Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(53)

“Oh?” He mirrors my movement, and his cloak opens farther. My pulse races. I see a knife on his belt. It’s small, but that doesn’t matter.

“And that place can’t be used as a harbor; the water is ridden with sea stacks and jagged rocks.” I’m going to have to be quick. Grab the knife—which will be difficult with my wrists tied; threaten Marcel so he stays silent; cut my own bonds; grab the flute, and then my grace bones.

Bastien hid them in a chipped pitcher when he thought I was sleeping. “The most hallowed part of the land bridge is what’s at its end,” I say, casting my final lure. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. This knowledge is sacred.”

Marcel leans closer. “You can trust me, Ailesse.”

“Can I?” My body thrums with nervous, almost frenzied energy. I grasp his cloak and pull him nearer, as if to search his eyes. He gulps, but I don’t let go. The hilt of his knife is a fingerbreadth away from my hand. “You must swear an oath never to share what I’m about to tell you,” I say, though this secret isn’t any more significant than what I’ve already revealed.

“All right. I—I swear.”

I bring my mouth to his ear. I curl my fingers around the fabric of his cloak. “A pair of Gates divides the mortal realm from the eternal.” I close my hand around the hilt of his knife. “They aren’t made of wood, earth, or iron.” I carefully withdraw his weapon. “Tyrus’s Gate is made of water, and Elara’s Gate is made of . . .” I really don’t know, except it’s unearthly and almost invisible.

“What are you two whispering about?”

My heart jumps.

Bastien is back. He’s standing just inside the chamber by the door, his eyes suspicious. The water bucket in his hands drips on the ground.

I jerk back from Marcel. I slide his knife under my thigh. The pooled fabric of his cloak conceals the move.

Marcel offers Bastien a casual smile. “Ailesse was just telling me about the symbols on the bone flute,” he replies, keeping his promise not to mention the Gates.

Bastien’s frown deepens. “Why would she do that?”

Marcel lifts his hands, baffled. “To help us figure out how to break the soul-bond.”

I steady my gaze on Bastien and add, “You’re not the only one who wants to end this relationship.”

His grimace lingers a moment, and then he lowers his eyes. I stifle a prick of guilt.

“Relationship?” he mutters, setting down his bucket. “That implies I had a choice to enter into it.”

He strides to the shelves and peeks into a few random pots and jars. “Next time you have something important to say, say it to me, too.”

“Fine.” My chest tightens. The blade of Marcel’s knife is cold beneath my leg. I could fling it at Bastien now. Maybe I don’t need a ritual weapon to kill him and end our soul-bond.

He looks back at me and crosses his arms. “Well?”

I shrug. “I’m out of important things to say for the day. I need to rest now.”

Marcel sighs, a little disappointed. “Well, this has all been most helpful, Ailesse. Thank you.”

He eases off the slab, and my stomach tenses as he pockets the bone flute again.

I shift, little by little, struggling to keep the knife out of sight as I lie down. I close my eyes, conscious that Bastien’s skeptical gaze is still upon me.

I feign sleep for the rest of the day. By what must be nightfall, Jules returns, and my three captors discuss all that I told Marcel. At length, they fall asleep, one by one. Even Bastien drifts off, though it was his turn to keep watch. He must trust me a little by now.

I tamp down the guilt that gives me. I cut apart my ropes and tiptoe over to Marcel. I slide the flute from his pocket and sneak to the shelves. When I pull down the chipped pitcher, my pulse races. My bones are within.

I grab a small leather pouch that Jules uses for coins and replace the coins with my bones.

Energy tickles me as I touch each one. The pendant of an alpine ibex. The wing bone of a peregrine falcon. The tooth of a tiger shark. When I pull the necklace cord over my head and the pouch settles against my chest, I breathe in deeply and close my eyes. I feel my power steel inside me.

I’m whole again. Balanced.

I’m Ailesse.

My graces are weaker than before—I’ve been in the darkness too long—but I can remedy that.

I fetch an oil lamp and quietly push the small door of our chamber open. I tighten my grip around the hilt of Marcel’s knife and look back at Bastien. His dark hair has tumbled across his closed eyes, and it flutters with his heavy breathing.

A flood of sensations rushes into me. The coolness of the water he gave me. The strong press of his hand when he pulled me out of the pit. The echo of his words: Pull yourself up. Take my hand.

I find myself softly smiling at him.

I tuck the knife into the sash of my dress. I won’t kill Bastien. For now. I’ll return to my mother, give her the flute, and ferry the dead at her side. And before the year ends, I’ll track Bastien down and do what I must.

I sneak outside the chamber and take one heart-pounding glance at the wall of skulls, then face the looming tunnel ahead.

Elara, help me find a way out of this prison.





22

Sabine

MY FULL QUIVER BOBS AGAINST my back as I race across the cliffs above the Nivous Sea. I haven’t shot one arrow since I killed the nighthawk. I don’t know what I’m hunting for, but my heart pounds with a deep sense of urgency. I need to decide and make my final kill.