Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(114)

I scoot toward my bedpost and rise up on my good leg. I grab the back of a nearby chair and hop, hissing as it jostles my knee. From there, I brace my hands on a table for support. I hop slowly to the end of the table, then pause, staring at a tall window ten feet away. Between the table and the window is only empty space.

I inhale deeply and prepare for unavoidable pain. I take my first step on my broken leg.

A hundred knives pierce my knee. I shriek and collapse.

The door bursts open. Casimir. My nostrils flare. I look away from him and hold back another cry of terrible pain.

He picks me up and carries me back to the bed. “I wouldn’t suggest jumping from that window.

There’s a hundred-foot drop to the river.” He lays me down, and I wince as he gently prods my knee. “Please be careful. We haven’t set the bone yet.”

He pulls up a stool and sits beside me. I fight for breath as the pain gradually subsides. “What is this place?” I ask, glancing at the velvet canopy above me. “This isn’t the room of a soldier.”

“We’re in Beau Palais.”

My brows lift. “You live here?”

He nods like he’s embarrassed. “I’m, um, the dauphin.”

The prince? I don’t believe him at first, but then my eyes stray to the fine clothes he’s wearing, as well as a jeweled ring on his finger. “Why were you in uniform last night?”

He shrugs. “The successor to the throne must learn the art of warfare.”

I’m at a loss for words. The heir of the kingdom of South Galle is my amouré? What are the gods thinking?

“Are you comfortable?” Cas’s cheeks flush. “I asked my maids to change you into that nightdress.”

I don’t care about my clothes. “Where’s Sabine?” I long to see her again, but my chest aches.

She isn’t the Leurress my mother preferred over me; she’s the daughter my mother loved more than me. It isn’t Sabine’s fault, but it still weighs heavy on my heart.

Casimir scratches his light strawberry-blond hair. “What is the last thing you remember about her?”

I concentrate, but those memories are foggy. “She was battling your soldiers.”

He nods and fidgets with his fingers. “She escaped.”

I exhale with relief. That’s something to be grateful for.

His expression grows soft as he gazes at me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you on that bridge,” he confesses. “Your fighting was incredible.” His fingertips skim the corner of his lip.

“Your power is connected to the bones in that pouch you wore, isn’t it?” When I frown, he explains, “You grew weak after your mother took them away.”

“How do you know what was inside the pouch?”

“Oh . . . I was safeguarding it for you.”

“Was?”

He glances aimlessly around the room. “I’m afraid I lost it on the journey back to Beau Palais.”

I study his stone-blue eyes, suspicious of everything he tells me.

He clears his throat. “Can you tell me about that dust storm your mother jumped through? I’ve never believed in magic, but what other explanation is there?”

I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t understand it either.”

Now Casimir is the one contemplating me. “I’m not your enemy, Ailesse.”

Does he really believe we can be friends after last night? “I can’t stay here.”

“Your leg needs to heal.”

If only I possessed Sabine’s salamander grace. “I. Can’t. Stay.”

His jaw muscle flexes. “Because of Bastien Colbert?” He suppresses a scoff. “He’s a wanted thief.”

“I don’t care.”

Casimir’s brow furrows at the steel in my voice. He opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head and stares down at his hands. “Did you know my father is dying?” he murmurs and rubs his jeweled ring. “He’ll be gone in a month—two at the most.” He lifts his eyes to me. They’re filled with heavy sorrow. “I’m his only heir. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be king.”

I shift with an uncomfortable twinge of pity.

“Will you give me a chance, Ailesse?” he asks. “The same chance you gave to the boy who abducted you.”

My stomach hardens. “Leave Bastien out of this.” Casimir only wants me because he can’t forget the siren song he heard a month ago. It should have lost its lure after my grace bones were dug up under Castelpont. Still . . . he is my amouré. The gods want me to give him a chance.

The gods have nothing to do with us. Bastien’s words return to me. We don’t have to play their game.

But I’ve already been sucked into one. I’ve lost my first battle of wills with Tyrus. I would have walked through his Gate if my mother hadn’t thrown her knife into Bastien’s back.

My throat tightens. I struggle to swallow the ache. The image of Bastien lying on the bridge and bleeding out is still seared in my mind. Have Jules and Marcel found a way to close his wound?

I pray for the gods to spare his life, then I stop myself. I can’t pray for Bastien anymore. I won’t tempt Tyrus and Elara to make him suffer like the man my mother loved. He ended up in the Underworld, and I won’t let the gods wrap Bastien in chains.