Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  I pick up speed. She’s just reached Godart. The white of his eye is red with blood, and the silver owl is swooping in for another attack. My mother grabs the owl’s leg and hurls her away. The owl catapults through the air and crash-lands in the shallow tide.

  I gasp. That’s Elara’s sacred bird. My mother is in full revolt with the goddess.

  I run faster. She and Godart will turn on Cas soon.

  Sabine bolts toward me. Her eyes are wild. She’s rain drenched and shaking all over. “I’m sorry, Ailesse. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault Odiva broke the flutes. I didn’t act fast enough. I—”

  My arms fly around her. “Shh, shh.” We’re children again. She’s waking from another night terror. She dreamed another Leurress died for failing to kill her amouré. She swears she’ll never do what it takes to become a Ferrier. “I’m here. Everything is all right now.” But it isn’t. And it never was. Only Sabine had the sensitivity to recognize that. She was the one who truly understood Elara’s Light, long before I learned how to call on its power.

  My skin prickles. Light. It’s still the answer.

  I pull back from Sabine and hold her shoulders tight. “You don’t need the flute. You have a voice. Open the Gates again. You already know the siren song.”

  She blinks twice, her brows scrunched together. “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t just sing the song.”

  “Yes, you can. Elara’s Light has the power to penetrate Tyrus’s realm. That’s how I spoke to you in the vision. It’s how I spoke to Bastien. Light has more power than anyone in our famille realizes. Odiva didn’t want us to know that. She wanted us dependent on Tyrus.” I rub her arms to encourage her. “Draw on the Light inside you. Sing, Sabine.”

  She clutches the lump under the neckline of her dress, where her grace bones are tucked away. Her face clouds with doubt.

  “You can do this.” I kiss her cheek quickly. I have to hurry and help Cas. The silver owl is still floundering in the water, and my mother has drawn a bone knife. She’s stalking toward my amouré. “No one else in our famille discerns Light like you do. You were meant to be matrone.”

  She swallows. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Yes.” I truly do. I hope my fleeting smile is enough to convince her. I channel all the love and truth I can into it before I take up her fallen staff and race away. Bastien catches up to me, and I grasp his hand.

  “Wait!” Sabine shouts. “Even if I can open the Gates, how will I free the Unchained without you? We have to connect the Gates together.”

  I don’t stop running. I call over my shoulder, “Sing a new song if you need to, and use the Ferriers. They’re also daughters of Elara. Their Light is powerful.” United, I have to believe we’re stronger than Tyrus. “I’ll join you when I can.”

  When I do, I’ll assault the god of the Underworld, like he assaulted his bride by stealing the Unchained from her kingdom. I’ll demand an end to this war and all the blood sacrifice.

  Bastien glances at me as we race onward. “About that fighting chance you said we had against your mother—I’m ready when you are.”

  I nod and take a deep breath to focus myself. I reach for the Light inside Bastien, the song of his soul, knowing both of us are willing to give love and receive it.

  I furrow my brow, struggling to form a connection. My stomach is tense, and my legs are restless. I’m about to face my mother. But once I murmur Bastien’s name, I’m centered on the glowing embers inside him. I fan them brighter with my own Light and share what I have, with no need for blood or bones or sacrifice.

  I exhale, meeting his gaze. “Can you feel them?”

  He grins and squeezes my hand, his grip tiger shark strong.

  We’re a formidable team now. We’re both sharing my graces.

  40

  Sabine

  I HASTEN TO THE EDGE of the shore overlooking the flooded land bridge and fold my arms across my roiling stomach. The tide laps at my feet, but I’m numb to the cold. Sing the Gates open? I might laugh if the situation weren’t so pressing.

  Pernelle notices me struggling. “I saw Odiva break the flutes.” She hurries over. “It wasn’t your fault, Sabine. Don’t let it trouble you. We need your help with the Chained. They’re escaping again.”

  I feign confidence I don’t have and lift my chin. “I know how to call them back.”

  Her brow wrinkles. “But that’s impossible.”

  “Ailesse learned how to do it when she was in the Underworld.” Not exactly true. “She taught me.”

