Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(37)

Sweat collects on the back of my neck. I wipe it away and readjust my grip on my bow.

Despite my resolve, every tense muscle in my body whispers what I’m doing is wrong. Why should an innocent creature pay for my mistakes? But Odiva’s voice rings louder in my mind: You are not a child anymore. If you had obtained more graces before tonight, you would have been able to overpower your assailant. Ailesse would have had a fighting chance.

The branches close in around me, and I tread deeper into the woods. A dull ache throbs through my head; my wounds have almost healed. If only my fire salamander grace could give me endless energy. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, but I can’t stop now.

I blow out a shaky breath. You can do this, Sabine. If I’m killing creatures to save Ailesse, I can forgive myself. I will forgive myself.

Something rustles above me. I flinch and glance up. My eyes grow wide.

A silver owl.

I fumble for an arrow in my quiver. Elara is finally smiling down on me. An owl will give me heightened hearing, as well as talon-grip strength.

I nock my bow. Swallow. Fire my arrow. The silver owl is too quick. She swoops from the branches and dodges my clumsy aim.

A few feet ahead, she lands on another branch. I grab a second arrow, but when I move closer, the bird screeches and flies another two trees away.

I stare at the owl. She stares back with her striking black eyes. A prickle of familiarity runs through me. Is this the same owl that flew over Castelpont before Ailesse’s rite of passage?

No. What a ridiculous thought. Many silver owls must live near Dovré. Still, I can’t take another owl sighting lightly. Ailesse and I didn’t heed the owl’s warning at Castelpont. We should have left when we saw the bird.

What if this is that same owl?

The owl doesn’t blink or move. If she were telling me to abandon the hunt, wouldn’t she leave here and not come back?

I take one step. Then another. On the third step, the silver owl spreads her wings. She flutters away until she reaches the edge of my vision in the darkening haze. She lands again, but this time on the ground. Uncharacteristic for an owl. It’s almost like the gods are giving her to me.

I tentatively press forward, my fingers tingling with the urge to string my bow again, but I resist. This isn’t the way a hunt works. An animal shouldn’t make herself an easy target.

Conscientious of each swish of my dress and snag of my hem on the brambles, I reach the owl, stopping when I’m six feet away. My pulse thrums. The bird and I are standing in a small clearing.

Twilight has passed, and the waning moon showers a soft glow over us. Elara’s Light funnels into me and straightens my spine.

The silver owl tilts her head, as if she’s waiting for me. I finally withdraw another arrow. Like all ritual weapons, each one in my quiver has an arrowhead carved from the bones of a stag. Death at its strike will mark the owl’s soul and give her greater glory in Paradise.

That doesn’t ease my conscience.

Gather your courage, Sabine. Smother your reservations.

Tears sting the back of my throat as I nock the arrow. The moment I do, the owl flies in my face. Her claws tear into my shoulder. I hiss and bat her away. She circles me and swoops off in the same direction as before. When she’s almost out of view, she lands and peeks back at me. My rushing heartbeat slows.

She doesn’t want me to kill her. She wants me to follow her.

I do, although none of this makes sense. Animals can’t communicate with people. Not like this.

The owl moves deeper into the forest. Sometimes she flies short distances. Sometimes she skips from one spot to the next. The moon rises higher in the sky. The warm air grows a little cooler.

At length, the owl brings me to the top of a grassy ravine. I wait for her to lead me onward, but she screeches three times and launches off her tree branch. She zooms away, straighter than the shaft of my arrow, and darts deep into the distance. She doesn’t come back. Strange.

I glance around me and wrap my arms around myself. Why did the silver owl lead me here?

The warm humidity drapes over me like a damp cloak. My skin itches from my dried blood. I’ll bathe tomorrow while I boil the flesh off the animal I kill. Somehow, I’ll endure it.

I hear a scuffling noise and freeze. I duck to the ground and grab another arrow. Maybe the owl brought me here to hunt the best prey.

I creep to the edge of the ravine. Halfway down to the bottom, a shadowy figure crawls out of a burrow. That’s all I can make out from my twenty feet away.

The creature turns and starts climbing the steep hill. I backtrack a little. I don’t want to spook it.

I nock my bow and flex my hand on the grip. I have to aim true. A smart creature will run or attack before it gives me time to shoot twice.

My heart pounds faster. Perspiration drips down my temples. Ailesse is the better archer, the better huntress, the better Leurress.

Enough, Sabine! You were born into this famille , just like her. Your mother was a fierce Ferrier.

Be the person she’d want you to be.

The creature rises above the crest of the ravine like a black moon. I hold my breath.

I let the arrow fly.

Too late. It’s seen me. It quickly flattens to the ground. My arrow whizzes into the empty air.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” a deep and throaty voice calls. Feminine. Human.

A shock of cold hits me. I know that voice, that girl. She mocked me beneath Castelpont.