Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  I stand taller. “You have threatened Elara and tormented your own Leurress daughters for centuries. You’ve thrust your own misery upon us, and twisted our sacred duty into a mockery. We are soul guardians and defenders of the living, and we won’t be compelled to kill any longer. And so now we threaten you.”

  Behind me, I feel the Light of all my sisters, urging me on. Each of them is here because they killed their own amourés, because they were told they had to.

  “We will keep this channel open!” I shout into the embers. “There are souls still within your kingdom for the reaping. We will drain the Underworld of every Chained in your grasp and leave you abandoned—alone for the rest of eternity with nothing but your own despair to keep you company—unless you end your demand for blood sacrifice. There will be no more rites of passage, no more soul-bonds tied to death, no more slaughtering of any life for power.”

  Tyrus’s siren song warbles, like he’s laughing at me.

  I dig in my feet. “Don’t you believe me? Elara will gladly receive your souls. Paradise is boundless. She can surely find a place to hold them.” The silver owl releases an explosive screech, backing my claim. “Perhaps many don’t deserve your chains to begin with.” How much mercy did Tyrus extend to mortals for the mistakes they made while they were living? Not much, if his strictness in the Miroir is any indication. “And the goddess will do something more. After we purge you of your souls, she will leave her kingdom unjoined from yours. You will rule an empty, desolate realm, and Elara will rejoice.”

  The flames of the arch retract slightly, a deadly simmer. Now I’ve angered Tyrus. It’s a start.

  I look to Sabine. “Do it. Sing to release the Chained.”

  Her eyes widen. I’ve had no time to explain my plan, but Tyrus needs to see that this isn’t an idle threat. We have the power to strip him dry.

  Sabine quickly composes herself and hardens her brow. She inhales a steadying breath and sings a song I’ve never heard. No one has. It’s all minor notes and violent staccato. It speaks wordlessly of the worst of the Chained, the most wretched and murderous and greedy. The Ferriers join her, their harmonies discordant and out of rhythm. It’s just what the song needs. The silver owl pushes off my shoulder and flaps around them, lending her own high-pitched screams.

  Past the flashing embers beyond the Gate, the vilest chazoure Chained start to converge. They’re howling and raging. They want to escape the Underworld, too.

  The flaming arch swells in size, blazing higher and hotter and more vicious. The heat scorches my face and sears my eyes, but I don’t back away. I won’t let Tyrus intimidate me.

  The Ferriers’ song becomes a chant of shrieks and wails, the language of the Chained. It’s horrific and cacophonous and terribly perfect.

  Two souls stagger down the beach, my mother and Godart. Newly forged chains encumber their limbs and throats. No Ferrier fights them. They don’t need to. Odiva and Godart can’t resist Tyrus’s siren song. It rages raucous and bitter. It forces his servants to face their fate.

  I meet my mother’s desperate gaze, and my heart squeezes. Would she have made the same awful choices in life if she’d been allowed to love who she wanted from the beginning?

  She’s swept past me, sucked near Tyrus’s Gate. At the last moment, I grab her hand. She gasps and seizes Godart’s in turn. Her eyes aren’t black anymore; they’re chazoure, and they glitter with tears. “Forgive me, Ailesse.”

  I hesitate, my pulse racing. “I want to.” Holding on to the bitterness of the past won’t bring me any peace. If I can forgive my mother, can Elara do the same? Can her kingdom really welcome a Chained soul and offer a path to redemption?

  There’s one way to find out.

  I slowly backtrack in the sand, using all my Light and graced strength. I drag my mother and Godart away from the fiery arch, then pivot and launch them in the other direction—toward the shimmering Gate to Paradise.

  They stumble inside the goddess’s kingdom. No blast of energy shoots them out again. Their bodies relax. Their strained expressions ease. My mother exhales and offers me an elegant nod and fragile smile. Hand in hand with Godart, she turns and ascends the staircase to Paradise.

  My chest swells with hope. Perhaps she and I will grow to love each other one day.

  The flames of Tyrus’s Gate roar stronger, build wider. The shrieks in the Underworld intensify. I rush back to the fiery arch, and it almost engulfs me. My hair whips around my shoulders. My feet blister in the sand. I clench my jaw and hold on to the brighter blaze of Elara’s Light inside me.

