The blacksmith frowns at me and unhitches himself from the column.
Godart raises his broadsword and charges at Cas.
“Please!” I shout.
The Unchained rush toward Godart. They leap on Godart’s back, grab his sword arm, and slow his blade just enough that Cas is able to block it with his own. Even then, he’s knocked down from the force. He rolls aside when Godart’s sword comes crashing down again. The five souls are barely thwarting his strength.
The Chained in the room race forward to fend off the Unchained. My mother joins them. Cas’s loyal guards spring after her. The blacksmith steadily strides in my direction.
Panic consumes me. I have to get Cas out of here. I frantically look around. There’s a gap at the back of the dais, between the platform and the wall. It’s just large enough for Cas to squeeze through—and Godart is backing him against that wall now.
I catch the maidservant’s attention. “Tell Cas to slip behind the dais and escape. Tell him he must leave Beau Palais. Sabine is on her way here. She will help him find safety.”
The maidservant’s chazoure eyes narrow, determined. She darts over to Cas and whispers what I’ve told her. “Who are you?” he hisses, unable to see her. He dodges another strike from Godart, who’s also wrestling two Unchained guards. “How do you know Sabine?”
I hurry closer. “Tell him Ailesse sent you.”
She repeats my words. Cas frowns. He doesn’t know what’s happened to me, but he does know I can see the dead.
Cas’s captain, Briand, joins the fight against Godart. The maidservant springs to help them, lashing out with her fists.
Cas slips though the gap behind the hollow dais. A few seconds later, he crawls out again at the front, through its velvet draping. He just misses my mother, who steps onto the dais right before he exits. She charges through the madness, tossing people and souls aside as deftly as she did while ferrying. She reaches Godart and demands, “Where has he gone? Have you let him escape?”
Godart knocks away Briand’s sword and yanks back the captain’s arm. His bones snap, and he howls in pain. Godart shoves him aside and scans the dais. “He was here mere moments ago!”
Relief courses through me as I watch Cas sneak out of the great hall. I race after him, wanting to be there when he finds Sabine. But I have only made it to the courtyard when the blacksmith steps in my path. I freeze. He has his sledgehammer raised.
“I warned you,” he growls, his mouth set in a stern, unforgiving line.
“Yes, but—”
He grabs my left wrist before I can finish speaking. Then, just as swiftly, he lets go and stalks away.
I stare after him and reach for my wrist to rub it. But instead of warm skin, I feel cool metal.
I look down and go rigid. There’s a cuff there—one round, perfect link.
The blacksmith has given me a chain.
27
Sabine
THE GREAT LIMESTONE WALLS OF Beau Palais come into view as I race closer to Dovré. I take the road that leads through Castelpont, not one of the main thoroughfares to the city. This way is faster and less traveled. Once I crest the high arch of the ancient bridge, I spy someone running in my direction from the path that curves around the city wall. Casimir?
I stop short. I thought I was going to have to break into Beau Palais, no matter who saw me, and force him to leave. I expected to have to fight off several guards, too. But Cas is alone.
He catches sight of me from forty yards away. I glimpse his eyebrows lift, with my keen vision, but then hard lines crease his forehead. He glances over his shoulder and motions me away, even as he sprints toward me. Is someone chasing him?
I don’t run away. I prepare to fight so Cas can flee to safety. That’s why I came here—to protect him in order to protect Ailesse.
“Get off the bridge, Sabine!” he shouts, coming nearer. He’s holding a bundle of cloth in his arms. “Soldiers are searching for me. We need to hide in the forest.”
“Soldiers?” I stare at him. “But—”
“I was usurped.”
My stomach drops. “King Godart?”
“How did you . . . ? Never mind. Hurry!”
He reaches me, and we run together off the bridge and into the trees. I pick up the sound of tramping boots and distant shouts. We have a head start, but Cas doesn’t have my graced speed. Plus, the ground is muddy from the recent rainfall. It won’t be hard for the soldiers to follow our trail. We need to get to the Mirvois River, where we can travel through the water without leaving tracks.
