastily tucks it behind her back. “No. I just spilled some musk oil on myself.”

“What about that callus on your middle finger?”

She darts a glance at her other hand. “What about it?”

“It’s new. And curious thing, Marcel has one just like it.”

Birdine’s cheeks mottle red. “I have a right to practice scribe work on my own, thank you very much. It doesn’t mean anything shady.”

I level a hard gaze on her. “Give up the game, Birdie.” I deliberately use Marcel’s nickname for her. “You know where he is. Marcel wouldn’t have gone this long without figuring out a way to see you.”

She juts up her chin. A waft of rosewater hits me square in the face. “What are you going to do, torture me for the truth? I’m not going to snitch on Marcel.”

I tap my foot, trying to figure out how to crack her. I’ve trailed Birdine three times after the perfumery has closed up for the day, and all she does is hurry home to a room she rents above a nearby tavern. Marcel’s never there.

“Look, I know you’re trying to protect him, but you’re putting Marcel in more danger by not telling me where he is. You’re putting all of Dovré in danger.” I lean closer over the counter. “You ever hear a bone-chilling whisper when you’re walking home at night? Does it ever make you think you’re going mad?”

Birdine shrinks back and bites her lower lip.

“How about your customers or your friends in the tavern? Notice any of them growing sick with a strange weakness they can’t explain?”

She folds her arms around herself. “Marcel says there are bad humors in the air.”

“Marcel’s lying so you can sleep at night.”

She suppresses a shiver.

I sigh. I don’t want to scare Birdine. I just need her help. “Will you at least tell him something for me? Say people are going to die if he and Jules don’t bring back what they stole.” Ailesse might die, too, if she has to stay underground any longer. I can’t allow that to happen.

“What did they steal?” she asks.

“I’ll let Marcel explain that part. Tell him he and Jules can find me round about the place we ran to when we first got into this mess.” I don’t spell out the location, in case any of the dead are listening, but Marcel should know I mean our old chamber in the catacombs. If Ailesse is strong enough, I’ll take her there tonight.

I step away from the counter and adjust the pack on my shoulder. “Will you do that for me?” I shrug off my needling doubts about Jules. I have to trust she won’t harm Ailesse when we’re all back together again. She shouldn’t as long as the soul-bond holds. Jules and Marcel clearly haven’t found a way to break it yet, or they would have come out of hiding already. “You’d be doing Marcel a favor. All of Dovré, too.”