“Too bad.” Jules lunges for her.
“No, don’t!” I say, even though the visitor easily dodges her attack. “She’s a friend. She’s Ailesse’s friend,” I clarify. Jules’s brow furrows.
The visitor takes three smooth steps into the room and draws back the hood of her cloak. Black curls spring around her face. Large brown eyes stare back at me. “Hello, Bastien.”
I nod, struggling to stay upright. My back is on fire. “Sabine.”
She lifts her chin. “I’ve come to tell you Prince Casimir has abducted Ailesse.”
“Saw it with my own eyes.” My jaw muscle tenses.
Sabine’s hand drifts to her necklace of grace bones. She inhales a long breath through her nostrils. “I’ve come to ask for your help.”
Acknowledgments
DREAMING UP THIS STORY AND crafting it into a polished book has been a wonderful and challenging adventure. I’m indebted and grateful to those who helped make it happen:
My agent, Josh Adams, who saw a spark of greatness in my long and rambling phone call about French folklore, star-crossed lovers, bone magic, and Ferriers of the dead.
My editor, Maria Barbo, who believed in Ailesse, Sabine, and Bastien from the start. You brought out their angst, demons, and desires with your signature magic. I trust you implicitly.
Stephanie Guerdan, Maria’s brilliant assistant, who literally keeps us on the same page, adds wonderful editorial input, and performs a plethora of tasks behind the scenes.
My publisher, Katherine Tegen, and her fantastic crew at KT Books/HarperCollins. Thank you for giving me a home and continuing to support me.
The incredible design team: art directors Joel Tippie and Amy Ryan; and Charlie Bowater, who illustrated the breathtaking jacket art. I am absolutely smitten with the work you’ve all done.
My husband, Jason Purdie, for respecting my creativity and cultivating a home environment where it can run wild, and for continuing to inspire me with your theatrical talent.
My children: Isabelle, for her enthusiasm about this story; Aidan, for making me laugh during tight deadlines; and Ivy, for asking hard life questions that kept me grounded.
My French friends, Sylvie, Karine, and Agnés, who helped me feel seen when I felt lost and alone as a teenager, and who inspired my deep love for their country and culture.
My critique partners and besties, Sara B. Larson, Emily R. King, and Ilima Todd, for making my shark attack scarier, my world-building clearer, and my characters more relatable.
Bree Despain, for sharing firsthand knowledge and sensory details of her travels through the catacombs beneath Paris. One day I’ll go exploring with you!
My French translator, Oksana Anthian, for tweaking my made-up French words until they sounded realistic and phonetically accurate.
My mother, Buffie, for assuring me the work would get done, and for providing me a quiet place in her home whenever I needed to escape in order to make that happen.
My writer father, Larry, who has already been ferried to the Beyond. I feel your love, help, and inspiration every day, Dad.
My writing friends, Jodi Meadows, Erin Summerill, Lindsey Leavitt Brown, Robin Hall, and Emily Prusso, for their pep talks, brainstorming, and laughter.
The best friends across my life: Jenny Porcaro Cole (high school), Colby Gorton Fletcher (mutual beauty school dropout . . . don’t ask), Mandy Barth Kuhn (college), Amanda Davis (newlywed years), Robin Hall (past neighbor), and Sara B. Larson (writing life). Because this book is largely about best friends who would do anything for one another, I had to give a shout-out to all of you.
My nine siblings, Gavon, Matthew, Lindsay, Holly, Nate, Rebecca, Collin, Emily, and McKay. With our strikingly different personalities, it’s pretty amazing that we all love each other and get along. Thank you for teaching me what a true famille is.
And to God, my steady rock and perfect deity. The gods in this book should take a lesson from You. Thank You for showing me how to love, grace by grace.
Excerpt from Bone Crier’s Dawn
Don’t miss the entrancing sequel to
BONE CRIER’S MOON
“WATCH OUT!” JULES’S LOW AND scratchy voice calls from a mineshaft above. We barely have time to move aside before she drops into the tunnel. A rush of air hits Bastien’s candle, and the flame sputters out. We’re thrown into absolute darkness.