“This way!” I take the lead, racing westward through the forest. Cas follows me without a word. I try not to question his willingness. When did we become allies?
About a mile later, the roar of the river reaches my ears. I adjust our direction to take a shortcut. I can still hear the soldiers a quarter mile behind us.
A gully appears. I can leap the twelve feet, but Cas will have to cross it by a fallen tree that bridges the gap. I point it out to him, and he nods, prepared.
On second thought, I decide to cross it with him. If he slips, I can hoist him up before he falls the twenty feet. We keep running.
We’re three feet from the fallen tree when I yelp as the edge of the mud-slick gully breaks away. I plummet. Cas grasps my hand, but I only drag him down with me.
We cling to each other as we slide down the tumbling mud and earth. Seconds later, we crash into the shallow stream below, scraping into it on our backs.
Neither of us moves for a moment. We’re lying side by side in a bed of mud. We slowly turn to each other, gasping for breath. His stony eyes look more vividly blue with all the mud caked on his face. The thought pops into my mind that if I were with Ailesse, we would burst into laughter, and then my own laughter bubbles up my throat. I try to suppress it—this shouldn’t be funny, especially after all the terrible things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours—but resisting it only makes me snort. I fall into a fit of giggles.
Cas isn’t amused. Not at first, anyway. But when I point at him and say, “You should see yourself,” his composure cracks.
He shakes his head and starts chuckling. “You’re deranged, do you know that?” I nod and laugh harder. A smile splits across his face and makes his teeth gleam. “I think we’re both deranged.”
I exhale a heavy breath that lands between a groan and a sigh. “Well, being usurped can do that.”
He echoes my groan. “True. And what is your excuse?”
“Lack of sleep,” I answer tritely, then look away, staring up into the moody blue sky. The storms are gone for now, but the bruised color of the clouds promises they’ll be back again. “There’s more to blame than sleep,” I confess, my voice more sober now. “I was usurped, too.” I bite my lip. “It was harder than I expected. I suppose I wasn’t ready for another blow right after losing my sister.”
When I meet Cas’s eyes again, his smile is gone. His brow furrows as he studies me. “You lost Ailesse? How do you mean?”
I don’t know where to begin. How much does he even know about the Leurress? “Do you remember how my mother jumped through that swirling black dust at the end of the cavern bridge?” He nods. “That was the Gates of the Underworld, and Ailesse . . .” I swallow hard. “She’s there now. My mother tricked her into trading places.”
Cas sits up, agitated. “But she can come back, right? Your mother did.”
“I hope so.” I sit up, too. “But I’m not really sure how my mother accomplished that.” At any rate, I have no intention of sacrificing souls, if that was Odiva’s method.
He grows thoughtful, gazing around us at the sparkling stream and the dragonflies skipping across the water’s surface. “We’ll find a way, Sabine. Ailesse is closer than we realize.” He looks at me and closes one eye against the brightness of the sun. “She helped me escape Beau Palais.”
I frown. “What?”
“She told me how to leave, and that I should look for you afterw
ard.”
My pulse kicks faster. “I don’t understand. Did you hear her voice?”
“No, it was another girl’s voice, but she said Ailesse sent her.”
I’m about to reply when the soldiers’ boots thump above, squelching through the mud. I hold a finger to my lips and point to the top of the gully. Cas quickly rises and offers his hand. I don’t need his strength to help me up, but I grasp his fingers anyway. They’re warm, and his grip is confident. My stomach flutters. It’s hopefulness, I tell myself. If Ailesse found a way to communicate with him, then there’s reason to believe she really is nearby and still retrievable. I will get her back again.
Cas and I tuck against the muddy wall of the gully. There isn’t time to run without being seen. A moment later, I hear a soldier say, “They’ve gone into the stream to hide their tracks.”
“They’re moving toward the river,” another one replies.
