In the cellar, I light a candle—I can’t find the lantern I usually stash down here—and take the door that leads to the catacombs and my secret hideout.
The bone-lined corridors soon open up to an old limestone quarry. After my father died, this place was my home for two years. Once I met Jules and Marcel, I rarely came back, and when I did, I came alone. Everything that once belonged to my father, I brought here with me. Everything I could salvage, anyway. City officials auctioned off the few valuables he owned to pay his debts. No money was left over to bury him, so his body was tossed into an unmarked mass grave. I can’t bear to think of him there, so I think of him here.
I lower myself down the scaffolding ladder at the edge of the forty-foot pit. When my father couldn’t afford to pay for any limestone to sculpt, this was where he came to quarry his own blocks. I’d often tag along and keep him company. He’d tell me stories of Old Galle between the strikes of his chisel and hammer. I thought the tales were myth. Maybe my father did, too, or he might have never told me about Bone Criers. He didn’t know the half of it. Neither did I, even after all my studying with Jules and Marcel. Nothing could have prepared me for Ailesse.
My chest suddenly pulls tight, and I struggle to breathe. Ailesse . . . I rest my forehead against one of the rungs of the ladder. When I close my eyes, I see her beautiful face again. I feel the last kiss she gave me in the well tower. I can’t believe she stayed. I can’t believe I really left her behind. I’ll still do whatever it takes to protect her. That hasn’t changed. I’ll help her survive her soul-bond. I’ll gently persuade her to accept that Casimir has to die.
I square my jaw and move down the scaffolding ladder again until I reach an eight-by-ten-foot quarry room, open to the pit on one side. I freeze. The missing lantern is lit and resting in the middle of the floor. It barely casts enough light to fill the space. A split second later, I see who’s lying at the base of the far wall, beneath the relief my father carved of Château Creux. A boy. No, not a boy. A damn king.
I yank my sword from my belt and charge into the room. Any warmth I felt a moment ago is gone. Acid burns through my veins. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Casimir jerks into a sitting position—a feat, seeing he’s tied up from shoulders to ankles with strong rope. His stony eyes narrow. “You escaped.”
“Of course I . . .” Wait a minute. If he’s here, then—
I spin around and call into the pit. “Ailesse!” My pulse races. I can’t see far enough. The light of my candle only shines a few feet into the darkness. “Are you down there?” She’s the only other person who knows about this place.
“She’s gone.” Casimir sighs wearily. “She’s out searching for you.”
I frown at him. “Why didn’t she bring you with her?” I told her where to meet me if she left Beau Palais—at Birdine’s apartment.
He winces as he shifts to get comfortable. “Apparently I’m safer underground.”
I study him, trying to solve the puzzle. If Ailesse refused to leave the castle with me, what changed her mind? “Were you attacked by a Chained again?”
His brows jut up. “You know about the Chained?”
“Fought them myself.”
“But how did you know I was attacked?”
I don’t answer him, and I don’t need to. The moment he figures it out is clear by his slow exhale and the downward tilt of his mouth.
“Ailesse was the one who helped you escape.”
I smirk. “Pretty impressive considering she was on a crutch the whole time. What’s harder to string together is how she got you out of the castle.” I tip my chin at his ropes. “From the looks of things, you didn’t come willingly.”
“Yes, well, I’m certain her grace bones provided her the advantage,” he grumbles.
“So you gave them back?” I snort. “She really has you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”
Casimir’s grin is tight and thin-lipped. “I’m not the only one who has taken extreme measures for her.”
A muscle tics in my jaw. “Don’t pretend you and I have anything in common, Your Highness.” I sheathe my sword and stride across the room to the right wall, toward the ledge with my father’s figurines. I set my candle beside my dolphin statue, a gift he carved just for me. I make sure it hasn’t been disturbed. All my nerves are wound up. I can’t believe Casimir is here, of all places. He mutters something as I dig through a crate, searching for a drink. “What was that?” I turn and glare at him.