  Warped, disfigured faces press closer from the other side of the Gate—the most vicious of the Chained that Tyrus has tortured in the deepest realms of his kingdom. Somewhere beyond their chazoure bodies are two orvande souls I can no longer see, just like they can no longer see me. But Estelle and Aurélien are ancient and wise. They must know what is happening. I can picture Aurélien now, his hammer raised and ready.

  The soul closest to the Gate—a man with gouged-out eyes and sewn-shut lips—blindly staggers forward. He claws out for me past the embers. His hand is missing two fingers.

  The flames of the Gate lash madly. Tyrus’s siren song clashes and pounds in frenetic, furious turbulence. If the Gate becomes fully breeched—if Sabine and the Ferriers allow that barrier to fall—there will be no holding back the violent Chained. Yes, Tyrus will have lost, but we’ll also surely be killed.

  “Do you want this to end?” I shout at the top of my lungs. A fingernail on the mangled hand snags my blouse. I don’t shrink away. “It’s simple, Tyrus. Stop coercing your bride to join you. If you love her, show her. Let your rage and hatred go. Break my soul-bond. End your reign of blood sacrifice.”

  The Gate of fire pulses. The flames surge and contract, like he’s undecided.

  The withered hand trails up to my throat. It may only have three fingers, but they’re long and stretched. They can easily strangle me. They clutch my neck. Squeeze like a vise.

  I hold my ground. My heart drumrolls. My vision flickers with black stars. Please, please, Elara. Don’t let me die like this.

  The rippling arch blasts to a towering height. It shoots at least fifty yards into the night sky. Tyrus’s siren song crescendos, a deafening rail on my eardrums.

  The Ferriers sing louder, their voices full-scale blaring. At the core of their defiance, I feel their powerful and unified Light. Elara’s Gate and the translucent staircase flash with opaque bursts of silver. The stars in the Night Heavens penetrate the storm clouds. The goddess is sending us all her strength, too.

  I can’t speak to Tyrus aloud, so I speak in my mind, hoping my words will still reach him. Elara might give you a second chance if you learned to show long-suffering affection, I say. Perhaps then your kingdoms could rejoin, and you could grant the penitent Chained forgiveness. The Beyond could become a place where redemption is possible for all.

  The withered hand clenches tighter. Darkness crowds my vision. I’m about to lose consciousness. About to die. Tyrus hasn’t heard me. Either that, or he doesn’t care. He’ll never change.

  All at once, the flames crash. The siren song ends. The arch collapses to its former size. The clawing hand retracts.

  My muscles go slack. I release a trembling exhale and breathe in heavily.

  He did it. Tyrus surrendered.

  I slowly stand taller. Warmth radiates inside me. I stare into the embers and call to Aurélien by his blacksmith’s name, “Strike your hammer, Forgeron. It is done.”

  I can’t see his weapon, but I hear its earth-shuddering slam against the ground. The howls and yips of the jackals rise. They’ve come to return the Chained to the depths of the Underworld.

  I cling to the hope that Tyrus will prove himself and grant his souls more mercy. Perhaps then they’ll advance to the Miroir once more. I picture Forgeron in a new role: the breaker of chains. I envision Estelle ushering forgiven souls out of the Underworld and back to her daughters, the living Ferrie
rs. My famille and I could guide them into Paradise.

  Sabine and the Ferriers stop singing. Pernelle lets go of the burning column. The other Leurress break their hands apart. The channel closes. The Gate of fire vanishes. Nothing but charred smoke curls up from the sand.

  My legs wobble. I press my palm to my chest. I can’t believe we did it.

  Bastien rushes to me and catches me up in his arms. He laughs, kissing my mouth, my cheeks, my forehead. My broken ribs ache. I don’t care. “You were incredible!” he says.

  I smile, light-headed. I’m still quaking in shock. “We just . . . we won, right?”

  He laughs again and cradles my face in his hands. “We more than won. We brought Hell to its knees.” He kisses me a second time, deep and tender and beautifully dizzying. I lean into him, and finally—finally—the last of my tension, months in the making, melts away.

