Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  The tip of Casimir’s blade slides to lift my chin as he deliberates. He swallows. “Yes.”

  The soldiers advance. Casimir lowers his dagger down my neck. He’s going to cut the leather cord of my necklace. With nighthawk speed and jackal strength, I grab his wrist and slam the hilt of my knife into his upper arm. His dagger tumbles from his grip. Before it clatters to the stones, I drive my knee into his gut. He buckles forward. I shove him to the ground and jab my elbow in his back. I pluck up his fallen dagger. The first soldier swings low for me. I jump over his blade and spring off Casimir’s body. I bolt away before the second soldier can attack.

  Casimir shouts my name. He’s back on his feet and chasing after me. His soldiers follow. I run toward the long corridor, past Bastien’s hiding place.

  He shoots me a livid glance. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses.

  “Leaving. Tell Ailesse I know the siren song. I can open the Gates.”

  I spin around and fling the jeweled dagger at Casimir, but purposely throw off my aim. It sails above his head and clangs against a stone column. While Casimir is distracted, I toss the bone knife into a potted tree opposite Bastien’s. “Tell Ailesse to finish him,” I say. His eyes narrow on the barely exposed hilt of the knife. He’ll have to come back for it later. He gives me a determined nod before he slinks away in another direction.

  I run past the arched passageway that leads to the courtyard. I can’t leave the castle through the dry well. I’d endanger Jules and Marcel and expose Bastien’s safe exit.

  Casimir shouts for more soldiers. Boots pound closer down an adjacent stairwell and branching corridor.

  A large man emerges and grabs for me. I narrowly dodge him and keep sprinting. I focus on a stained-glass window thirty yards ahead. The late afternoon sunlight beats in through the colored panes and lights up a majestic image of Belin, the sun god, riding his white stallion through the sky.

  I cast off my servant’s cap and apron and pick up speed. I yank loose the ties at my shoulders that hold up my hemp-spun overdress. It falls away from the chemise I wear beneath, and I kick it aside. I can’t have it dragging me down.

  “Stop!” Casimir calls after me.

  The stained-glass window is five yards away. I grit my teeth and leap off the ground. My nighthawk grace heightens the jump. I cast up my arms to protect my face.

  My body hits the glass. The window shatters in a rainbow of shards.

  Sixty feet below me, the Mirvois River rushes by.

  I tumble toward the whitecap currents.

  2

  Ailesse

  LIGHTNING FLASHES THROUGH THE MULLIONED windows as I race down the corridor. Or attempt to race. My trailing gown isn’t helping. Neither is my crutch. But I set my jaw and hobble as quickly as possible.

  The ornate door is only fifteen feet away now. I ignore the pain in my shattered knee and keep moving. I’m not supposed to bear weight on my leg for another month. When that day comes, I will burn this wretched crutch. Being held captive in the catacombs was nothing compared to being a prisoner in my own body.

  I pass another window on the third level of the castle. A bolt of lightning streaks like a jagged finger and illuminates an ancient bridge just beyond the city wall. Castelpont. I halt. I haven’t seen the bridge since the night of my rite of passage. The night I first met Bastien.

  Tu ne me manques pas. Je ne te manque pas. You’re not missing from me. I’m not missing from you.

  The phrase he taught me has been my mantra since I’ve come to Beau Palais. Soon I’ll be with Bastien. I won’t need Old Gallish words to hold his memory or help me visualize his sea-blue eyes and dark tousled hair. He’s alive. He has to be.

  I press forward for the door. My knee jostles from each painful limp with my crutch, but I finally set my hand on the lever. I’m about to turn it when a shout echoes throughout the castle.

  I freeze. Strain to hear what’s happening. I can’t make out the words above the thunder. I try to brush off my worry. The affairs in this place are none of my concern. I open the door, shuffle inside, and shut myself in the room.

  I’m standing in a private library near King Durand’s chambers. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been making subtle inquiries among the servants. I haven’t been idle while waiting for my knee to heal. I’ve gleaned the basic layout of the castle, including this room, which is only used by the king and Prince Casimir. Apparently a larger library exists on the second level.