  Pernelle’s gaze travels across the shore to my sister and Bastien, moving closer to Odiva. She purses her lips for a moment, then nods to herself. She raises her voice to the other Ferriers. “All is well! Sabine can call the souls back.”

  “No, don’t!” I grab Pernelle’s arm. “I’m not ready for . . .” I wanted to try it without everyone watching me.

  It’s too late. The nearby Ferriers stare expectantly. Some, like Roxane, are in the water. She wades closer. “How can you call them back?” She frowns.

  I want a shell to hide in, a dark cave, the deepest tunnel of the catacombs. “I’m going to open the Gates again by . . . singing the siren song.”

  Roxane’s slender brow arches. “Singing?”

  I nod mutely, my cheeks on fire.

  Word spreads fast among the Leurress. All thirty-two Ferriers gather around me. Some, like Pernelle, have desperate hope in their eyes. Most look as doubtful as I feel, but they keep converging. None go to aid Ailesse, Bastien, or Cas. They’re too fearful of our old matrone and King Godart, who’s sharing her graces.

  My heartbeat races as I glance at everyone. I suppose I have to begin now.

  I clear my throat . . . and start to hum. I don’t know what else to do. This song has no words. It was meant to be played on a bone flute, not desecrated by the youngest Ferrier of the founding famille.

  Pernelle rubs my back, which makes me feel like a child. “I think you’ll have to be louder, dear.”

  I nod, shivering in the pelting rain. There’s no safe place to gaze—everywhere I look I find skeptical eyes staring back at me—so I look down at my feet.

  It’s impossible to hum any louder. I have to open my mouth. I voice the melody with no other lyrics than a tentative “ahhhh” for every phrase.

  The song has never felt so long and shaky, so breathy and dissonant. I’m too nervous to stay on pitch. I haven’t captured the siren song’s hauntingly beautiful essence at all. If the Chained or Unchained can hear me, they must be cringing.

  When the song ends, I chance a peek at the dark sea. The tide has settled. Barely a wave skims the surface. Nothing stirs in the water where the Gates should rise except ripples from the rainfall.

  I chide myself, Did you really believe you could call on divine power with your voice?

  Whatever Ailesse learned in the Underworld is beyond me. I turn to look at her. She and Bastien are circling Odiva, drawing her away from Cas and Godart, but my mother’s haughty expression says she isn’t worried. My stomach wrenches. I should go help my friends. Cas’s right arm is bleeding, and he’s limping. It’s pointless trying to open the Gates.

  But if I don’t, the Chained will be loose for another fortnight, and more deaths will be on my head. How many of the dead already blame me for losing their lives? How many more can’t even point a finger at me because they no longer have a soul?

  “Try again,” Pernelle says. She musters a smile, but her brow twitches. Does she really believe in me, or do I only represent her last shreds of faith? She saw my mother’s sacrilege firsthand when Odiva raised Godart from the dead, when she killed Maurille and broke both flutes. Pernelle has also seen the Chained evade the Ferriers again and again. There’s little hope left to salvage what my famille has sacrificed so long for . . . except for me.

  “Yes, Sabine.” Vivienne steps forward. Her chestnut hair clings to her face in the rain. “Try again.”

  The words are echoed, Ferrier by Ferr
ier, their desperate prayers that I can do something to help them finish their duty to protect the living from the dead.

  Roxane is the last to say something. She bows her head, the tines of her antler crown sagging before she stands taller and looks me squarely in the eye. “Try again, Sabine.”

  My heart thrums faster. Pressure builds on my shoulders. Everyone is counting on me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Force my pinched lungs to open. Draw on the Light inside you, Ailesse told me.

  Where is that Light? All I feel are my crushing doubts, the golden jackal grace burying me deeper beside the stream in the hollow.

  My words to my mother echo back to me. Why did you even ask me to be your heir? I know the answer now: because I’m the weaker daughter. She knew I wouldn’t be able to lead our famille in rebellion against her.

  I sing the first phrase of the siren song again. I can’t even hold the last note. My mouth goes dry, my throat closes, my eyes burn. Hot tears slip down my cheeks. I furiously scrub them away.

  Distantly, a corner of my mind screams, This is the golden jackal, not you! Destroy it!

