Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(76)
I clutch the fern-green dress close to my chest. “I’ll be fine.”
Bastien nods. Twice. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to pull an indifferent expression, the same one he mastered in our old catacombs chamber. It doesn’t look so masterful now. He keeps taking deep breaths and avoiding my eyes. “See you soon,” he finally says, and strides away. I stifle a laugh.
The water is warm and divine. I languidly scrub my hair and body until every speck of limestone dust vanishes, then I comb my fingers through my hair while I sit at the edge of the pool.
When all the tangles are gone, I slip on the fern-green dress and leave my ruined rite of passage dress behind. A deep calmness settles over me as I make my way back to Bastien’s room. I feel lighter than I have in days. My skin doesn’t itch, finally able to breathe. I’ll never take clean clothes for granted again.
My leg and arm muscles shake as I climb the scaffolding. At the moment, I don’t mind the effort. Bastien’s back is turned when I step into the room. He’s lighting a candle he’s placed on a shelf ledge. My lips part as I glance around me. At least ten more candles are lit within and perched on various places along the floor and walls. The flickering amber glow against the limestone is beautiful. I could grow accustomed to this place, if it always looked this way. “I thought you’d ration those candles for the lanterns,” I chide him gently.
He turns his head partway and smiles. “For one night we can afford more light.”
This is another gift for me, I realize, and I find myself gazing softly at him. The smallest tremble runs through his hand as he closes the lid of his tinderbox. He’s still acting nervous, which is adorable because it’s so unlike his usual confidence. “There’s food if you want it.” He angles around, but only far enough to tip his chin at the food he’s laid out on a blanket for us. He hasn’t looked at me directly since I came back from bathing.
“Thank you.” I linger a moment longer until I feel a splash of water hit my feet. My dripping hair is forming a puddle around me. I move to the edge of the pit and lean over to wring my hair out. It’s then I catch Bastien finally looking at me. I freeze and hold my breath. His eyes are timid, almost fearful, as they sweep over my dress and gradually lift to my face. My chest flutters, and I straighten, smoothing out the folds of my skirt. “The dress fits perfectly,” I say.
He swallows. “I noticed.” The tinderbox rattles in his hand as he places it on the ledge. He releases a steadying exhale and goes to sit on the blanket. He plucks a small red fruit from a clay bowl.
“Wild strawberries?” I grin and come to sit across from him. So far we’ve subsisted on a diet of bread, cheese, and dry strips of salted meat.
“I found them growing along the road. I thought maybe you’d like them.”
I take a few from the bowl and bite into one. A moan of pleasure escapes me at the burst of flavor after such bland food. “That’s probably the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
A smile teases the corner of Bastien’s mouth.
I chew and swallow two more strawberries. “I’ve been thinking about the engravings on the bone flute. They might help us break our bond.”
“How?” He sits up taller. We’ve been doing our best to find a way, but we don’t have Marcel’s books or his brilliance, and nothing I’ve shared about my famille has gotten us any closer.
I tuck a lock of wet hair behind my ear. “Well, each side of the flute has slightly different symbols. Look.” I reach for a stick of charcoal in a little tin against the wall, then scoot beside Bastien. I pull back a corner of the wool blanket. On the limestone floor beneath, I sketch an arch that looks like an upside-down crescent moon, and then draw an inverted triangle on top of it.
“That represents water.” I point to the triangle. “All together, this is the symbol of the soul bridge—the land bridge that emerges from the sea. I told Marcel that much, but he didn’t notice the corresponding symbol of the new moon—a solid circle. It’s above the tone holes, not below them.” I draw the circle and space the symbols apart. “I think the new moon is engraved on the flute to show what time the soul bridge can be used, which makes sense, because that’s when the Leurress ferry.”
Bastien chews on his lip. “And that’s connected to our soul-bond?”
“Not exactly. But the symbols on the back of the flute might be.” I sketch the symbol of the soul bridge again, except this one has a horizontal line running across the middle of the inverted triangle. Above that, I draw a circle that’s not shaded in and set my finger on it. “That’s the symbol of the full moon.”
He nods. “When a Bone Crier can summon her soulmate with the flute, right?”
“Yes, but what’s strange is that this segmented triangle means earth.” I point to it. “How many bridges can you think of that have earth beneath them and not water?”
Bastien’s brow furrows. “Only Castelpont.”
“Exactly. And I chose that bridge, out of all the bridges in South Galle, for my rite of passage. I didn’t realize it had any special significance, but it must have if it’s engraved on the bone flute.”
Bastien scratches his head. “I’m still not sure how any of this is connected to our soul-bond.”