“Merde.” Bastien curses.
“Relax,” Jules says. “Marcel always has a tinderbox in his pack.”
“And another candle,” Marcel adds.
“Excellent,” Jules replies. “The thunderstorm is loud enough now. It’s time to blow that wall.”
A few seconds later, flint and steel strike together. The soft glow meets a candlewick and snaps into a brighter flame.
Bastien and I elbow forward for the candle. “I’ll do this myself,” Marcel says.
“Wait!” Jules’s eyes widen at her younger brother.
It’s too late. He lowers the candle to the powder.
Whoosh.
Fire streaks an angry line toward the cask.
Jules yanks Marcel to his feet. Bastien spins and runs the other way. I shove him faster. Ailesse would never forgive me if he died.
We race until the dense atmosphere eats up all light and sound behind us. My nerves sting, waiting for the explosion. Did the fire burn out before it reached the cask? I glance over my shoulder.
BOOM.
A massive burst of flames zips toward us and throws me backward. I hit Bastien. We crash to the ground. A second later, Marcel and Jules topple onto us. Chalky smoke and debris flash by. Sharp rubble scrapes against my sleeves. The chaos finally settles into fat flakes of twirling ash.
No one moves for a long moment. We lie in a tangle of legs, arms, and heads. Finally, Marcel slides off our piled bodies. “I may have misjudged the impact of the blast.”
Jules groans. “I’m going to murder you.” She rolls off and shakes dust and ash from her golden braid. “You better hope that sounded like thunder, or any moment now all the soldiers in Beau Palais are going to flood this tunnel.”
We’ve been waiting for the perfect storm to mask the noise of the explosion, and as poor luck would have it, it fell on the same day as the new moon. If I can’t rescue Ailesse by tonight, I’ll have to lead my famille on the land bridge myself and ferry the souls of the departed into the Beyond. But I can’t. Ailesse is the only person alive who knows the song that opens the Gates of the Underworld and Paradise. She was meant to be matrone, not me.
I scoot off of Bastien and offer a hand to help him up. He hesitates, then exhales and takes it. Despite our bickering, I want his assistance. We’ll find Ailesse even faster if we work together.
We stand side by side and stare into the hazy gray light shining in from the blasted hole. I inhale a deep breath. After fifteen long days, we finally have access to the Beau Palais.
“Everyone ready?” Bastien cautiously rubs his injured back.
Jules nods and adjusts her cloak. I tighten my fists. Marcel settles into a comfortable position. He’s going to serve as watch. If the tunnel is compromised, he’ll light a small explosive filled with sulfur and pepper seeds. The stench will warn us not to come back this way. Meanwhile, Jules is going to guard our point of entry into the castle above.
Bastien waves Jules and me forward. The three of us advance to the end of the tunnel. I reach the wall first and climb the rubble. Through the blasted four-foot hole, I stare inside a dry castle well lined with river rock. Its construction isn’t yet complete. King Durand, Casimir’s father, commissioned it to replace a more vulnerable well outside the castle keep.
While Bastien and Jules have been spying in Dovré and gleaning these facts about Beau Palais, I’ve been forced to spend most of my time at Château Creux with my famille. The Leurress are shaken by the news of Odiva’s death. All I told them is our matrone died ferrying alongside Ailesse on an ancient bridge in an underground cavern. If they knew what sh
e really did, it might spark anarchy. Once Ailesse comes back and rightfully replaces me as matrone, I’ll let her decide what to reveal about our mother, and I’ll retreat to the comfort of her shadow once more.
I leap to the opposite side of the well, grab an iron rung, and climb a ladder built for the well diggers. They’re not at the castle today. No one labors during La Liaison except entertainers and those preparing food for the three-day festival.
We’d hoped to sneak in through the main entrance, but King Durand isn’t holding a public celebration. According to rumor, he’s too ill. But he was ill before Ailesse was taken captive, and the castle gates have only been locked since Prince Casimir brought her here.
Jules leaps onto the ladder after me. I envy the leather leggings she’s wearing. My shoes keep tangling on the hem of my dress.