  Panic jolts through me. No! I can’t destroy the crescent-moon pendant. Its strength is the only thing keeping me standing against all my insecurities. It can protect me from the dead and channel the power of the Underworld. Immortal life. Only a fool would sabotage that gift.

  You don’t need immortality. The red stag gives you enough strength.

  Stop! I command myself. I’m matrone. I should have five grace bones. I’ve already lost my salamander skull; I can’t lose another one.

  Twelve feet to my right, something washes up on the tide. A dark gray bundle. No, it’s silver.

  I gasp and rush over to the owl, drawing her into my lap. Her wings are waterlogged, her eyelids slit with exhaustion. My graced ears catch the slight and rattled rasp of her breathing. More tears scald my face to see such a beautiful and proud creature so wilted and fragile.

  This is Light, I realize, naming my pain. It’s the same anguish that made me weep from all the blood and death I’ve seen in my life. It’s my anger and shame for being born what I am—a girl meant to sacrifice majestic animals like this, a girl destined to slaughter the boy she’ll come to love. I’ve ached for a better way. I’ve mourned that there wasn’t one.

  But what if . . . what if the better way begins with me?

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to the silver owl. She hasn’t guided me or given me visions in weeks. “I want to do better. Will you help me?” I can’t believe I’m asking this of her, but I push onward before I lose my courage—or, more important, my tremulous grasp on my Light. “Will you share your graces with me?”

  Her lovely eyes crack open wider.

  “I don’t want your death. I don’t want your bones. I don’t want to steal anything from you. I want us to work together.” I stroke her wet feathers. “You have the graces of Elara. This is your chance to take back from Tyrus what is rightfully yours.”

  She screeches so faintly it sounds like a purr, but I sense her Light pulse brighter. I wait for her dignity and power to flow into me, but nothing happens. Her head bobs lower. Her eyes stare directly at the lump under the front of my dress where my crescent-moon pendant is hidden. I understand the problem now. My jackal grace is blocking my Light—and blocking her power.

  I pull out my necklace and clutch the pendant. My muscles harden, freezing me into paralysis again. I can’t give it up. The jackal gave me the boldness to crash through a stained-glass window. It gave me the fortitude to set vipers on Beau Palais, and the viciousness to kill the red stag so I had a matrone’s five grace bones. I’d be no one but Ailesse’s weak sister without it.

  Don’t say you’re not enough.

  But what if I’m not?

  You have Light. Ailesse’s words again. Hold on to it.

  I hesitate. Can Light really be stronger than the strength of Tyrus?

  The silver owl rasps again, a soft but stalwart cry. I feel the sound reverberate through me, like it’s my own voice, my own song.

  I exhale slowly. Untie the pendant from my necklace with shaking fingers.

  “Pernelle,” I say. The elder Leurress comes to me. “May I borrow your staff?” I gently set the silver owl down on the sand.

  She passes it to me. I swallow and place my pendant on a nearby stone. I hold it there a long moment, not letting go. Perspiration flashes over me, hot and cold. Elara, help me.

  I focus all my energy. My head throbs, heart quickens. Finally my muscles go limber. I painstakingly drag my hand away from the pendant.

  The moment I let it go, I no longer feel its power. But that’s not good enough. I can’t let my mother or father be granted immortality.

  I stand up tall, broaden my shoulders, and inhale a shuddering breath.

  I slam the end of the staff down on my golden jackal grace bone.

  41

  Bastien

  MY TIGER SHARK VISION CUTS through the darkness and sheets of rain. With Ailesse’s graces, the moonless sky looks more like a gray dawn, even with all the storm clouds. My eyes snag on every detail of Odiva’s knife when she swipes for me—the aged color of the bone, the jagged teeth at end of the blade, a pack of jackals carved on the hilt.

  I leap back, and my breath catches. My reflexes are startlingly fast. The knife nicks my shirt, but not my skin. Odiva keeps driving me back toward the wall of the cliff behind me. I’m close to touching it.

  “Jump, Bastien!” Ailesse shouts. She scrambles up to her feet. Odiva has thrown her several yards away.

  Jump. That’s right, I can almost fly.

