Bone Crier's Moon

by Kathryn Purdie

  “Are you sure?” Dolssa holds her snake rib necklace to her chest as she leans forward to take a closer look down the ravine.

  “Unless the girl was lying,” I reply. “She said the bones of several thousand skeletons were scattered around in there.” Pernelle winces.

  Odiva is unmoving for a moment, her bloodred lips pursed in thought. “The catacombs beneath the city could reach this far. The quarries are extensive, and the victims of the great plague were countless in number.” Her eyes narrow. “Ailesse’s captors must know we receive strength from the Night Heavens. That is why they have taken her here—and why they want us to follow.”

  My stomach tightens. “So it’s a trap?”

  A faint smile touches her mouth. “Ailesse’s amouré is a clever boy, isn’t he? I will enjoy watching her kill him.”

  I swallow the bitter tang in my mouth. I understand that Bastien has to die so Ailesse can live, but it doesn’t mean I take pleasure in it.

  “Come,” Odiva commands the other Leurress. “We will show these commoners our graces are still treacherous when weakened by the dark.”

  The elders raise their chins. Some lift their eyes to the starry sky above, soaking in one last measure of Elara’s Light. They descend into the ravine, one after another—Roxane, Milicent, and Dolssa.

  Pernelle hesitates. A slight tremor runs through her ivory hands. At thirty-nine years old, she’s the youngest elder, and the only one to betray any fear. It’s a comfort to know I’m not alone. She watches the others as they claw the burrow hole wider with powerful strength. “Isn’t there another catacombs entrance we can use?” she asks Odiva, her honey-blond hair rippling across her face in the breeze. “One that doesn’t lead to a trap, and gives us the advantage?”

  Odiva’s perfect posture doesn’t budge. “We are Ferriers, experienced in fighting the vicious dead. We have seventeen grace bones between us. What more advantage do we need? Summon your courage.” The matrone sets her finger on the fox vertebra pendant hanging around Pernelle’s neck. “This should give you fortitude, if you do not resist.”

  Pernelle presses her lips together and musters a small nod. She climbs down the ravine to join the others. I follow her, but Odiva clutches my arm.

  “No, Sabine. If you do not have the tenacity to kill another animal, how can you help us tonight?” Her voice isn’t cold, only concerned, but her words hurt all the same. “What you do need to do is earn another grace bone.” She sighs and gently squeezes my arm before releasing it. “Do not return to Château Creux until you do.”

  My eyes burn hot. “But—”

  She turns away and plunges into the ravine.

  My legs tense. I walk three steps after her. Then stop myself. Shift back and shake my head. Grip my salamander skull. Panic builds inside me. “Please, please, please . . .” I need to be with the elders. I should be rescuing Ailesse. But my grace bone isn’t enough. I’m not enough.

  I spin away and run. Tears stream from my eyes. I furiously swipe them away.

  Stop crying, Sabine!

  I’m not weak. I’m not a coward.

  I’m tired of everyone believing I am. I’m tired of believing it myself.

  I run faster. I claw past branches and kick away underbrush. I nock an arrow on my bow and scour the ground, search the trees. I burst into a copse of pine.

  A fluttering noise rustles above me. A shard of moonlight shines on the bird I’ve startled. White stripes blaze across the bend of its dark wings. A nighthawk. Common. No bigger than a crow.

  I don’t care.

  My arrow flies. The bird falls. I thank the gods, and I curse them. I’m crying again. I can’t help it.

  I’ve killed my second creature.

  And now I’ll claim his every last grace.

  17

  Bastien

  ALL I SMELL IS AILESSE. Earth, fields, flowers. Everything green and alive. A twisted trick of her magic. I have to remember what she really is. Darkness. Decay. Death.

  My nose brushes her hair. I fight a shudder of prickling heat. I have to hold her this close, or she’ll make a run for it. She’s only tied up by her hands right now. I cut her ankles free so she could walk here with me tonight. We’re standing in a dangerous tunnel of the catacombs—a place I’ll use to my advantage—if I can get my mind off the warm girl in my arms.

