Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(95)

He’s still staring at the knife; he can see the protruding hilt. “I’ve never come across anything like that.” His brow wrinkles. “Or your necklace, for that matter.”

“They’re heirlooms.” The lie comes quick to my tongue, and I hope it satisfies his curiosity. I have no wish to talk about the knife, because now I understand what the silver owl wants me to do—lead this boy to Ailesse and offer him to her, along with her bone knife. This is her sacrifice, not mine. That means the choice is hers.

I gaze at the boy before me. He has fallen in love with a girl just by a glimpse of her dress and a beautiful song, and now all he wants to do is to meet her. I hate that I’ve come to know anything about him. His death will be that much harder to bear. But I have to bear it. The silver owl has led me to this moment, step by step. She’s given me everything I need to find Ailesse and save her. I can’t turn back now.

“How is it you have a map of the catacombs?” I ask.

Ailesse’s amouré smiles again, but now it’s a mysterious smirk. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

I glance at his uniform once more and shake my head. I can’t guess his rank.

He leans in close and tells me.

I feel my eyes grow wide.





43


Ailesse


I RUSH THROUGH THE MINES beneath the catacombs. I can’t find the shaft that drops to the level of the bridge. Marcel might be brilliant, but his artistic skills are wanting. His scribbles have already led me down three wrong paths, and I wasted too much time backtracking.

A branching tunnel appears at the edge of my lamplight, and I quickly check Marcel’s map. I have no idea where I am. I glance back the way I came, then through the new tunnel. I hate stopping. Every time I pause, my eyes sting and I hear Bastien’s voice. Will you dance with me like you did then? I feel his hand cradling my cheek as he whispers, You never needed to play a song for me, Ailesse.

I ignore the hollow ache in my chest. I sprint down the new tunnel and bury any stray thoughts of Bastien. I focus on the bridge over earth instead. Did the Leurress ferry on it long ago? Why did they stop? Because the tunnels evolved into a desecrated mass grave?

I keep my eyes peeled for the hatch Marcel spoke about. If I can’t find the main entrance he marked on the map, maybe I can spot the other entrance to the soul bridge. But the hatch isn’t on the map, and I don’t see any sign of it.

The tunnel curves. I run past two boarded-up branching tunnels. Am I circling the same abyss I was blasted into when my mother tried to rescue me? Is the soul bridge down there?

I pick up speed. Midnight is less than an hour away. It’s too late now to race home and get my mother. No matter. She’ll praise me for discovering this place. I’ll prove that the Leurress can ferry on the full moon, too.

I hear Sabine’s voice now. You need to think, Ailesse. You can’t ferry the dead by yourself. Her concerned tone is familiar. She used it when she asked, Do you really have to hunt a tiger shark? and Is it wise to have your rite of passage at Castelpont? My jaw muscle hardens, and I push out her voice like I pushed out Bastien’s. Sabine forgets I always achieve what I set out to do, no matter how difficult. Except breaking my soul-bond to Bastien.

I bolt around another corner and slide to a sudden halt. My oil lamp flickers, almost burning out. I advance several feet, and my pulse races. A wheel and axle is built over a hole in the ground near the tunnel’s dead end. I check Marcel’s clumsy drawing on the map. This is it—the entrance to the caves below.

I break into a triumphant smile. Thank you, Elara.

I hurry to the edge of the hole. It’s really a circular shaft about five feet wide. Above it, spooled around the axle, is a rope. I remove a bucket from its hooked end, set my oil lamp aside, and crank the wheel, extending all the rope into the shaft.

I grab my lamp and pray I don’t drop it while I descend. My tiger shark vision can’t penetrate the dense black of the mines; I need at least a small source of light to work with.

I step to the very edge of the shaft. Needles of anxiety prick my skin. Then they heighten and pummel my spine. This isn’t nerves. It’s my sixth sense. Someone is coming.

I whirl around. At the same time, the shaft edge crumbles.

I slide into the shaft and scream. The rope is slipping through my fingers.

I secure my grip and hit against the shaft wall. My clay lamp shatters. Everything goes black.

Someone shouts, but the sound is muffled. A Chained soul? I’m suspended by the rope, my pulse thrashing in my ears.

Faint illumination shines above me. I see the circled opening of the shaft. I’m three feet away from the top. The light builds. It isn’t chazoure; it’s golden.

“Ailesse!” Someone reaches down. My breath catches. Bastien.

I grab his hand. He pulls me over the edge. I clamber to my feet and throw myself at him. Shock courses through my body. His arms wrap around me, and he holds me just as fiercely. I can’t stop shaking. I clutch fistfuls of his shirt and press my nose into the crook of his neck and shoulder. I never thought I’d see him again. He kisses the top of my head over and over. My pulse thrums through my limbs and into my palms and the soles of my feet. I close my eyes and let his musky warm scent fill my lungs.

Bastien strokes my hair. “Why did you leave?” His voice betrays a little hurt.