Bastien follows last, and the three of us rise sixty feet to the top of the well. It’s covered by an iron grate that scrapes loudly as we slide it off. A clap of thunder muffles the sound. For now, the rainfall doesn’t reach us. We’re in the tight quarters of the castle well tower.
I creep to the tower door and peek through a small window on top. I can’t see much of the castle courtyard beyond the pelting rain, even with my nighthawk vision, but I make out the blue and gold striped awnings that line the perimeter. They provide shelter for a few servants who scurry across the wet cobblestones to reach the other side. One awning caps an arched passageway that leads inside the castle—the entrance we’ll use.
Bastien removes his dusty cloak and tosses it over to Jules. Beneath it, he’s dressed in the simple garb of a castle dungeons soldier. I also throw off my cloak and tuck a few stray black curls into my servant’s cap. I slip my grace-bone necklace beneath the neckline of my dress and hide my bone knife in its sheath under my apron.
Bastien turns to Jules. “See you soon.”
She sits on the rim of the well, still a little breathless from climbing. “Promise to keep your head, all right? If you can’t pull this off today, don’t be reckless. We’ll figure out something else. We still have ten-and-a-half months before—”
“This will work.” He flexes his jaw muscle. “Come on, Sabine.” He slips out the door before Jules can say any more.
I’m quick to follow. I don’t wish to discuss the soul-bond between Ailesse and Casimir either. Bastien and I head through the rain for the arched passageway. We’ve committed to memory the map of Beau Palais he pieced together after conversing with a retired castle servant. “After three cups of tavern ale, the man was an open book,” Bastien told me.
We shake off the rain once we’re inside the castle. We’re standing in a stone foyer that intercepts a long hallway running left and right. Straight ahead is a great room. Servants mill about setting gold plates and goblets on a few gathered tables. Garlands of vibrant late-summer flowers twirl around towering columns that support a vaulted ceiling. Blue banners embroidered with the gold sun-symbol of Dovré—an homage to the sun god, Belin—hang alongside green banners with the tree symbol of the earth goddess, Gaëlle. I’m told La Liaison is held to invoke their joint blessing on the upcoming harvest.
Bastien and I share a quick glance and nod before we part ways. He heads left, and I head right. His direction leads toward the dungeons entrance, and mine accesses the staircase to the third level. Ailesse could also be locked up in one of the royal apartments there.
I’ve only taken a few steps when a handsome boy with strawberry hair walks around a column in the great room, fifteen feet away. My body goes rigid, my blood cold—then scorching hot.
Prince Casimir.
He’s wearing a burgundy doublet over a loose linen shirt and fitted breeches. A simple crown made from a thin band of gold wraps across the middle of his forehead.
He hasn’t laid eyes on me yet, but I still can’t force myself to move.
“Can you add more wildflowers?” Casimir asks a female servant while surveying the garland draped around the column. “Ailesse is fond of them.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“I want everything perfect for when she meets my father tonight.”
My mind snags on his words. Flowers for Ailesse? A meeting with the king? I glance at Bastien. He’s taken cover behind a potted tree at the corner of the great room and adjoining hallway. From his deeply furrowed brow, he’s just as confused as I am. How can Ailesse attend a dinner with Casimir’s father? Isn’t she locked away?
“I understand, Your Highness.” The servant bows, and Casimir starts to turn in my direction. I jerk around, shuffle to the nearest table, and fuss with a place setting. I itch to hold the bone knife. If I could stab him right now, I would. But that would kill Ailesse. Their lives are woven together. She must be the one to wield the ritual blade and kill her amouré.
The prince’s footsteps slowly clip toward me. My pulse pounds faster. I lower my head. Elara, don’t let him recognize me.
“Pardon me, but are you new here?”
I stiffen, keeping my back to him. “Yes,” I squeak.
“What is your name?”
I could run. With my nighthawk speed, I could make it to the third level before Casimir had a chance to catch me. If only I knew which room Ailesse was in. By the time I find her, he will have the whole castle on alert. “Ginette,” I murmur, feigning to be shy.
“Ginette, I am your prince and future king.” Casimir’s voice is warm and carries the charm that made me lightheaded when we first met. “You need not be afraid of me. In this castle, I treat my servants with regard.”
