Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  “What happened to you? Did a Chained—?”

  “I’m just tired, Bastien. I was up all night looking for you.”

  I frown, glancing over her again. The Jules I used to know could stay awake three nights in a row and not look as bone-weary as this. “Are you sure a Chained didn’t steal any more of your Light? Some can be shiftier than others.”

  She snorts. “Shifty Chained . . . what a world we live in.” She coughs a few times and sits on a pew. “Remember when all we had to worry about was the pact we made for revenge? Life was as simple as hunting for Bone Criers on full moons, telling Marcel to shut up if he wanted to tag along . . .”

  “ . . . telling you to slow down so we could keep up.” I sit beside her.

  She grins. “Those were the good days.”

  Was it good that all I lived for was the chance to stick my father’s knife between the ribs of a Bone Crier? I get what Jules is saying, though. There was an easy rhythm to our lives back then. The world was smaller. We felt like we had a handle on our place in it.

  “You’ll never guess who I saw parading down Rue du Palais just now,” she says. I wait for her to tell me, too tired to speculate. “The queen of the Leurress. Ailesse’s damned mother is back.” She coughs, shaking her head. “I warned Ailesse that Odiva wanted to be set free again.”

  My stomach sinks, and I stare down at the pew, scratching the splintering wood beneath me.

  “Bastien?” Jules stiffens and touches my arm. “Ailesse didn’t . . . ?”

  “Yeah . . .” I laugh, though I don’t know why. It’s a small and miserable sound that doesn’t loosen any of the tightness in my throat. “So . . . she’s, uh, gone now.” I dig at the pew harder. My stupid chin starts to tremble. I lock my jaw, but it doesn’t help. “I was trying to hold her back, I swear to you I was. I thought I had her.” I squeeze my hand into a fist. “I was so strong. I wouldn’t have let her go for anything, but then . . .” My eyes burn. I drag my hand over my face.

  Jules rubs my back, waiting for me to continue. Her touch is light and a little awkward, like she isn’t sure how to comfort me. The two of us, we don’t talk about pain.

  “Then I saw him,” I go on, having to choke out the words. A dry sob immediately follows. Dammit, Bastien, don’t start crying. Jules and I never cry in front of each other, either. Staying strong and angry is what has kept us alive. I lean forward and press my forehead on the back of the pew in front of us. I can barely breathe. “He hasn’t seen me in eight years, but he recognized me. He said my name.”

  Her fingers freeze on my back. “You . . . you saw your father?”

  “Mm-hmm.” My voice cracks. My face is suddenly too hot. The damn tears start falling. I can’t stop them or swallow this pain. There’s too much of it. “I tried to save him, too.” My sobs punch through my chest. “It all happened too fast, and I . . .” I blow out a rough breath and shake my head. “I lost both of them.”

  Jules closes her eyes tightly, like she’s reliving the moment with me. “I don’t know what to say, Bastien. I’m so sorry.”

  I haven’t felt this kind of bitter sadness since I was ten years old and I held my father after he was killed. I slid his head into my lap. I placed my hands on his cheeks. I tried to keep them warm while his skin turned cold. All night long, I cried. I thought my ribs would break.

  “How did you even see him?” Jules asks. “Why was he there? I don’t understand.”

  In broken words, I tell her everything that happened on the cavern bridge tonight—how Sabine’s graces burst through me and I saw Unchained souls stolen from Paradise and taken into the Underworld, and how Odiva and King Godart came out of the Gate of dust after Ailesse and my father were pulled inside.

  I slam my fist into the pew and bury my face in my hands. “I didn’t even get to talk to him.” My voice pitches high like a child’s.

  Jules pulls me into her arms and says nothing, just lets me weep against her shoulder. This is the first time I’ve hugged her since I met Ailesse. I didn’t know how to act around her anymore, and until right now, I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed my best friend. She’s more than that. She’s the person I’ve loved like a sister for eight years.

  Her eyes are wet when I finally pull back from her. She wipes under her nose. “If you tell Marcel we were sniveling together, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

  I laugh. “It’ll be our secret.”