  “Is it safe?” I ask Marcel, eyeing the wooden plank in front of us. He and I spent the last hour dragging it here from a scaffold in the crumbling limestone mines beneath us. Now it’s stretched across a chasm, fifteen feet wide, where the floor has caved in. This tunnel would look like any other catacombs tunnel without that gaping hole near its dead end.

  Marcel steps on the end of the plank and bounces a little, testing it one last time. “I wager yes.” But it’s the floor under the weight of the plank that worries me. I pull Ailesse back a little, steering her clear of the fissures at our feet. Jules hangs back, too, her face pale. As long as only one of us stands on the fragile area at a time, the tunnel should hold.

  Marcel strolls back to us. Once he’s past the cracks in the floor, I let go of Ailesse and nudge her toward the plank to cross it. On the other side of the chasm is a six-by-six-foot ledge, all that remains of the tunnel floor before it hits the dead end. “Go on,” I prod her again. She finally moves away, and I inhale a steadying breath of Ailesse-free air.

  She walks, light on her toes, to the edge of the chasm, then looks below and goes rigid. I know what she sees—nothing. When Jules and I first found this spot a few months ago, I dared her to come close to the edge. We threw bits of limestone rubble in the pit and tried to hear it hit the bottom. No sound carried up to us, even when we rolled in a large stone.

  Ailesse squares her shoulders, exhales slowly, and walks onto the plank. Because her hands are tied, she can’t hold out her arms to stay balanced. She reaches the middle of the plank and wobbles. I tense, fighting the urge to run and help her. She’s lost the agility she had at Castelpont.

  When she arrives on the far ledge, her head falls back in relief. My shoulders relax. Why am I so worried about her?

  Because if she dies, you die, too, Bastien.

  Right. I flex my hands and pull Marcel aside. He smells faintly of black powder. “Is everything ready?” I ask, aware that Ailesse is straining to hear us. We’ve kept the most important part of our plan a secret from her so she can’t warn her mother.

  “Yes.” Marcel side-eyes her. “The, um, black trail is set, and the thunder will clap when you’re ready.” I wince with each word he emphasizes. That was about as subtle as a flying brick.

  “Go take your post, then.” I give him a bolstering slap on the shoulder. He doesn’t show a scrap of uncertainty, but I know him better than that.

  As he swaggers away with an oil lamp, Jules shakes off some of the dried mud from her sleeves. She never had a chance to rinse the limestone silt from her clothes after the supply run earlier. She glances from me to Ailesse and fidgets with the end of her braid.

  “Are you going to be all right, being alone with her? Who knows how long we’re going to have to wait for the queen to come.”

  I snort. “Of course I will be. Is the pulley rigged?” Marcel and I nabbed one from the scaffolds, along with the plank.

  She nods. “And I found a safe hiding spot for myself.”

  “Good.” I grab a flaming torch from one of the crude sconces along the tunnel wall, more relics of the quarrymen who once worked down here. Over the last couple years, Jules and I made a ready supply of torches for catacombs exploring. They don’t burn as long as oil lamps, but they’re much brighter. Six more torches are lit on this side of the chasm. They’ll help me see any move the queen makes.

  Jules adjusts the quiver of arrows she’s slung across her back. “Bastien?” she says in a timid rasp. For a flicker of a moment, she’s the girl I met six years ago. Desperate, starving, eager to make an ally. She starts to reach for me. “In case this goes wrong tonight, I want you to k
now—”

  “Nothing bad is going to happen, Jules.”

  She nods again and glances down at my hand. I realize I’m holding hers, though I didn’t mean anything by it. I swiftly let go. “See you soon.” I make quick work of crossing the plank.

  When I join Ailesse on the ledge, she looks at me with thoughtful eyes. Almost sympathetic. I slide my torch in a sconce and glare at her. My best mask is anger. I don’t need her telling me Jules doesn’t pierce my soul again.

  “You’re cunning, Bastien.” Ailesse’s voice is smooth and sure. “I acknowledge that. But whatever trap you’ve laid for my mother is certain to fail. She won’t be coming alone either. She’ll bring the most skilled among my famille. Remember, I warned you.”