  Aside from an arched window letting in the gloomy light from the storm, each of the four walls is lined floor to ceiling with shelves. They’re mostly filled with books, but a few treasures rest among them: a marble bust of King Durand, a framed map of South Galle, a collection of exotic feathers, a gold vase, jeweled goblets, a few bottles of wine, and a small chest. . . . My gaze lingers on the chest—a perfect hiding place for my grace bones. Once I have them back, I’m leaving this castle.

  My heart thrums faster. I abandon my crutch—my armpit aches from it—and I brace myself against a large lacquered table. I hop alongside it toward the shelf with the chest on the far wall. I’ve already searched every corner and crevice of my own room—Casimir’s room—and the room he’s been sleeping in since he brought me to Beau Palais. This private library seems the next logical place where he would have hidden my grace bones. According to the servants, he comes here often.

  I reach the shelf and pull down the small chest. Its lid is carved with a beautiful tree nested inside the circle of a great sun. Symbols of Gaëlle, the earth goddess, and Belin, the sun god. Beau Palais overflows with them, while Tyrus’s golden jackal and Elara’s sickle moon are glaringly absent.

  I sit on the edge of the table to take the pressure off my leg. My hands shake as I struggle to pry open the stiff latch. Please, Elara, let my bones be in here. I can almost feel their coolness resting above my chest, where they belong: a pendant carved from the sternum of an alpine ibex, the wing bone of a peregrine falcon, and the tooth of a tiger shark.

  None of them can heal me, like Sabine’s fire salamander skull can, but they’ll make me stronger, faster, more agile. I’ll need every advantage in order to make it to the land bridge tonight. I’m the matrone of my famille now. I’m the only one who knows the song to open the Gates to the Beyond. No one will be able to ferry the souls of the dead without me.

  I finally pop the latch. At the same moment, the door to the library swings open. I startle, and the chest topples out of my grasp. Its contents spill across the table.

  My shoulders slump. My grace bones are not among them.

  “What are you doing in here?” Casimir says, aghast.

  I look up, and my heart pounds, my primal reaction whenever I see my handsome amouré, but this time the reason isn’t because of my innate attraction to him. Something’s wrong. He’s panting, and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. He holds his dagger at the ready. My lips part. “I was only . . .”

  He barges into the room, checks behind the door, and glances under the table.

  I frown. “What’s going on?”

  “Have you seen anyone else?” he demands.

  “Who would I—?”

  He’s about to answer when three guards burst into the room, swords drawn. Once they see me, they freeze and throw Casimir confused glances. He composes himself and shakes his head. “Not in here. Search the royal apartments, starting with Ailesse’s room. Bring me word once you find out those places are safe.”

  “Safe from who?” I ask.

  His eyes lower to his dagger, and his thumb idly rubs the blade. He waits for the guards to leave before he answers. “There’s a . . . a growing band of dissenters in Dovré. People who blame my father for the recent plague. Some of them snuck into the castle.”

  I know about the dissenters. The servants say they’re angry because the gates of Beau Palais have been closed for over two weeks and they aren’t able to petition King Durand about their troubles. “Why do they blame your father
?”

  “Kings are always to blame when anything terrible occurs in the land. That is the burden of being monarch. If the gods really did anoint someone to rule, that person should hold enough sway with them to prevent mass tragedy from happening. If it does, that king or queen must have fallen out of divine favor. They’re no longer fit to rule . . . or so say the people of other kingdoms who have succeeded in overthrowing their monarchs. North Galle has practically made a sport of it.”

  Something is off about Casimir. He’s speaking faster than usual, and with a forced nonchalance that’s unlike him, even though these dissenters sound like a serious concern.

  He sheathes his dagger. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I have the situation well in hand.” He offers me a small but reassuring smile and passes me my crutch. I take it without letting our fingers brush.

