Bone Crier's Moon

by Kathryn Purdie

  “No.” Marcel pops three knuckles and takes a step back from me. “But she might have taken the opportunity to leave while you were gone.”

  I can’t move for a moment. I’m a child again, abandoned in my father’s cart. “Did she . . .” I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. “Did she really think I’d hold her captive again?” I thought we’d learned to trust one another.

  Marcel releases a heavy exhale and motions me several feet away from Jules. “Look,” he says in a low voice, even though she’s still unconscious, “I’m not an expert on romance—that is to say, I am madly in love with Birdie, but I can’t quite put a finger on the logic of it—but Ailesse did display some classic symptoms of unrequited love: weepy eyes, angst-ridden sighs, dramatic statements of farewell.”

  Unrequited love? I’m not sure I’m following. “What did she say?”

  “That she wishes you the very best and knows you have a stronger attachment to Jules and basically she doesn’t want to come between you two.” He waves a hand in the air like all of this is obvious.

  “What?” I exclaim. “Didn’t you tell her I’m not in love with Jules?”

  He blinks. “Well, not exactly. I did point out you’d always cared for her.”

  I drag my hands over my face. “I’m sure Ailesse took that all wrong.”

  Marcel gives me a pained smile. “Maybe I’m not an expert on girls either.”

  A miserable laugh escapes me. If Marcel wasn’t like a brother, I’d throttle him by the neck.

  “Wait.” He freezes. “Does this mean you’re in love with Ailesse—like love love, not just ‘she’s disarmingly attractive because she’s my soulmate’ love?”

  I stare at him and shift from foot to foot. My mouth has forgotten how to form words. “I . . . she’s . . .” I swallow and pace away. My hands wrap around the nape of my neck. Ailesse is incredible. She’s fierce and passionate and never backs down from a challenge. There’s no one like her. It’s impossible to describe how she makes me feel. “I don’t even know how to find her, Marcel.”

  “I think I do.”

  I immediately turn around.

  “She asked for the bone flute,” he explains. “See, tonight’s a full moon—lowest tides and all that. Ailesse was set on trying to ferry. The dead are getting out of hand, she said, and if one of them attacked Jules again, she might die.”

  I take another glance at Jules. She’s twitching and grimacing in her sleep. The Chained man is still inside her, feeding off of her Light. How much longer until all her Light is gone? I hastily grab my pack. “So Ailesse went to the land bridge?” What is she thinking? The dead will swarm her once she’s outside.

  “No, to the bridge beneath the mines.”

  I stop. And turn. And stare. “There’s a bridge beneath the mines?”

  He beams and rocks back on his heels. “Recently discovered by yours truly and charted on a bona fide map.”

  “And why would she go there to ferry?”

  “Well, a symbol on the bridge matches one on the bone flute.”

  My eyes narrow. “The bridge over earth?” I ask, remembering the symbol Ailesse sketched for me. “It’s a soul bridge like the land bridge, right?”

  “She thinks so. It’s a fascinating possibility.”

  I slowly stalk toward Marcel, and his grin falters. “So you gave Ailesse the bone flute, knowing she’d go down there—alone?” Blood pounds through my skull. “Do you remember the scene at the land bridge, Marcel? If all those Ferriers couldn’t control the dead, how do you think Ailesse will?”

  He gulps. “It might not even work,” he says optimistically.

  Every muscle in my body tightens. Every nerve stretches and frays. Ailesse wouldn’t attempt something this reckless unless she’d given up hope that we could break our soul-bond.

  I grab my pack, dump it out, and hurry to the wall where Jules and Marcel have been stockpiling black powder. I stuff two small casks inside. That won’t be enough. I grab Jules’s pack and shove two more in there, as well.

  Marcel fidgets, watching me. “Do you plan to blow up something?”

  “How many dead people would you like to fight at once?” I ask.

  He frowns at his sister. “None.”

  I grab my lantern and heft the packs over my shoulders.

  “Keep your lantern away from those,” he warns.

  I nod. “Will you be okay in here with Jules?”

  “Unless she learns how to breathe fire, which is highly improbable.”

  “All right.” I walk over and open my hand. “Let’s see that map you made.”