“It’s Your Majesty now,” he murmurs, no pride in his voice. “My father is dead, murdered by those merciless Chained.”
My stomach twists. I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling to hold on to my hatred. It’s hard when I know the pain behind his bitter and broken expression. I’ve lived with it for eight years.
I shove my hands in my pockets. Shift from foot to foot. “My, um . . . my father was murdered, too.”
Casimir’s brows slowly pull together. He says nothing for a long moment, just stares back at me with slightly widened eyes. I try to look away, but I can’t. It’s like the moment I found Jules and Marcel after what felt like being forever on my own. They understood me. Their father had been stolen from them, too.
Casimir finally raises his voice, but it’s quiet and solemn when he asks, “By another Chained?”
I shake my head and sit down five feet away, my back to the corner wall. “Bone Crier.”
He swallows, nodding heavily.
We fall quiet again. The dense air of the underground quarry thickens the silence until he says, “You could let me go.”
I chuckle. “Says the person who had me arrested.”
“All your charges would be dropped, of course.”
“Ailesse brought you here for a reason. I have to respect that.”
“She plans to keep me sequestered here until the full moon.”
“Makes sense if the Chained are on your tail.”
“I’ll miss my father’s burial.”
My gut twists. “That can’t be helped.”
Casimir’s composure cracks. “I’m the blasted king!” he shouts. “I have to go home! I haven’t even had my coronation yet. Someone must rule this country. We’re being ravaged by the dead, border wars are on the rise, and North Galle is a constant threat—not to mention a growing population of dissenters who are all too anxious to see me usurped. If my enemies discover my throne is empty, they will seize the opportunity and strike hard.”
“Not my problem.”
He stares at me in disbelief. “That’s right. I’m sure a thief like you has never had to think beyond taking care of yourself.”
I scowl at him. What does he know about living off the streets? “Save your arguments for Ailesse. I’m not going against her in this.”
“Ailesse is a Bone Crier, Bastien.”
“What of it?”
He looks at the ceiling and shakes his head slowly. “I think she means to kill me.”
A twinge of sympathy pricks me, again not so easy to brush away. I know his fear. I’ve felt it myself. But I desperately need Ailesse to live. And for that, Casimir has to die. I can’t give him any false hope otherwise. He understands me now. He would know I was lying. “I think she has to.”
13
Ailesse
RELIEF SWEEPS THROUGH ME AT the sight of a painted sign swinging from an iron bracket. It depicts a dagger plunging straight through a heart. Le Coeur Percé. I’ve finally found it.
I shield my eyes from the noonday sunlight and survey the tavern and its second story. The building is patched together from odd chunks of limestone, mortar, and wooden beams, but its ruggedness is balanced by the beauty of creeping honeysuckle and cornflower-blue shutters. Which of those windows looks into Birdine’s apartment? Is Bastien inside? I need to explain where I had to take Cas. He won’t like it.
I hobble to the door and linger for a moment on my crutch. Am I supposed to knock or just walk in without invitation? Growi
ng up, I never learned the etiquette of people outside my famille. I nibble on my lip and decide to knock.
Just before my knuckles rap on the door, an elderly man with a knitted cap opens it wide and walks past me, giving me a second glance with raised brows. I’ve been getting similar reactions from other people in the city. Maybe it’s my dress. I tug at the off-the-shoulder sleeves of my velvet-and-brocade gown. Perhaps it’s too fashionable for everyday wear. At any rate, no one else in the brothel district is clothed like this.
The elderly man has left the door open, so I tentatively crutch-limp inside. Dust motes glitter about me from the sunlight, but when I shut the door, the charm I found outside vanishes. My tiger shark vision swiftly adjusts to the dim interior. I’m surrounded by oak, stone, and iron—aged not in the hauntingly beautiful way of Château Creux, but by soot and grime.