A scoff rips out of my throat. “And how do you treat your prisoners?” My subterfuge is pointless. Whether I run or confront him now, he’s going to discover me. “You can’t win Ailesse with flowers and gold and false honor. She will always see you as her abductor.”
My jackal hearing catches his soft intake of breath. “Sabine?” he asks.
I lift my chin and turn to face him. Casimir gazes back at me with widened stone-blue eyes. I fight to keep the heat in my blazing stare. His restrained demeanor carries wisdom, depth, and strength. It makes it hard to remember he’s an entitled snake.
“Where are you keeping Ailesse?” I demand. I pull out my hidden necklace and let my grace-bones dangle, exposed over the bodice of my dress. Two guards at the edge of the room take a step forward, but Casimir holds up a hand to stall them.
“Ailesse isn’t my prisoner. I invited her to stay with me, and she agreed.”
Lies. Ailesse would never consent to that. “Then tell her I’d like to pay a visit.”
“You know I can’t do that.” His tone exudes a maddening level of calm. “You tried to kill me, Sabine. You are not welcome in this castle.”
The golden jackal in me snaps. I whip out the bone knife beneath my apron. Casimir quickly withdraws a jeweled dagger. Our blades meet each other’s throats at the same time. His sharp edge presses against the tendon of my neck.
My nostrils flare. “What would Ailesse think of you if you killed her sister?”
“No less than she’d think of you if you . . .”
An animalistic screech rings in my ears and drowns out the rest of his words. A small reflection appears in his pupils. A bird.
Somehow, as I’m staring at Casimir, the bird grows larger. I gasp. This is a vision. It has to be. I’m seeing the silver owl.
The owl grows full size and hovers in front of him with her wings unfurled. He can’t see her; he’s looking right through her at me. It’s like she’s protecting him.
Impossible. The silver owl wanted Casimir dead. She led me to kill the golden jackal, carve a flute from its bone, and use it to lure the prince during my proxy rite of passage for Ailesse.
The owl beats her wings once, and my surroundings change. I feel the castle floor beneath me, but see the cliffs overlooking the Nivous Sea above. It’s the night of the last new moon. Ailesse is playing the siren song on the bone flute, trying to open the Gates of the Beyond. She only failed because
the land bridge was already sinking.
She keeps playing. The harrowing melody floats to my ears and burns through my mind. I’ve remembered snatches of it before, but not everything. Now it pulses so vividly inside me that it distills into pure and unforgettable knowledge.
What is happening? I came here to rescue Ailesse, not see a memory, not learn a song. I came here to help her kill Casimir.
The owl beats her wings again. Now Ailesse is in the underground cavern on the fragile soul bridge. She moves toward the Gates of the Underworld with headstrong determination. I hear myself shouting for her to stay back, but she won’t listen.
I blink and see Casimir again through the body of the owl. My bone knife shakes at his neck. Maybe the owl isn’t protecting him from me. Maybe she’s protecting Ailesse from me.
I could threaten Casimir, fight off his soldiers, find Ailesse, free her . . . but what if my sister shouldn’t lead the ferrying tonight? She barely resisted stepping through the Gates of the Underworld last time. The only thing that distracted her was Odiva stabbing Bastien.
Perhaps . . . perhaps my sister is safer in Beau Palais. For now.
My eyes blur with infuriating tears. Casimir’s brows hitch together. He doesn’t know what to make of my reaction. For the longest time, all I’ve been trying to do is save Ailesse. Why am I prevented at every turn?
I pull the bone knife away. The silver owl disappears. I curse the goddess’s messenger, but I’ve learned to trust her. She warned me about Odiva before I knew my mother’s crimes. She led me to Casimir, who helped me finally find Ailesse. She’ll help again when the time is right, when Ailesse’s freedom won’t lead to her death. She knows more than I do.
Casimir’s dagger holds steady at my neck. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but his expression is torn between anger and pity. I harden my glare on him, even while my tears fall. I still hate him. My actions don’t change that.
One of his soldiers clears his throat. “Shall we take her to the dungeons, Your Highness?”
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