They set off in that direction, their footfalls fading as they follow the path of the stream from above. We wait until they’re far gone before we step out into the open again. I hold my antler crown in place so the muddy wall doesn’t suck it off my head. I feel ridiculous. I really need to rearrange my grace bones into a necklace soon.
Cas trudges across the stream and picks up the cloth bundle he brought. He must have dropped it when we fell. “What is that?” I ask.
“My father’s crown.” He unwraps it. He moves to where the stream runs with clean water and kneels, washing some of the mud off the gold. “What would he think of me if he could see me now?” He sighs. “I couldn’t even rule his kingdom for more than a day.”
I drift over and sit beside him in the stream. I begin rinsing out the skirt of my dress. “If it makes you feel any better, no king would have been able to prevent what happened today, no matter how long he had ruled.” I scratch at a faded stain, the red stag’s blood. “I’m guessing my mother was with Godart?”
Cas nods.
“She has five grace bones.” I pause. “Grace bones are what give a Leurress—”
“I know what grace bones are.” He dips his crown in the water. “Ailesse explained a little, and I learned a lot more after she and her friends took me prisoner.”
I give him a pained smile. They haven’t given him an easy time, and between threatening to kill him at the cavern bridge and releasing meadow vipers on Beau Palais, I haven’t either.
“What I don’t understand is how Godart is just as powerful as your mother,” he says.
I consider that. “She must be sharing her graces with him. I’m not sure how it’s done, but somehow I shared mine with Bastien on the cavern bridge, too.”
Cas’s brows slowly rise. “Huh.” It’s a subtle reaction, considering how bizarre all the mysteries of my life must be to him. “Well, perhaps you could figure out how to do that again.”
“Perhaps,” I reply, even though I highly doubt it. It was probably my mother’s dark magic that bled into us from the chain of our joined hands.
Cas goes back to cleaning his father’s crown. I watch him quietly for a moment, captivated by the way the sunlight glints against his eyelashes.
“Do you think . . . ?” I twist my dress in the water, unsure why my heart is beating faster. “Do you think you and I can begin again?”
He stops rubbing and lifts his eyes to me. Even with mud smeared through his loose strawberry curls and down his face and neck, he’s as handsome as he was when I first met him at Castelpont, when I wondered if he could be my amouré instead of Ailesse’s.
Heat flushes my cheeks, and my nerves flare like they do when I’m in danger. Is this danger I’m feeling? I hated Cas for abducting Ailesse. I didn’t care that he thought he was saving her. But now . . . well, I don’t hate him anymore.
“We have more in common than you think,” I go on, nervous that he hasn’t said anything. “You’re meant to rule South Galle, even though it first belonged to King Godart. And I’m meant to rule my famille, even though Ailesse was the first heir.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I catch myself. Do I really believe I’m meant to be matrone? “We’re also both determined to overthrow my mother and father.”
Cas blinks, and then his eyes widen. “Wait, King Godart is your father?”
I shrug. “I only found out yesterday. My mother sort of resurrected him.”
He shakes his head slowly and gives a droll laugh. “Is it strange that I find that comforting? It makes a lot more sense than the story he told me. Godart claimed my father falsified his death in order to seize his throne.”
“Oh, Cas . . .” Shame spools inside me, even though I can’t help who my father is. “I’m so sorry.”
“You realize what this means, don’t you?” He arches a brow. “You and I are rivals.”
I frown. “Why?”
“You should be ruling more than your famille, Sabine. By all rights, you’re also the heir of South Galle.”
I scoff and roll my eyes.
“I think we’re going to have to duel now,” he adds.
I smirk. “You know I’d kill you, right?”
“I know.” He chuckles.
We smile at each other for a long moment. Warmth slips into my chest and settles there, despite how conscious I am of my mud-drenched appearance.
Cas washes his hand in the water and then offers it to me. I don’t think mine will ever be clean again, but I give it to him anyway. He shakes it, and his right cheek dimples. “This is us starting over, Sabine.”
“So we’re friends now?” I grin.
His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, and I find myself holding my breath. “We’re friends.”