  I smirk. She’s been saying much of the same all day. Empty threats. Vain attempts to intimidate me. It doesn’t rock my confidence. Within the hour, I’ll take the queen’s life and have my vengeance. As for any others she brings, I’ve planned for them, too. I’ll take all their bones so they can never hurt another man again. Then I’ll deal with Ailesse and our soul-bond. The thought makes my stomach wrench.

  Don’t think about the bond now. Focus on the task at hand.

  Across the chasm from one another, Jules and I shove the plank into the pit. It falls silently into the darkness, and I swallow hard. Now the queen won’t be able to get to our side, and Ailesse can’t escape the ledge. But I can’t either. I’m stuck here with her perfect smell and warm body until Jules brings both of us back across the chasm when this is over. She’s already devised a way involving rope.

  Jules picks up her gear and forces an encouraging smile. I try and fail to give her one back. She’s risking her neck, same as me, but I don’t want to lead her on. Instead, I nod and look away—from both girls, my soulmate and my best friend. Merde, my head is a mess.

  Jules’s ring of lamplight fades. Then she’s gone. My heart kicks faster. I’m hyperaware of being stranded with Ailesse. If I moved a little closer, I could fill my lungs with her scent. I could touch her hair and . . .

  I blow out a sharp breath. Pull yourself together, Bastien. Ailesse’s allure is still affecting me from her dark spell at Castelpont. It should have worn off after Jules dug up her last bone under the bridge.

  What if it did wear off and my attraction is real?

  I pace the narrow length of our six-foot ledge. I rub the back of my neck and roll out my shoulders. I try not to meet Ailesse’s eyes. Or wonder. But as the wait drags out for the queen to come, my curiosity builds. There’s so much I still don’t know about Ailesse. The conversation she had with Marcel keeps needling my mind. “Why do you need physical strength to ferry the dead?” I blurt, unable to resist talking to her. “If that’s the point of your bone magic, I don’t understand. The dead don’t have bodies, right? They’re just ghosts.”

  Ailesse’s brows lift at my sudden interest. “Not exactly. The dead are kind of in between. They become tangible after they rise from their graves.” She brushes a few strands of tangled hair from her eyes with her tied hands. My fingers twitch, wanting to help her. “Some souls are destined for the Underworld, and they rebel.”

  I chew on that for a moment. “What happens if they don’t go to the Underworld?”

  “They escape back to the mortal realm and hurt innocent people.”

  “So your goal is to protect people?”

  “Yes.”

  I can barely comprehend that. My chest grows heavy, and I shift on my feet. I can’t shake the realization sinking inside me. I have no idea who Ailesse really is. “If you’re trying to protect the innocent, then why do you kill them—the ones you meet on bridges?”

  Lines crease between her auburn brows. “Because . . .” Her mouth parts as she searches for what to say. Has she ever even thought about this before? “Tyrus and Elara won’t let us help anyone if we don’t.”

  And just like that, my blood runs hot again. “You know, there’s a reason people stopped worshipping your gods.”

  She stiffens. “Slaying our amourés proves our commitment to the gods and their path for our lives, not our own. It’s about loyalty, obedience.”

  “That absolves everything, doesn’t it?”

  Her nostrils flare. She takes a step toward me. I take a step toward her.

  She’s facing the chasm. My back is to it. One sharp kick, and she could send me to my death. I quickly step aside. Ailesse’s breath catches as she stares across the pit. I jerk around to follow her gaze. In the distance, just past the last of the six torches, a dim figure appears.

  The queen.

  I react on instinct. Withdraw my knife. Grab Ailesse. Hold her against me on the ledge, her back to my chest, my blade to her throat.

  The queen sweeps into the amber glow of the torchlight and stalks forward. Four attendants flank her. I only spare them a brief glance. I can’t tear my focus from Ailesse’s mother, the most formidable woman I’ve ever seen.

  More torchlight shines on her as she draws closer. Her dress is waterlogged with the catacombs’ silt, but it only makes her look more threateningly beautiful. Light-headedness rushes through me. She’s almost lovelier than her daughter—except in a severe and opposing way. Stark-white skin and raven hair. Black eyes and bloodred lips. Smooth cheeks and a sharp jawline. I make a quick study of her bones of power: a jagged crown, a necklace of claws, and talons on each shoulder. One claw and one talon are bigger, whiter. They’re the carved bones.