  “Map?” Marcel shrinks back. “Oh, that . . . well . . . I gave it to Ailesse.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and groan. “Marcel.”

  “I thought of it as a going-away present,” he says sheepishly.

  I run my hands through my hair and take a deep breath. There’s no time to argue. “Tell me how to get to that bridge.”

  42

  Sabine

  THE SILVER OWL IS WAITING for me when I arrive at Castelpont, her wings iridescent in the light of the full moon. She doesn’t interfere when I remove my three grace bones from Ailesse’s shoulder necklace and bury them beneath the foundations of the bridge. It’s a sign that what I’m doing is right. Ailesse would do the same herself if she had her graces back.

  At the center of the bridge, I clasp the necklace back on and kneel, spreading out my skirt. I didn’t think to change into a white dress, but I can’t see why it should matter. I remove Ailesse’s hairbrush from my hunting pack and pull out the last strands. Next, I withdraw her bone knife from my sheath. With a deep breath, I slice the blade across my palm. I welcome the pain. It’s been twenty-nine days since my friend was abducted, and now I’m finally doing something that will really help her.

  I drip my blood over her auburn strands. “This is my hair, Tyrus. This is blood I share with my sister.” I pause, wondering why Odiva didn’t pray to Elara, too. I glance at the silver owl. She’s perched very still on the stone parapet, her head slightly bowed to her chest, her knowing eyes fast upon me. “Hear my voice, Tyrus, my soul’s siren song,” I continue, deciding I must pray to Tyrus alone. I can’t chance compromising the ritual. “I am Ailesse, sister of Sabine. Tonight, I finish my rite of passage.” But this isn’t my rite of passage; it’s the end of Ailesse’s.

  Tonight, I’ll lure Bastien, instead of my own soulmate, and kill him to save my sister.

  I wrap my bleeding hand with a cloth from my hunting pack and push my belongings into the shadows of the bridge. Except for the bone knife. That I sheathe under my cloak. I remove the new flute, hoping the simple instrument I carved will be enough to play a true siren call. I already know the song. Ailesse and I practiced it together on wooden flutes before the last full moon. She’ll never get the chance to finish this ritual for herself, but at least she’ll be a Ferrier. That was always her dream, not what it took to achieve it.

  I pull the flute to my mouth and tap the pattern of the melody over the tone holes before I lend my breath.

  The song of love and loss cries above the night breeze. Bastien should feel its call right away. I’ll fight him one-on-one, hopefully without his friends’ interference this time.

  The silver owl watches as I keep playing. She might as well be carved of marble. She doesn’t rasp or screech or even flutter her wings. A quarter hour passes, and Bastien still hasn’t come.

  Don’t worry, Sabine. This will work. He only came so fast last time because he was already waiting for us. Tonight he has to leave wherever he’s been hiding with Ailesse, and who knows how far away that is?

  My chest strains as I play on and on, not for lack of air, but my growing anxiety. At least another half hour goes by. I’ve been here too long. I keep glancing behind me at Beau Palais over the walls of Dovré. Someone must have seen me by now through the windows of the white stone castle.

  The song trips faster now. My hands grow wet with perspiratio
n. My fingers slip off the tone holes more than once. If the siren song needs to be played flawlessly, Bastien will never come tonight.

  Just when I’m ready to give up and toss the flute into the dry riverbed, my jackal grace picks up the sound of scuffing boots on the road. My heart pounds. The footsteps are coming from the road leading from Dovré. Is that where Bastien has been holding Ailesse captive?

  I keep fumbling through the melody, waiting for him to emerge around the curving city wall. Now that he’s close, my insides roil. What if I’m wrong and this ritual only works for mothers, not sisters? If Tyrus doesn’t allow me to act in place of Ailesse, then when I kill Bastien, I’ll be killing my best friend, too.

  I look at the silver owl. You would warn me if this could kill Ailesse, wouldn’t you?

  As if she’s heard my thoughts, she lifts off the bridge, circles once overhead, and flits away to a discreet location at the far end of the bridge. I really wish Elara would teach her bird to speak.