28
Ailesse
I STAND AT THE BANK of the stream, watching Sabine and Cas wash the mud from their clothes. Sabine has already rinsed her face clean. Her cheeks have a pretty flush from the cool water—and maybe from the way Cas keeps catching her eye and softly grinning at her. I don’t mind that he is, I realize.
The separation I’m experiencing from the life I led is already shining more clarity on it. When I look at Cas, I’m not conflicted by what I should or shouldn’t be feeling for him. I see him more objectively now, not as my amouré, but as a sweet and wise boy who seems to be taking a tentative interest in my sister.
A wistful smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. What I would give to forget all my troubles and steal a moment alone with Sabine. I would tease her that she’s starting to like Cas. She’d deny it until I teased her harder and made her confess. It would be like old times, back when we hid off the road and watched travelers come and go from the city, stifling our giggles as we imagined what their lives were like . . . wondering what ours would be like if they were so magically ordinary.
The daydream fades as I look down at the cuff around my left wrist. I yank at it, trying to slip it off my hand, but the band is wide, tight fitted, and hard like iron. Its color isn’t chazoure, like the chains of the souls I’ve ferried; instead, it’s the new and strange color that the rest of me glows with. I thought the jackals would come for me after the blacksmith marked me, but I haven’t even heard a distant howl. Still, a chain link can’t be a good thing.
My sixth sense shivers up my right arm, and I turn in that direction. The blacksmith has reappeared, and he’s with a beautiful woman who looks as timeless as him, neither young nor old. They’re several yards away and standing along the same bank downstream. If the blacksmith were alone, I might be more nervous, but the woman’s presence is calming and somehow familiar. Her long and waving hair is loosely braided and pulled in front of her shoulder. It’s the same color I am, and the same color as her eyes and skin and all the rest of her.
The blacksmith and the woman stand close together, but not touching. He whispers something to her, and she leans nearer to him. He pulls away slightly as a lock of her hair slips out of her braid and wisps toward his face. They must be talking about me, because they both meet my eyes at the same time, even though I haven�
��t moved or made a sound.
The woman nods at the blacksmith, and I hear her words when she murmurs, “I will see to it.” They share a parting glance that lingers, weighted with a yearning that feels ancient and almost tangible. The blacksmith throws me a stern gaze and walks away while the woman walks toward me. I drift closer to her as well. She has answers about this place; I can sense wisdom behind her lovely eyes.
The bank is narrow where we meet, so we stand in the stream. The water rushes over my shoes and her bare feet, but it doesn’t part around us like it would around a rock. We have no effect on it whatsoever. The woman glances over me. She doesn’t smile, but her expression doesn’t pass judgment, either. Soft locks of hair float around her face in the illusionary breeze that also stirs my own hair and dress, and her posture is both elegant and relaxed. “Forgeron told me we had another Leurress in our midst,” she says.
“Another one?” I frown. “Oh . . . you must have met my mother when she was here.”
She nods, searching my eyes.
“I’m not like my mother,” I add, fidgeting with my fingers behind my back.
“Perhaps not in all ways.” Her head tilts. “Your mother was at least clever enough not to earn one of those.” She gestures at the cuff around my wrist, and I cover it with my hand. A small grin lights upon her mouth and curves the edges of her full upper lip. “I have two of them,” she confesses, and holds up her arms. The long sleeves of her dress fall back and reveal a cuff on each wrist. Hers are the same size and color as mine, but they’re also beautifully engraved with flowers and scrollwork. “They feel a part of me now. I have had them for centuries.”
Centuries? My chest sinks.
Her grin deepens. “My name is Estelle, and I am also a Leurress, the first of our kind.”
I feel my eyes grow round. “You mean the first Leurress ever born, the Leurress born in a beam of silver moonlight between the Night Heavens and the Underworld—that was you?”
“In reality, I fell from the Night Heavens into the beam of silver moonlight.” Her shoulders tremble with silent laughter. “But yes, that was me.”
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