  I tense my muscles and kick hard off the limestone. I slingshot through the air. It’s all I can do not to whoop from all the adrenaline. I spin over Odiva’s head and hurtle toward the ground. My landing is a mess. I roll over and skid into wet sand, but I’m up again quickly, a dazed grin on my face. My pulse races, ready for more. With this much energy pounding through me, anything is possible. Revenge is possible.

  I crack my knuckles. Tighten my fists. Meet Odiva’s black eyes across the twelve feet between us. This is the night you finally die.

  Her bloodred lips curve. “The boy you love is overconfident,” she says to Ailesse, who moves into a tactical position on her right. “Is that why you desire him more than your own amouré?” Odiva tilts her head at me like a hawk. “I do not blame you. Bastien may be arrogant, but at least he has a strong inclination to survive, regardless of the graces he gleans from you. I cannot say the same for poor Casimir.”

  I look fifteen yards past Ailesse to where Cas is fighting Godart. He’s putting in a decent effort, but Godart has the clear upper hand, with five graces in his arsenal. Cas drips with rain and a good amount of blood. His arm and leg are wounded. Badly. Godart’s got Cas backed against a boulder, and he’s inching closer, using his sword to toy with him. He nicks him with small cuts. Hits his arms and legs with the flat of his blade to bruise him.

  “Go help him!” I tell Ailesse. She’s not any weaker, which means Cas hasn’t lost Light. But their lives are still soul-bound. He dies, she dies. That would just as well as kill me, too. “I can handle your mother.”

  Her pointed look says Odiva hasn’t even started to challenge us. She shifts on her feet, glances between me and Cas, then sucks in a quick breath, like she’s remembered something. “The salamander skull!” she shouts to Cas. “Cut it away! Godart can’t live without it.”

  Odiva’s grin falls. Cas’s expression hardens. He swiftly butts heads with Godart, then catches the cord of his necklace and slices it with his own blade. The skull drops to the sand. Godart reaches for it, but Cas cuts his hand and grabs the skull. He smashes it against the boulder with the pommel of his sword. It cracks into small pieces.

  I watch, holding my breath. I’m not sure what to expect—maybe for Godart’s flesh to melt off his bones and those bones to turn to ashes—but nothing happens. He growls and attacks Cas again. Their swords clash. />
  Vibrations thump up my spine and left shoulder. My sixth sense. This is how Ailesse described it. I look in that direction. Odiva is slowly stalking toward her daughter. “Foolish girl.”

  Ailesse steals another glance at Godart, frowning. She’s just as confused as I am. “At least they’re closer to having a fair fight now,” she says. “Godart won’t be able to heal.”

  “Heal?” Odiva’s nostrils flare. “Your amouré stole all his graces.”

  Ailesse narrows her eyes. “The salamander skull . . . it was binding your graces to him,” she says in realization. “But how? It was Sabine’s grace bone, not yours.”

  Odiva draws herself taller. “You forget it had Sabine’s blood on it, and through hers, mine.”

  I don’t follow the finer points of Odiva’s dark magic, but one thing is clear—it is a fair fight now. For Cas, anyway.

  Odiva charges at Ailesse with her bone knife. A new rage has taken hold of her. The games are over.

  Ailesse swings her staff to block her mother’s strike. Odiva leaps over it and slashes Ailesse’s upper arm. She gasps and drops her weapon. I bolt for her. Blood gushes from the wound. Merde, the cut is deep.

  Odiva smoothes a lock of dripping black hair off her face. “This is not what I wanted for you.”

  “No.” Ailesse clutches her bloody arm. “You wanted me to spend eternity in the Underworld.”

  Odiva lifts a shoulder. “You would have had a semblance of real life in the Miroir.”

  “Stop making excuses! You sacrificed me coldheartedly, knowing full well I would become Chained there.”

  “And yet you are here.” Odiva’s nose wrinkles as she stares Ailesse down. If Odiva ever had any love for her, it’s been obliterated. Nothing but pure hatred courses off her now. “Which means, firstborn daughter, I must kill you with my own hands, after all.”

  Ailesse fumbles for her staff. She’s slow with her injured arm. I try to grab it for her, but Odiva beats me to it, noctule bat fast. She whips the staff against Ailesse’s side—and her ribs break with a sickening snap. Ailesse is thrown down on the sand, writhing.