Ten or so tables are scattered about beneath hulking iron chandeliers, and a bearded man in a filthy apron stands behind a counter propped up by large barrels. Bottles of brackish-looking liquid and small casks line the shelves at his back. “What is Madame Collette up to now?” His Gallish accent is harsh, nothing like Cas’s or even Bastien’s.
I blink. “P-pardon?”
He snorts and dries a pewter mug. “Dressing up her girls like princesses, now, is she?”
“I’m not sure I—”
“Go back to La Chaste Dame.” He slams his mug on the counter. “I don’t need you stealing my paying customers.”
My mouth hangs open. I understand his meaning now. I passed La Chaste Dame on the way here. It’s a brothel house, and not a very reputable one, judging by the bawdy remarks I overheard from those loitering nearby.
Low chuckles echo in the tavern. I glance around at the few people I felt with my sixth sense the moment I walked in: two men, one woman, and—my muscles tense—two chazoure souls. At least they don’t wear chains.
“I don’t work for Madame Collette.” I limp toward a staircase past the counter. “I came to see . . .”
Someone gasps from above. I look up past the railing of the upper story and find Jules staring down at me. Or at least a version of Jules. She’s notably thinner and has dark shadows beneath her hazel eyes. “Aileen,” she addresses me with a scowl. “I told you never to come here.”
Aileen? I stare stupidly at her until she gives me a subtle but pointed look. “Oh, I’m . . . sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be gone.” She marches down the stairs.
“You know this girl?” the bearded man asks her.
“She’s my cousin, but we’re forbidden to speak. Bad blood between our fathers.” Jules takes me by the arm—her grip is weaker than it used to be—and ushers me toward the front door. “Stay out of this district, or you’ll start a street war,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“All right” is my best response. I need a good lesson in subterfuge.
She follows me outside and kicks the door shut behind us. “Hurry,” she hisses, and pulls me into a tight alley on the side of the tavern. “The prince’s soldiers will be looking for you. We need to be covert.” She sighs, glancing over me. “You should have worn a hooded cloak.” She rushes deeper through the alley and waves a hand for me to follow.
I hobble after her. “I didn’t have time to change clothes.”
“It’s not just your dress, Ailesse.”
My hand drifts to my hair, wild and tangled from my fight with the vipers and the Chained. “I’ll bathe before I go out again.”
She groans. “You’re insufferable, do you know that? You could be wearing rags and dripping mud, and you’d still turn heads in Dovré.”
I’m not sure whether to say “Thank you” or “I’m sorry,” so I say nothing.
Once we round the back of the tavern, she points to a warped wooden door. “Go through this entrance. On your left, you’ll see a ladder. Take it to the loft, then come back down to the second story. Birdine’s room is in the northeast corner. I’ll meet you there.” She hurries back the way she came.
I hastily follow her instructions, despite the awkwardness of my crutch. It isn’t too long before I find Birdine’s door and turn the latch. Jules is already inside and waiting. She tugs me into the room and locks the door behind me.
I turn and look at the simple but pretty room, decorated with yellow curtains and a vase of cheery golden coneflowers—clearly Birdine’s additions, though she isn’t here, either. The only other person in the room is Marcel. He’s sprawled out on a bed by the window and snoozing with an open book in his lap. “Where’s Bastien?” I ask.
“I was just about to ask you the same.” Jules crosses her arms.
“But he told me to meet him here.”
“Didn’t he escape?” she demands. “I thought the whip snakes Sabine sent would have—”
“Whip snakes? They were meadow vipers.”
“No, they only looked like meadow vipers.”
“People died, Jules,” I say emphatically. “They were vipers.”
She blanches. “I didn’t mean to . . . That—that was a mistake.” She rubs her brow and paces away from me. “Bastien, did he—?”
“He was only bitten once. I helped him escape.”
“Then why isn’t he with you?”
“I . . . I had to take care of some things before I left Beau Palais.”
“Things?” Jules frowns. “What things?”
Marcel sits up, his floppy hair bedraggled. “Ailesse?” He smiles crookedly. “You made it. You’re welcome for the whip snakes.” He chuckles and winks a droopy eye. “That was my idea.”