  The footsteps grow louder. A silhouetted figure steps around the wall, twenty yards away. He’s also wearing a cloak. His hood droops over his eyes. All I can see, even with my night vision and far-reaching sight, are the vague shadows of his mouth and chin.

  He steadily approaches. As soon as he sets foot on the bridge, I pocket my flute, blow out a shaky breath, and withdraw Ailesse’s bone knife. I keep it hidden beneath my cloak. I’m not going to dance with Bastien; Ailesse has already performed the danse de l’amant. I’m going to make this quick. The jackal in me thrills at the thought. I don’t suppress its thirst for blood this time. Tonight I’ll need it.

  Bastien’s ten yards away now. I smooth down the folds of my cloak and keep my hood drawn up.

  His jaw is clean-shaven. His cloak is fine, and his boots are polished. Is this a new disguise? I breathe in his scent with my salamander and jackal graces. He’s not wearing the same spiced fragrance as before. Now he smells clean and minty.

  He pauses fifteen feet away and tilts his head. I tuck my knife closer against my body. Can he see the shape of the hilt?

  His hood flutters back a little, and the pupils of his eyes glitter. He walks forward tentatively. My pulse throbs with each step. My conscience starts to fight the jackal’s desire to kill. Bastien isn’t an animal, and I cried over all those deaths. How will I survive killing another human?

  I glance over my shoulder to make sure the silver owl hasn’t abandoned me. She remains perched on the far post of the bridge.

  Calm down, Sabine. This is what Elara wants you to do. This is what Ailesse needs you to do.

  Bastien’s footsteps tread closer. I can’t look at him. Can I stab his heart without meeting his eyes?

  He stops five feet away. “Is it you?”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. His voice is spun of silk and missing an undercurrent of bitterness.

  This isn’t Bastien.

  My gaze flies up to him. His hood is cast back, and he’s thrown his cloak behind his shoulders. He looks like he might be Bastien’s age, but his hair isn’t dark and tousled; it’s strawberry blond with loose curls. His eyes are blue, but a stony shade of blue, and they’re wide with wonder, not anger.

  I can’t catch my breath.

  I’ve lured my own amouré, not Ailesse’s.

  This is my rite of passage.

  I take two steps backward and clutch my stomach. This is the boy the gods chose for me, and I’ve killed him already, just by playing a song.

  I set out to sacrifice Bastien tonight, but now because of me, another boy will die. The ritual is already set in motion.

  “Won’t you let me see your face?” he asks. His tone is gentle, but edged with desperation. He’s caught deep in the web of my spell.

  I flex my grip on my hidden knife and pull back my hood with my other hand. A few black curls spring around my cheeks. My amouré’s brows draw together. His mouth parts, but no words form. My cheeks flush. Ailesse has told me I’m beautiful, but maybe I only am in her eyes.

  I’m supposed to begin the dance, I realize. I’m supposed to show why I’m perfect for him and he’s perfect for me. But all I want to do is bury myself underground.

  I shoot a scathing look at the silver owl. Has everything she’s guided me to do over the past weeks been a trick to turn me into a Ferrier—and after that, the new matrone of my famille?

  “Forgive me.” The boy combs nervous fingers through his hair. “I thought I heard a familiar song.”

  I frown. “This isn’t the first time you’ve heard it?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I suppose I thought . . . you would be her.”

  “And who is that?”

  His heavy gaze drifts to the other side of the bridge. “I don’t know. I never learned her name.”

  My pulse skips. “But you saw her?”

  “She was only a specter in white from Beau Palais.”

  Beau Palais? I rapidly assess his clothes. He’s in uniform, with medals pinned to his chest. He must be a decorated soldier.

  “I left the castle as soon as I clapped eyes on her,” he confesses, “but by the time I arrived, she was already gone. I caught a glimpse of her auburn hair as she ran into the forest with her friends.”

  I stare at him, my disbelief raw and biting. My ritual tonight worked. It brought me Ailesse’s amouré. But it isn’t Bastien. “They weren’t her friends,” I say coldly.

  His eyes widen, and he steps closer. “You know her?”

  “Ailesse is my best friend,” I reply, bringing the knife from around my back to my side. I grip it tightly beneath my cloak. And now I can save her.