  She holds up her pinkie finger. I grab it with mine, and we bump our elbows together, then our fists, like we did when we were thirteen.

  She releases a long exhale, which sends her into a coughing fit. Once she finally stops, she clears her throat and asks, “So what do we do now?”

  I sit back and rake my hands through my hair, thinking. “We reverse everything—figure out a way to get Ailesse back and return my father and all those souls to Paradise. We’ll plot a way to do that after we find Odiva.”

  “That part’s done. She was clearly headed to Beau Palais.”

  “And King Godart, he was with her?”

  “Unless Casimir aged overnight and got a new crown.”

  Burning rage hits my veins. I welcome it. Anger is much more useful than sorrow. Godart is alive and kicking because he traded places with Ailesse. I vow to make him pay.

  “Then we also focus on protecting Cas.” I take a steadying breath. “He’s got more to worry about now than dissenters and losing his Light. Godart is after his throne.”

  26

  Ailesse

  I RACE FOR BEAU PALAIS, trying to catch up to Sabine. One moment I’m in the forest near Château Creux, where I saw the blacksmith, and the next I’m at the gate of the castle. I gasp, looking behind me. The city of Dovré has the same smeared and streaked appearance as the forest, like it’s a painting, not reality. But how did I get here so fast? I didn’t even feel it happen.

  I turn back to the castle. The gate is open. At least a dozen guards are strewn about on the ground—dead. A chazoure Unchained soul kneels by one of them and strokes his brow. I recognize the soul as another guard, one who was killed during the meadow viper attack. “What happened here?” I ask him.

  He startles, realizing I can see him. Then my eyes widen. He can see me, too. “Two people infiltrated the castle. They claimed they were the rightful king and new queen.”

  I should be shocked that my mother killed these men. She was the one who taught me about the sanctity of life. A Leurress’s sacred duty to protect mortals from unferried souls is why the gods charged us to sacrifice animals and kill our amourés. “A little death is holy if it saves mankind,” she once said when she showed me the bone knife with which she had killed my father. “The gods will bless you for it.”

  As twisted as her words were then, they’re nothing compared to what she’s done these past two years—what she’s still doing. “I’m so sorry,” I tell the Unchained guard, feeling my mother’s sins upon my own shoulders. “I’m going to stop her.”

  His chazoure brows pull together. “How?”

  I don’t have time to answer. As soon as I’ve had the thought to confront my mother, I find myself standing in the great hall of Beau Palais, the same place where I attended the feast for La Liaison with Casimir. The tables have been cleared, as well as the garlands of late-summer flowers, but the blue banners of the sun god and the green banners of the earth goddess still remain. In light of all the tragedies that have befallen this place, I imagine the people are even more devout in worshipping Belin and Gaëlle, their favored gods.

  On a dais at the rear of the room, backed by a rich tapestry of Belin’s sun shining over this castle, Casimir is seated on the throne and wearing his father’s sapphire-embedded crown. Several of his councillors, captains, and high-ranking nobles are present, as if they were already gathered to discuss matters of great importance before my mother and Godart barged in.

  I can tell by the astonished looks in the room that their entrance is fresh. Now they’re walking toward t
he dais. I wish to gain a better look at them, and in a flash, I’m standing at the foot of the dais, close to Cas.

  Godart is arrayed like a king in the clothes he must have been buried in, though none of the velvet brocade is moth-eaten. His unique crown of carved onyx feathers and rubies is a testament to his identity just as much as his unmistakable appearance. I never knew the man, but I haven’t seen another like him.

  Sabine’s beauty is apparent in his facial structure and his rich brown eyes, which shine gold when the light hits them. But it isn’t Godart’s looks that set him apart; it’s his countenance. His power. It’s the subtle yet dynamic way he holds his broad shoulders perfectly square, along with the puff of his chest and the upward tilt of his chin. The only other person I’ve seen with that breathtaking bearing is my mother. It’s no small surprise that they found each other.

  While I’m awestruck by Godart, many in the great hall seem more captivated by my mother. They ogle her asp viper vertebrae and the giant noctule bat skull that form her bone crown, as well as the other claws, talons, and bones that dangle from her tiers of necklaces and feather epaulettes.