  I pull back and gaze serenely into his eyes. “I never want to be your friend again.” His brow wrinkles. “No, that wasn’t right.” I frown at myself. My head is still in a daze. “I meant I don’t like being just friends . . . but I like you. Actually, I love you.” How did Estelle say it to Forgeron? “You’re my song’s soul.” I blink. “My soul’s song.”

  Bastien chuckles and wraps me in another embrace. “Please keep talking. I’ve never been more entertained.” I slug his arm, and he laughs harder, kissing my cheek. “I love you, too,” he says.

  I grin and look past him for Sabine, but she’s not where I last saw her. I scan the Ferriers, and the ringing in my ears fades. It’s replaced by the soft and lovely descant from Paradise. A few feet away, Elara’s shimmering Gate is still standing. The silver owl is perched before it like a sentinel, her heart-shaped face tilted at me. Is she keeping it open? Why?

  I search the shore again and finally find my sister. She and Cas are several yards away at the edge of the lapping sea. They’re not alone, either, though Cas doesn’t have the vision to see the two chazoure souls who are with them. One I know. The other I recognize, even though we’ve never met, because he has Bastien’s chiseled jawline and his same head of tousled hair.

  I look into Bastien’s sea-blue eyes, kiss him gently, and smile. “Would you like to share my graces again?”

  He quirks a brow. “Why?”

  I draw a long breath and squeeze his hands. “Your father and Jules are still here, and I thought you’d like to see them one last time.”

  44

  Bastien

  I’VE FORGOTTEN HOW TO BREATHE. Or think. Or walk. Somehow my legs carry me down to the shoreline.

  He’s here. She’s back.

  My father. Jules.

  Ailesse’s falcon vision is my vision now. I see the world with a violet tint again, and within it, the color of souls.

  Sabine and Cas step away to give me space. I look between the two people I’ve loved the longest in my life. My heart won’t stop pounding. My throat runs dry despite the drizzling rain. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who to hug first. Can I hug them?

  Jules finally rolls her eyes. “It’s still me, Bastien.”

  I laugh and brush the tears off my cheek. “Right.”

  She wraps me in a tight embrace. It’s good to feel her strength again. She’s been so weak. “See?” she says. “I knew I could trust you. You didn’t even leave me in the Underworld long enough for me to tell any good stories.”

  I snort. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

  She waves a hand up and down at herself. “So how do I look in chazoure?”

  I glance over her braided hair, fitted leggings, low-cut blouse, and tall boots, all glowing in different shades of the color. “I think you’re ready to take on Paradise and challenge any boys who dare to call you Julienne.”

  She smirks. “Damn straight.” But then her expression sobers, and she fidgets with her sleeve. “Can you pass along a message to Marcel for me?”

  I take a deep breath. I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to him. “Of course.”

  “Tell him . . .” Jules’s voice goes hoarse. She can’t speak for a long moment. She lowers her head and shifts from foot to foot. When her chin stops quivering, she meets my eyes again. “Tell him he’s going to make a fine scribe. Tell him I want him and Birdine to have twelve children and grow old and fat together.”

  I nod, smiling. That future is easy to picture—Marcel and Birdine living in Dovré, their house overflowing with books and smelling of rose water, too many kids running amok. “What about you?” My voice chokes up again. “Will you be happy?”

  Her eyes gleam. “Don’t doubt it for a minute. I’ll eat cake and sleep in a soft bed and never have to thieve again. I’ll be with my father, Bastien.” She bites her lip and glances over her shoulder at my father. “I’ll let you have this moment with yours.”

  She swaggers back, and I turn to him, running my hand through my rain-soaked hair. I’m a mess of nerves. I have no idea how to begin a conversation. For eight long years I prepared how to exact my revenge, but I never spent a moment preparing for this. In no part of my mind did I imagine I’d have this stolen time with him.

  We both take a shy step toward each other, lean our weight on our left legs, and shove our hands in our pockets. I give a flustered chuckle. Like father, like son.