  Acting as Ailesse, I lured this boy here. And as Ailesse, I will kill him here.

  “Ailesse,” he repeats sacredly. “I have to meet her. Now.” He grasps my arm, and I stiffen. I’ve never been touched by a boy. “I’ve barely slept this past month,” he says. “The people in Dovré are ill and becoming desperate. They’re starting to fight among themselves. Yet, I must confess, what troubles me most is this . . .” He shakes his head and splays a hand over his heart. “I don’t know how to explain, but it’s why I walk the ramparts of Beau Palais at night to keep watch on this bridge. I foolishly hope she’ll return.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I don’t understand why I’m drawn to her. You must think me ridiculous.”

  “No, I know the power of that feeling . . . it can’t be ignored.” No amouré has ever resisted it.

  He studies me a moment, and his mouth curves into a warm and grateful smile. A dimple even caves in his right cheek, which isn’t fair. I can’t deny he’s beautiful. More than that, he’s also kind and sincere. Is it wrong to be jealous of Ailesse after everything she’s suffered?

  “I was beginning to fear I’d lost my right mind,” he says. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Of course.” My grip slackens on my knife. Killing him won’t free Ailesse from captivity.

  His teeth catch the corner of his lip. “Do you think . . . ? Would you be willing to introduce me to your friend?”

  I lower my eyes. “I wish I could.” Do I really? “But I don’t know where she is. Those people you saw her run away with . . . they abducted her. I haven’t seen her since the night you saw her,” I lie. “I’ve been searching for her, too.”

  Ailesse’s amouré’s smile fades. His dimple vanishes, and his stone-blue eyes harden. “She’s been abducted?” he says. I nod. He paces away from me, his fingers steepled on the bridge of his nose. “I should have known. I should have done something!” My brows lift at his surprising burst of emotion. Are all amourés so passionate? He leans his hands on the stone parapet with his head downcast. “If I’d arrived sooner that night, I could have saved her.”

  I move to stand beside him, strangely wanting to comfort him. At least one other person is as concerned about Ailesse as I am. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me,” I murmur. “I was there that night, too, and I also failed to save her. The attack . . . it was masterfully planned.”
/>   His eyes reflect my distress. “What can we do? Where have you searched for her?”

  “She was in the catacombs at first. Maybe she still is, I don’t know. Those tunnels are a labyrinth. It would take ages to navigate every passageway.”

  His fingers drum on the stones, and his jeweled ring sparkles in the moonlight. “What if I help you? I have an extensive map of the catacombs.”

  The silver owl screeches, and I spin around. She pushes off the post and launches straight for us. I gasp and spread my arms protectively in front of Ailesse’s amouré. The owl zooms close, then suddenly veers right and swoops around us. She screeches again and returns to her post.

  I gape at her, stunned by whatever just happened. Ailesse’s amouré gives an amused laugh. “What an odd creature.”

  I force a grin. Is the silver owl warning me not to hunt Ailesse with this boy? Or is she encouraging me?

  His eyes drop to my hand, and he suppresses a smile. “I think we’re safe now.” He winks.

  I realize I’m holding my bone knife in plain sight. “Oh.” I blush and sheathe it. “Sorry. This bridge makes me uneasy.”

  He’s still staring at the knife; he can see the protruding hilt. “I’ve never come across anything like that.” His brow wrinkles. “Or your necklace, for that matter.”

  “They’re heirlooms.” The lie comes quick to my tongue, and I hope it satisfies his curiosity. I have no wish to talk about the knife, because now I understand what the silver owl wants me to do—lead this boy to Ailesse and offer him to her, along with her bone knife. This is her sacrifice, not mine. That means the choice is hers.

  I gaze at the boy before me. He has fallen in love with a girl just by a glimpse of her dress and a beautiful song, and now all he wants to do is to meet her. I hate that I’ve come to know anything about him. His death will be that much harder to bear. But I have to bear it. The silver owl has led me to this moment, step by step. She’s given me everything I need to find Ailesse and save her. I can’t turn back now.

  “How is it you have a map of the catacombs?” I ask.