Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(81)

I look at the woman kneeling before me. Her dress is waterlogged. All her pride is gone. Even her majestic grace bones can’t draw focus from the pent-up misery written across her face.

“I need you,” she says. “I’ve come to realize Tyrus will not lead me to the golden jackal if I do not have an heir.”

Why do I feel so much pressure to say yes? The golden jackal is already dead. If Tyrus really did give Odiva a sign about me, it’s because I’m the one person who knows where the jackal is.

“How is this going to work?” I ask. “Will you tell our famille you’re my mother?” They’ll think it’s just as ridiculous as I do.

“I cannot do that. You must understand, Sabine. What Ferriers are tasked with demands great faith. I would destroy that faith if they knew what I had done.”

“So you’re asking me to keep this a secret, too?”

“I am. You must. The Leurress will not question my choice. How can they when I tell them Tyrus is honoring Ailesse by choosing her dearest friend to rule after me?”

Ailesse.

Warmth creeps back into my limbs and wends its way toward my heart. All the Leurress call each other sisters, but now Ailesse really is my sister. That’s the one truth I can embrace without flinching. It’s the only part of this revelation that feels right.

Odiva takes both of my hands. Her firm hold makes my sliced palm throb harder. “The plain truth is you are, by all rights, my next successor, Sabine—blood of my blood. You must accept your fate.”

I’m shaking from head to toe. How can she ask this of me? Ailesse is alive. Odiva must feel it as well as I do. She’s disowning her firstborn by doing this. That can’t only be because she loved my father more. She’s still hiding something. I need to find out what it is.

“Very well.” I can retract my words once I rescue Ailesse and return her to our famille. Then the game will be up. The proper heir will be home. “I accept it.”

Odiva beams and presses her cold lips to my cheek. “Now come home soon. You have obtained all your grace bones. There is nothing more for you out here.”

I give her a stiff nod, and she rises to her feet and leaves the hollow.

A few moments after she’s gone, a silent flash of wings catches the edge of my vision. The silver owl descends on the ground a few yards away, and my eyes fly wide.

She’s perched on the spot where I buried the golden jackal.

I rush over. “Move away!” I hiss, and glance over my shoulder. Luckily, Odiva hasn’t come back.

The silver owl pecks at the ground and stares up at me.

My stomach turns. “I’m not digging up the jackal.”

She releases the quietest rasp-screech. She’s aware of the matrone’s graced hearing, too.

This is ridiculous. The only reason to dig up the jackal would be . . . “Wait, so now you want me to take a bone for a new flute?”

She bobs her head.

I frown at her angled eyes. Why has the silver owl changed her mind?

Because now you’re the matrone ’s heir, Sabine. And heirs can open the Gates of the Beyond.

All my nerves catch fire. “You want me to make a flute for myself?”

The owl hops close and combs her beak through my hair. I’m so startled she’s touching me— that she’s asking this of me—that all my muscles turn to ice. Even my heart seizes up. I’m not sure how many more revelations I can handle today.

The moment blood pumps into my limbs again, I reach for the owl. “How can I—?”

She launches into the air. Her wings flutter against my face.

I gasp. “Wait!”

She soars out of the hollow, and my dazed eyes lower back to the earth over the jackal’s body.

Elara, I hope you know what you’re doing.

I inhale a deep breath.

And I start to dig.





36

Bastien

I DUCK INTO THE PERFUMERY by La Chaste Dame, and my head immediately aches. Too many fragrances fight for space in the air. How does Birdine stand it?

I spy the top of her head behind one of the counters. The afternoon sun slants in through a leaded window and catches the dust motes above her frizzy ginger hair. She hums a familiar love song as she kneels by a shelf and organizes a row of dark bottles.

I creep up and lean my folded arms against the counter. “How’s business?”

Birdine yelps and whirls around. Her hand flies to her chest, and she exhales roughly. “Merde, Bastien. You nearly stopped my heart.” She stands and smooths her apron. “Business is business.

And, no, I haven’t seen Marcel.” She narrows her green eyes. “So stop pestering me.”

I’m not done yet. “Is that ink?” I nod at a stain on her left hand.

She hastily tucks it behind her back. “No. I just spilled some musk oil on myself.”

“What about that callus on your middle finger?”

She darts a glance at her other hand. “What about it?”

“It’s new. And curious thing, Marcel has one just like it.”

Birdine’s cheeks mottle red. “I have a right to practice scribe work on my own, thank you very much. It doesn’t mean anything shady.”

I level a hard gaze on her. “Give up the game, Birdie.” I deliberately use Marcel’s nickname for her. “You know where he is. Marcel wouldn’t have gone this long without figuring out a way to see you.”