Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(49)

“I won’t fail.”

The owl opens her wings. My vision changes again. This time it isn’t cast in violet, but shimmers with silver, like the ring around a full moon. Whatever I’m seeing, it can’t be from my nighthawk grace.

An image appears in my mind. Or maybe I’m actually seeing it. It’s translucent and struggling to take shape before me.

I gasp. It’s Ailesse. She’s sitting on a stone bench, tied up by her wrists and ankles. Her head droops to the side as she listlessly leans against a wall. Her auburn hair is matted. She’s scraped up and filthy, and her eyes look hollow. All her fire is gone. “Oh, Ailesse,” I whisper, my chest aching.

As soon as I speak, her gaze lifts. Our eyes meet. My heart quickens. “Sabine?” Her voice cracks with shock and hope.

I smile with desperate relief. I believed she was still alive, but it’s another thing to see her.

“Stay strong,” I tell her. “I’m coming for you.”

A tear streaks down her face.

I reach out to touch her arm. She’s that close. But as soon as I try, the vision ripples like disturbed water. Ailesse disappears.

My heart gives a hard pound. “What just happened?”

The only one listening is the silver owl.

She beats her wings. Lifts off the ground. And flies away.





20

Bastien

MARCEL HISSES AS I PICK another bit of gravel out of his wound. “Almost done,” I tell him. We’re back in our chamber, and he’s sitting on an overturned mining cart we use as a table. His right sleeve is rolled back, exposing a gouge mark that runs the length of his forearm. A rock struck him during the explosion; he misjudged how far away he needed to be from the cask of black powder.

“Jules will be back soon with the water. We’ll wash this up and help it heal into a proper scar. Birdie will find it irresistible.” I wink at him.

Marcel forces a grin past clenched teeth. “You think so?”

“’Course.” I pluck out another piece of debris. “She already knows you’re brilliant. This will make you look tough, too. She’ll be smitten.”

Ailesse gasps in amazement, and I bristle. But as soon as I turn to where she’s propped up on the limestone slab, I see her expression, and it isn’t mocking. She’s sitting up, body rigid. Eyes wide. Face pale. My stomach tenses. Is she in pain?

I rush over to her. She croaks out, “Sabine!” A tear rolls down her cheek. She isn’t looking at me. She’s staring straight ahead. She gasps again and blinks a few times. “Sabine?” She shakes her head a little. “Where did she . . . ?” Her eyes take focus on her surroundings. Then me. Tears cling to her lashes. “Bastien?” she asks, like my name is a desperate question.

That’s when I realize I’m on my knees beside her, my fingers woven through hers. Her grip is as tight as mine. Just as tight as when I dragged her out of the pit.

“Is everything all right?” Jules asks.

I startle. Ailesse and I release each other’s hands.

“Just checking her ropes,” I answer quickly. I give the knot at Ailesse’s wrists an obligatory tug. “She was thrashing.” My face burns at the lie. “She’s a bit delirious.” That much is true. “I think she hit her head when she fell into the pit.”

Ailesse sags against the slab wall, like she’s considering my words. She does have a nasty bruise on the side of her forehead.

Jules says nothing. I can’t meet her eyes when I get back up to my feet. The chamber is unnervingly silent as I walk over to where she stands by the door. I reach for the bucket of water she just brought in, and she takes a step away from me. “I’ve got it,” she says, her voice clipped. She shrugs past me to move to her brother.

I sigh. I hate this tension between us. Jules was far from happy when I dragged Ailesse out of the pit, but what choice did I have except to save her? I run both hands through my hair and stroll over to a stack of Marcel’s books. I grab one at random and hunch down on a stool, trying to make myself useful. Though I don’t even know what my end goal is anymore.

“What now?” Jules asks, as usual in tune with my thoughts, even when we’re at odds. She dips a handkerchief in a bowl of settled water and gently dabs Marcel’s wound. “The queen isn’t going to be fooled next time, and the catacombs didn’t cut off her power as much as we thought.”

Marcel nods, watching Jules work. “I’ve been thinking it must take a little time—perhaps a few days—for a Bone Crier’s strength to sufficiently weaken down here. Take Ailesse, for example. She didn’t lose her vigor all at once.”

“Makes sense,” I reply, and sneak a glance at Ailesse. If she’s listening, she makes no sign of it. She just stares at her limp hands.

“At least the queen knows she isn’t dealing with simpletons,” Jules says. “We’re as dangerous as she is.”

I don’t know about that, but I’ll let Jules have her show of confidence. She couldn’t cut through the pulley rope before the queen climbed out of the pit. She’s lucky the queen didn’t have time to find her hiding place. When another section of the tunnel broke away, the queen ran off with the other Bone Criers.

“How soon do you think she’ll return?” Jules wets the handkerchief again.