  When they’re ten feet away from the dais, Godart and my mother stop. They do not bow. “Casimir Trencavel,” Godart says, his deep and commanding voice resonating into the vaulted ceiling, “you are seated on my throne.”

  To Cas’s credit, he doesn’t betray any fear. He doesn’t even sit taller in a show of dominance, though I know him well enough to recognize that his cool grin means false bravado. “This is my father’s throne and my father’s castle. What claim do you have upon it?”

  “I am Godart Lothaire, King of South Galle.”

  “Godart Lothaire died fifteen years ago, the same year the great plague fell upon the land. Some say he brought that curse upon us.”

  “You brought the curse upon yourself,” my mother declares.

  Cas’s stone-blue eyes cut to her. He taps his fingers on his armrest. “And who are you?” He knows very well who she is. Last month he saw her stab Bastien on the soul bridge and leap through the Gates of the Underworld.

  My mother’s bloodred lips curve upward. She looks feline and hungry, like she’s playing with a field mouse. “I am Odiva, and I will be your queen.” I don’t understand why she cares about ruling a small nation, except that it means she can live her life with Godart. She once ruled a powerful famille of Leurress. She must have some ulterior motive.

  Cas’s nostrils flare, and a tremor runs through his brow. Odiva has struck a nerve. The last queen of South Galle was his beloved mother. “My father was one of the nobles who laid the late king to rest,” Cas says to Godart. “Before you make a play for my throne, you will have to prove that men can be raised from the dead.”

  Godart steadies his hand on the pommel of his sheathed broadsword. “I never died.”

  A derisive laugh escapes me, but no one except the chazoure souls collecting in the room hear the sound.

  “Open my tomb, if you do not believe me,” Godart goes on. “You will find it empty.”

  Cas’s brows harden. “My father buried—”

  “Durand said he buried me, but he lied. And he and the nobles who helped him steal my throne by stratagem are all dead now.”

  Cas shakes his head, tightening his fists on the armrest. “My father was never part of any coup. This is another claim you cannot prove.”

  “Look to the history of Dovré. When your father usurped me, the gods cursed the land with the great plague.” Godart turns to face those assembled in the room. “And now that his son is on the throne, another plague has descended. There is your proof. Tyrus does not support the Trencavel dynasty. The god of the Underworld has power over life and death, and he has punished South Galle and killed the men responsible for overthrowing me. And he will continue to punish all of you if you do not honor your true king.”

  The people in the great hall erupt in heated conversation. Chained souls whisper to some of the living, and my mother’s eyes follow them. I stiffen when her gaze drifts toward me, but then it passes by without the slightest pause. She doesn’t see me. I’m not chazoure like the other dead. My shoulders relax a little, but then I notice Godart’s eyes also trail some of the Chained. Is he sharing my mother’s graces the same way Bastien shared Sabine’s? How is it possible? I presumed the Gates to the Beyond had to be opened and channeled together for that to happen.

  Cas rises from his throne and lifts his hands to quiet everyone, though only some comply. “If what you say is true, then where have you been these last fifteen years?” he asks Godart. “Why did you wait until now to make a claim for your throne?”

  Godart pivots back to him but doesn’t answer. For a small moment, I feel pity for the man. He waited until now to reclaim his throne because he was dead. And he died because he loved my mother and the gods punished him for it. His fate wasn’t fair.

  “You’re an imposter,” Cas scoffs. “You’re playing on people’s fears to gain power that isn’t yours. I’ve heard enough. Guards, seize this man and woman at once.”

  Only seven of the thirteen guards present step forward. Cas’s friend and captain, Briand, is among them.

  The seven men slowly close in around my mother and Godart, who stand their ground. “I’ll show you power,” Godart says, “power given to me by Tyrus himself—his gift for being his chosen king and loyal servant.” Again, I feel a twinge of sympathy. As a dedicated Leurress, how long did I pride myself on being Tyrus’s loyal servant, too?