  I’m still struggling for words, so I find myself staring at him, desperately trying to memorize the tiny details I’ve somehow forgotten over the years. The bridge of his nose is a little crooked. He has a long scar on the back of his hand, maybe from a slip with his chisel and hammer. His hair isn’t as thick as I remember, and the skin under his eyes is thin and a little saggy. He was starting to get old when he died, and I didn’t even realize it. I’d held on to a younger picture of him in my mind, the father who could race through a field with me on his back, the man who sculpted all day and still had the energy to tell me stories beside our hearth every night.

  “Did you suffer long?” I suddenly blurt.

  He tilts his head. “Pardon?”

  “When you were killed, I mean.” My mouth trembles. I rub it, but it won’t hold still. “Did you suffer lo—” My throat closes. Merde, here come the tears again. I can’t help them. More than anything, it’s the agony he felt when he was stabbed that’s haunted me all this time.

  His eyes brim with pain. “Bastien . . .” He sighs and shakes his head. “That was just one small moment out of millions of moments. When I think of my life, I don’t dwell on my death. I don’t want you to dwell on it, either.” His brows tug inward. “I hope I gave you more than that.”

  I swipe beneath my nose. “You did. I couldn’t have asked for a happier childhood.”

  His smile is heavy, even a bit weary. Doesn’t he believe me? He steps closer and places his large sculptor’s hands on each side of my face. “I’m grateful for the time we had together, and I’m so proud of you. You spent the hardest years that a boy must live raising yourself—taking care of your friends, too. But I want more for you than just surviving.” He lowers his head a little so we’re eye to eye. “Thank you for doing your best to honor my life, son. Now I want you to honor yours.”

  I inhale and solemnly nod. “I understand. I promise I will.” I look behind me at Ailesse. She’s a few feet away and watching us. Warmth rushes through my chest at her soft smile. “Father, I want you to meet someone.”

  She presses her lips together, smoothes her skirt, and drifts closer. “Hello.”

  I take her hand and weave her fingers through mine. “Father, this is Ailesse.”

  He grins slyly. “She’s not a stranger.”

  “She’s not?”

  “I’m still part of your life, Bastien.” He crosses his arms. “And I’ve had my eye on you two.”

  “Oh.” A few heated moments pop to mind, and my ears burn. “But not all the time, right?”

  He chuckles and folds me against him. I forgot that he hugged like this, his strong arms almost crushing me. I don’t want him to let go. “I’ve been
waiting for you to take her to see the dolphins,” he says. He pulls away and gives my face a hearty pat.

  I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, she hasn’t exactly been available lately.”

  Ailesse cocks a brow.

  My father laughs and extends a hand to her. She embraces him instead. Before he can squeeze too tight, I say, “Careful with her broken ribs.”

  He’s gentle with her. He even kisses her hand afterward, like a fine gentleman. “Take care of each other,” he says, returning Ailesse to me. I wrap my arm around her waist, and she leans her head against my shoulder.

  Just when everything feels comfortable and right, the silver owl flies past us and rasp-screeches. Ailesse turns to me and whispers, “It’s time to say goodbye.”

  I take a steeling breath. I hug my father and Jules one last time. Ailesse also embraces Jules and says, “Thank you for my life.”

  We walk them both to Elara’s Gate and watch them enter side by side.

  Long after the other Ferriers leave, Ailesse and I stay standing in the sprinkling rain. We gaze into the night sky until the last silvery glimpses can be seen of my father and Jules as they climb the spiral staircase to Paradise.

  Their peace is my peace, and it satisfies far deeper than revenge.

  45

  Sabine

  “CAN YOU COME DOWN FROM there?” I ask Ailesse, trying not to panic as she walks the thin parapet of Castelpont. The stones of the bridge are dry from the late morning sun—the summer storms have finally blown away—but I can’t stop picturing her slipping and falling forty feet into the barren riverbed. It’s good to see Ailesse so free and herself again, but—“I can’t heal a cracked-open head, you know.”

  “Maybe you can.” She pivots on one toe and walks in the other direction. The limestone walls of Beau Palais gleam behind her from the castle’s perch beyond the city wall. “I wouldn’t put it past you. I’m counting on you to heal my cracked ribs, anyway.” Beneath her laced bodice, her torso is wrapped in a tight linen bandage. I tied it on myself.