Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace, #1)(89)

“The dead are harassing them.”

“It’s more than that. The dead are growing stronger by stealing their Light—the vitality that feeds their souls. Innocent people will die if we don’t act quickly.”

His brows draw together. “Do you think Jules is sick like that? She’s been wounded this badly before, but now she’s starting to act strange.”

“It’s possible.” Though I don’t really know how a Chained goes about stealing Light. “If that dead man comes back for her, there’s a very good chance he’ll kill her. And when he does, he’ll kill her soul, too.”

Marcel’s eyes widen. Now he understands.

“I need that flute.”

He swallows hard. “Right. I’ll be quick about it.”

He shakes out nervous hands and ambles back into the chamber, assuming his usual nonchalance. I watch him and stand back from the open door to keep out of Jules’s sight.

He makes his way to the wall of shelves.

“What are you doing?” Jules growls.

“Getting some food, unless I need your permission.” Marcel brings down a sack of rough-spun cloth. With his back to his sister, he rummages through it while he walks past the shelves. He suddenly stops, seized by a coughing fit. He leans his shoulder against the wall, and his fingers creep toward a protruding limestone brick. It must be a little hollow on top, because when he reaches inside, he knocks something slim and white into his sack. He straightens and pounds his fist on his chest. “You hungry?” He pulls a chunk of bread out of the sack.

“Not hungry enough to eat that mold-ridden rock.” Jules’s voice shakes like she’s convulsing again, even though it’s warm and she’s wrapped in blankets.

“Fair enough.” Marcel drops the bread back into the sack and strolls out of the chamber with it.

We hurry several feet away from the door. He withdraws the bone flute, and my blood quickens. I reach for it, but he pulls it close to his chest.

“You have to keep your promise and never return for Bastien,” Marcel whispers. “He’s Jules’s best friend and also mine. We don’t want him hurt.” Or killed, he might add for the grave look in his eyes.

“I will,” I reply. Then my stomach knots. “Will you tell him I know he loves Jules and that I”—my voice cracks—“that I wish him the very best?”

Marcel looks at me blankly. “Huh?”

“You saw them tonight.”

“Well, yes . . . I mean, Bastien’s always cared for Jules, but you’re his soulmate.”

My chin trembles. “That doesn’t mean he never had a stronger attachment to begin with.”

“But—”

“Bastien will be safer with Jules, Marcel. You know that. Promise me you’ll keep working to break the soul-bond.”

His shoulders fall. “Of course.” He gives my arm an affectionate squeeze. “I wish you the best, too, Ailesse.” With a heavy sigh, he looks down at the flute. I know he’ll miss its mysteries. “Oh.”

His expression brightens. “I forgot to tell you. You know that bridge I mentioned—the one in the caves beneath the mines?”

I nod, curious.

He turns the bone flute over and points to the symbol of a bridge over earth. “This was engraved on it.”





40

Sabine

THE FULL MOON SHINES DOWN into the courtyard under Chateau Creux. Ten or so women are still awake and conversing in the corners of the open cavern. They whisper about the Chained stealing Light and growing stronger. They debate about what can be done before the next new moon.

Maurille smiles as I rush by her. “Good evening, Sabine.” Other women notice me, too. I’ve come home twice to satisfy Odiva after she spoke with me in the hollow. Most of the Leurress bow their heads, acknowledging me as the matrone’s heir. Some frown and cross their arms. Isla, Ailesse’s rival since childhood, gives me a look that could freeze the entire Nivous Sea.

I give her a cold stare of my own. Do you think I want this? I want to say. If Isla is jealous, she should have tried harder to be kind. I was chosen because I’m Ailesse’s best friend, the closest link to her. At least that’s what Odiva told everyone.

I hurry into the tunnel that leads to the ruins of the castle’s west tower. Odiva’s bedchamber is the only room within it. I race up the winding stairs, pull the bone flute from my pocket, and rehearse what I’m going to say.

I’m sorry, Matrone . I thought you’d be pleased I made the flute. I wanted it to be a special gift for you. You’re my mother.

I hope my words will calm her anger. Odiva was supposed to be the one to kill the golden jackal, and I directly lied to her about my newest grace bone. She’ll piece together soon enough that it never came from a black wolf.

My footsteps slow as I near her room at the top of the crumbling tower. Murmurs rise on the air and resonate from within, like Odiva is praying. I shouldn’t disturb her. I’m being bold even coming to her room. I barely know my mother. She distances herself from our famille, and she isn’t involved in our everyday tasks. She only speaks to us out of necessity. Truthfully, I’m not sure how much I want to know her. My whole life is a lie, thanks to the choices she’s made. Despite that, I can’t help creeping closer to the door. What is Odiva like when she’s alone? Maybe the unguarded version of herself is one I can learn to love.