  Three of the guards raise their swords. Godart swiftly draws his broadsword. He cuts the arm off one man with a powerful stroke and leaps over the second. I gape. My sympathy vanishes. Before that man can turn to defend himself, Godart stabs him in the back.

  My mouth remains unhinged. He is sharing my mother’s graces. The third man slices his arm. Godart actually leans into the blade, hissing as it bites deeper, and yanks the sword from the large man’s grip. Then Godart crosses both blades at the man’s neck and decapitates him. The man’s head thuds to the floor and rolls to the foot of the dais, streaking a bloody path.

  The people gasp. A nobleman faints. The Chained circle like vultures. I stare in horror, my heart pounding, though I’m not short of breath. How can Godart be gentle Sabine’s father? His time in the Underworld has turned him monstrous.

  Cas strides off the dais, his face red with rage. “My sword,” he commands his guards. They pull back. No one attacks Godart again or hands Cas a weapon. Cas looks to his captain. “Damn you, Briand, give me a sword!”

  “Don’t do it!” I tell Briand. Cas has no chance against five graces—six, with Sabine’s salamander skull. Godart must be siphoning its power to heal, because his wounded arm is barely bleeding now. I still don’t understand how he’s accessing the graces. Even the women in my famille can’t share one another’s power like that. When each Leurress ritually kills an animal, she has to press her own blood onto its bone. That petitions Tyrus to imbue it with the animal’s power—power that can then only be drawn upon by the Leurress with that blood.

  As Briand deliberates, I spy the blacksmith from the forest at the fringe of the assembly. He’s leaning against a towering column. When did he arrive? He isn’t watching Godart and Cas; he’s watching me. His grip tightens around the handle of his sledgehammer.

  Briand finally tosses Cas his sword. Cas catches it by the hilt. He faces Godart. “Too afraid to fight your king with one sword?”

  Godart smirks and drops his second blade. “And you, boy? Too timid to strike first?”

  The muscles clench along Cas’s jawline. He strides forward purposefully.

  “Stop, Cas!” I bolt toward him. “If you die, Godart will rule.” If you die, then I’m really dead, too. I’ll never be able to come back. “You can’t defeat him like this! He’s too powerful.”

  Cas doesn’t hear me. He raises his sword and swings for the left side of Godart’s neck, but at the last moment, his blade snaps around and strikes low for
Godart’s right leg instead. Godart blocks the hit and drives Cas’s sword away with my mother’s eagle owl speed. She observes without interference. Godart must need to prove himself to his people, or surely she would display her formidable skills for herself.

  Godart slashes his sword three times, driving Cas backward. “Will Belin or Gaëlle not lend your their power?” he taunts him. “You have paid them great tribute with this castle. Their colors and symbols can be found everywhere the eye turns.”

  Cas stumbles, forced to back onto the dais. Godart hops onto it as well. He swings his sword overhead and brings it down toward Cas’s head. Cas narrowly dodges it. The blade hacks into the gold-plated wood of the throne.

  “It is no wonder Tyrus is angry with you,” Godart continues. “You and the people of Dovré have neglected him and his bride in your worship. When I rule from Beau Palais, I will right that wrong. I will drape these halls in black and silver and bring balance back to the land.”

  “You will curse us.” Cas feints for Godart’s thigh, then quickly swings for his arm. Godart is surprised by the move, but he’s faster than Cas. He spins aside before the blade strikes. So far he’s only been sporting with Cas. I dread when he fights in earnest. Cas will be killed as quickly as his guards were. As will I. I have to do something to help, even though I still feel the blacksmith’s eyes on me.

  Godart rakes his hair out of his face, adjusts his grip on his sword, and grins, flashing his teeth. “Now I end your rule, young king. Now I take back what is mine.”

  He stalks toward Cas. The heavy throne is between them. With a powerful sweep of his leg, Godart kicks it aside. The throne slams against the back wall.

  Desperate, I look for the Unchained in the room and find five souls: three deceased castle guards, a maidservant, and a noblewoman. “Help him!” I cry. Unlike me, they can exert tangible force. They can intervene. “You must have loved ones still alive in South Galle. Do you see what kind of ruler Godart will be? You have to stop him before he kills Casimir!”