A miserable laugh escapes Jules. I’ll let her explain what he missed later. “We have to find Bastien,” I say, praying for my knee to stop throbbing. I can’t rest just yet. “He must be in danger.”
Jules tenses. “Was he followed?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but—”
“You don’t think that the Chained . . . ?” Her eyes widen.
A sick wash of anxiety chases through my stomach. I can’t bear to imagine Bastien losing Light or, worse, his soul. “How did you know they’re loose again? Were you attacked?”
“No, Sabine told me.”
Sabine? I keep forgetting my sister has been in contact with my former abductors. My two separate worlds won’t stop colliding. “Where is she?”
“With your famille,” Jules says. “She has her hands full with the Chained, too.”
Heat scalds my cheeks. I still can’t believe Sabine is matrone when I should be. “Yes, of course.” I turn away and walk purposefully to an open chest. I dig through a pile of clothes and blankets, my jaw clenched. “Do you have a spare cloak?”
“Take mine.” Marcel shifts off the bed and grabs it for me.
Jules fetches her own cloak. “Stay here until Birdine gets home,” she tells her brother. “And pack up. It’s time for us to move underground.”
Good plan. I give it my full focus and banish any more thoughts of returning home and reclaiming my birthright. At least for now. I need to deal with the problem of my captive amouré first. “We should all stick together in Bastien’s hideout.” Jules can’t afford to lose any more Light.
“Which hideout?” She tucks her golden braid into her hood and grabs a water flask, slinging its rope over her shoulder.
“The one off the catacombs and quarry beneath Chapelle du Pauvre.”
Jules exchanges a puzzled glance with Marcel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I forgot Bastien kept it a secret from them. “It’s where he hid me when the Chained were loose last time . . . as a last resort, of course. It’s a special place for him.”
She scoffs. “Bastien has a special place we don’t know about?”
Marcel scratches his jaw. “It’s possible. It wouldn’t be the only church in Dovré that led to the catacombs. It must have made a good hiding spot.”
“It still does.” I fidget with the strings of his cloak around my shoulders. �
��Casimir is there now. He, um . . . might be tied up.”
Jules gapes at me. Marcel bursts into laughter. “You abducted the prince?”
“The king, actually.”
Jules shakes her head, and a slow grin forms on her mouth. “Merde, Ailesse.”
“The Chained were after him and . . .” I cross my arms defensively. “It’s for his own good.” And mine.
She blows out a long breath, trying to process what I’ve done. “Well, I suppose it serves him right.”
Does it? I don’t know. But I’m not overly concerned with Cas at the moment, not when Bastien is missing and Sabine is trying to manage a near-impossible situation without me. “Ready?”
Jules nods and turns to her brother. “As soon as Birdine is back, hurry to Chapelle du Pauvre. I don’t want you out in the open much longer. If you hear a Chained, don’t fight. Run.”
I quickly tell him how to find Bastien’s quarry room.
“You mean I can bring Birdie with me?” Marcel asks Jules, like he didn’t hear anything else we said.
She rolls her eyes. “I guess. I don’t trust that girl to keep her mouth shut otherwise.” She tosses me a hard look. “You know you’ve committed treason, right?”
I lift my chin. “It was that or let the king die.”
She huffs.
Marcel opens the door for us. His lazy grin doesn’t falter, despite our talk of crimes punishable by death. I squeeze his arm as I hobble by. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too, Ailesse,” he says warmly.
As Jules follows me out, Marcel nudges her with his elbow. “Are you going to tell her?”
I glance between them. “Tell me what?”
She bites her lower lip. “Sabine wasn’t sure you should know just yet.”
My pulse jumps. All my earlier frustrations with my sister vanish. “Did something happen to her? Is she all right?”
“Sabine is fine, but when she was ferrying—”
“She didn’t ferry. The Chained wouldn’t be loose otherwise.”
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