Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(93)

Tonight, I’ll lure Bastien, instead of my own soulmate, and kill him to save my sister.

I wrap my bleeding hand with a cloth from my hunting pack and push my belongings into the shadows of the bridge. Except for the bone knife. That I sheathe under my cloak. I remove the new flute, hoping the simple instrument I carved will be enough to play a true siren call. I already know the song. Ailesse and I practiced it together on wooden flutes before the last full moon. She’ll never get the chance to finish this ritual for herself, but at least she’ll be a Ferrier. That was always her dream, not what it took to achieve it.

I pull the flute to my mouth and tap the pattern of the melody over the tone holes before I lend my breath.

The song of love and loss cries above the night breeze. Bastien should feel its call right away. I’ll fight him one-on-one, hopefully without his friends’ interference this time.

The silver owl watches as I keep playing. She might as well be carved of marble. She doesn’t rasp or screech or even flutter her wings. A quarter hour passes, and Bastien still hasn’t come.

Don’t worry, Sabine. This will work. He only came so fast last time because he was already waiting for us. Tonight he has to leave wherever he’s been hiding with Ailesse, and who knows how far away that is?

My chest strains as I play on and on, not for lack of air, but my growing anxiety. At least another half hour goes by. I’ve been here too long. I keep glancing behind me at Beau Palais over the walls of Dovré. Someone must have seen me by now through the windows of the white stone castle.

The song trips faster now. My hands grow wet with perspiration. My fingers slip off the tone holes more than once. If the siren song needs to be played flawlessly, Bastien will never come tonight.

Just when I’m ready to give up and toss the flute into the dry riverbed, my jackal grace picks up the sound of scuffing boots on the road. My heart pounds. The footsteps are coming from the road leading from Dovré. Is that where Bastien has been holding Ailesse captive?

I keep fumbling through the melody, waiting for him to emerge around the curving city wall. Now that he’s close, my insides roil. What if I’m wrong and this ritual only works for mothers, not sisters? If Tyrus doesn’t allow me to act in place of Ailesse, then when I kill Bastien, I’ll be killing my best friend, too.

I look at the silver owl. You would warn me if this could kill Ailesse, wouldn’t you?

As if she’s heard my thoughts, she lifts off the bridge, circles once overhead, and flits away to a discreet location at the far end of the bridge. I really wish Elara would teach her bird to speak.

The footsteps grow louder. A silhouetted figure steps around the wall, twenty yards away. He’s also wearing a cloak. His hood droops over his eyes. All I can see, even with my night vision and far-reaching sight, are the vague shadows of his mouth and chin.

He steadily approaches. As soon as he sets foot on the bridge, I pocket my flute, blow out a shaky breath, and withdraw Ailesse’s bone knife. I keep it hidden beneath my cloak. I’m not going to dance with Bastien; Ailesse has already performed the danse de l’amant. I’m going to make this quick. The jackal in me thrills at the thought. I don’t suppress its thirst for blood this time. Tonight I’ll need it.

Bastien’s ten yards away now. I smooth down the folds of my cloak and keep my hood drawn up.

His jaw is clean-shaven. His cloak is fine, and his boots are polished. Is this a new disguise? I breathe in his scent with my salamander and jackal graces. He’s not wearing the same spiced fragrance as before. Now he smells clean and minty.

He pauses fifteen feet away and tilts his head. I tuck my knife closer against my body. Can he see the shape of the hilt?

His hood flutters back a little, and the pupils of his eyes glitter. He walks forward tentatively. My pulse throbs with each step. My conscience starts to fight the jackal’s desire to kill. Bastien isn’t an animal, and I cried over all those deaths. How will I survive killing another human?

I glance over my shoulder to make sure the silver owl hasn’t abandoned me. She remains perched on the far post of the bridge.

Calm down, Sabine. This is what Elara wants you to do. This is what Ailesse needs you to do.

Bastien’s footsteps tread closer. I can’t look at him. Can I stab his heart without meeting his eyes?

He stops five feet away. “Is it you?”

I feel the blood drain from my face. His voice is spun of silk and missing an undercurrent of bitterness.

This isn’t Bastien.

My gaze flies up to him. His hood is cast back, and he’s thrown his cloak behind his shoulders. He looks like he might be Bastien’s age, but his hair isn’t dark and tousled; it’s strawberry blond with loose curls. His eyes are blue, but a stony shade of blue, and they’re wide with wonder, not anger.

I can’t catch my breath.

I’ve lured my own amouré, not Ailesse’s.

This is my rite of passage.

I take two steps backward and clutch my stomach. This is the boy the gods chose for me, and I’ve killed him already, just by playing a song.

I set out to sacrifice Bastien tonight, but now because of me, another boy will die. The ritual is already set in motion.

“Won’t you let me see your face?” he asks. His tone is gentle, but edged with desperation. He’s caught deep in the web of my spell.

I flex my grip on my hidden knife and pull back my hood with my other hand. A few black curls spring around my cheeks. My amouré’s brows draw together. His mouth parts, but no words form. My cheeks flush. Ailesse has told me I’m beautiful, but maybe I only am in her eyes.