  She takes another step, five feet from the drop-off of the pit, and another fifteen feet from where we’re standing on the opposite ledge. “That’s far enough.” I nod, pointing out the fragile ground at her feet. “Unless you want the princess to die where she stands.”

  She stops without tensing and lifts a hand. The other Bone Criers halt. I look at each woman closer. A wave of hot then cold rolls through me. They’re all stunning and unique, with different shades of skin and impressive bones, especially the wreath of antlers on one woman and the rib cage necklace on another—though none are as striking as the queen’s. “You won’t kill Ailesse,” she says calmly, but her rich voice cuts the dense air and booms across the divide. “She must have told you that you would die, too.”

  I give her a stony glare, though my stomach drops. She just confirmed my life really is tied to her daughter’s. “You’d be surprised how far I’m willing to go for revenge.” I bear down on my blade, and Ailesse sucks in a pinched breath.

  The queen’s eyes linger on her. If there’s any love in her expression, I can’t read it. Maybe she won’t make this exchange. “What is it you want, Bastien?” she asks me.

  I flinch at my name, startled she knows it. “The bones,” I reply. “All of them.”

  “We are in the catacombs. You will have to be more specific.”

  She knows very well which bones I mean. “The bones that give you magic.”

  “Ah, our grace bones.” She folds her hands together. “The power you call ‘magic’ is a gift from the gods. It is not to be trifled with, lest the gods smite you. But if you insist—”

  “I do. A small price for your daughter’s life.”

  “My daughter and the bone flute,” the queen stipulates.

  Ailesse opens her mouth to speak, but I hold the knife tighter against her throat, a silent warning not to reveal that Jules broke the flute. “Agreed,” I say, though I have no intention of keeping my promise.

  The queen gestures to her attendants. They share troubled glances.

  “One person at a time,” I order. “I want to see three bones from each of you.”

  The queen lifts her chin, a challenge in her gaze, and nods at each Bone Crier. A basket lowers from a gap in the tunnel ceiling. The hidden pulley wheel screeches. Jules is up there doing her part.

  The Bone Criers place their bones in the basket, and I count them. Some are set in bracelets, anklets, necklaces, earrings, and even hair combs. One woman blinks back tears, as if she’s passing over a child. Good. I want this
to be painful for them.

  I’ve lost track of the queen. She’s somewhere at the back of the group. She murmurs something to her attendants, and they part to let her pass. She glides forward to the basket, locks eyes with Ailesse, and removes her talon epaulettes, her claw necklace, and, last of all, her crown. It’s made from a twisting vertebra. Probably a deadly snake.

  As soon as the queen sets her last bone in the basket, she grips the rope so it can’t be hoisted up. “We will make the exchange at the same time,” she tells me. “Lower another rope for Ailesse.”

  “The terms are mine, not yours,” I counter. “Let go of the basket and come to the edge of the pit.”

  Her black eyes narrow. She releases the rope and glances at the fractures on the floor. “I’ll do this alone,” she says to the other Bone Criers. They shift backward.

  I hope Marcel is ready. There’s a second tunnel beneath us, a near copy of this one. At its end, the floor has also crumbled away into the chasm.

  The queen slowly approaches the pit, her posture flawless. She’s four feet from the edge. Three feet. A hairline fissure cracks beneath her. She hesitates.

  My chest tightens. The queen needs to come a little closer, where the ground is most fragile. We only have one cask of black powder.

  Two feet.

  “A clap of thunder,” Ailesse murmurs to herself. Her body goes rigid with understanding. “Run!” she screams at her mother. “The tunnel is going to rupture!”

  The queen’s eyes fly wide. “Fall back!” she commands the other Leurress. “Roxane, the bones!”

  “Now, Marcel!” I shout.

  Roxane whips out a knife from a hidden sheath at her thigh. She cuts the basket free and races away with it.

  I yank Ailesse back to the far wall of our small ledge and brace for the blow. My heart pounds three times. Nothing happens. How long is Marcel’s powder trail?