  I don’t blame the prince for bringing me here fifteen days ago. He thought Sabine was a threat—she threatened to kill him, after all. Besides, I agreed to stay here of my own volition. But he’s lying about my grace bones. He said he lost them on the journey to Beau Palais, a direct deception. He won’t meet my gaze whenever I mention them.

  “I wish you would allow yourself to rest more and give that leg a proper chance to heal,” he says. “If you wanted another book from the library, all you had to do was ask.”

  “I’m sick of being in my room.”

  “I know.” He sets his hand on mine, and I stiffen. I won’t let his warmth stir my blood. I don’t care if he is my amouré, perfectly designed for me, and I for him.

  “I’m trying my best to please you, Ailesse,” he says. “You’ll see more of the castle tonight, I promise.” The dimple in his right cheek deepens with his grin, and I curse Tyrus and Elara for how charming it makes him. “It’s the first feast of La Liaison. Even as we speak, servants are decorating the great hall and . . .” His eyes lower to the toppled chest and its spilled contents: a string of pearls, a folded letter, a lock of strawberry hair tied with a lavender ribbon, and a miniature painting of a woman bearing a striking resemblance to the prince.

  Casimir’s brows tug together. “What were you doing with my mother’s things?”

  Heat scalds my cheeks. “I—I was bored and . . .” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what would be in there.” Queen Éliane died during the great plague when Casimir was a young boy. He was her only child, and King Durand’s as well, as he never remarried.

  Casimir grows quiet and slowly returns the items to the chest. I pick up the string of pearls to help. “I can do it,” he says, and reaches for them. But then he hesitates to take the jewels. His fingers hover over mine. He finally exhales and closes my hand over the pearls. “You should wear them tonight.” His stone-blue eyes lift to take in my face.

  “No, I can’t,” I blurt. I feel like a thief for even touching them. “They’re too precious.”

  “I’m not say I’m giving them to you. I’m just letting you borrow them.” He cracks a grin. “Maybe I’m not as generous as you think.”

  I burst into laughter. I can’t help it. I’ve been a coiled ball of tension for days, and I didn’t think Cas had a sense of humor buried beneath his deeply earnest nature.

  He chuckles along with me, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you know this is the first time I’ve heard you laugh? It sounds . . .” He searches for the right word. “Healthy.”

  “Healthy?” I snort. “Are you saying I come off sickly when I’m moody?”

  “It’s difficult to say. You’re always moody.”

  “Oh really?” I catch his dimple flashing again.

  “But laughing suits you. You should allow yourself to indulge in it much more often.”

  “Hmph.” I lift my chin and toss my hair over my shoulder. “Well, you should know I do laugh often.” Sabine can give me one wry look, and I double over in a fit of giggles. “You just don’t know me well enough yet.”

  “Fair point.” His eyes take on a mischievous gleam. “I’m working on that.”

  I sober as his gaze warms, and I fight to tame the heat fluttering in my belly. The pearls weigh heavier in my hand. “What do you like about me?” I ask, speaking before thinking again. I squirm, feeling foolish, but still wanting to know the answer. Casimir had no choice but to be drawn to me after I played the siren song during my rite of passage, but the luring spell would have faded quickly, its effects gone after that night.

  His brows lift, and he chuckles again, though more nervous. “Forgive me, you’ve caught me off guard. The reason is . . .” He scratches his arm. “Well, it isn’t the easiest thing to put into words.”

  Lightning flickers outside and swiftly brings me to my senses. “Never mind.” I slide off the table and lean against my crutch. I don’t have time to solve the mystery that is my amouré. I need to leave the castle before nightfall. “I’m going to return to my room now,” I announce. After Casimir sees me settled there, I’ll make one last attempt to find my grace bones and flee this place.

  “Ailesse, wait.” He shifts to block me. “You are so . . . so captivating,” he haltingly begins.

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to—”

  “When I first saw you, I felt as if I’d known you all my life.”

  “You saw me from afar.”

  “But the song you played—your talent on the flute astounded me.”

  “Of course it did.” I try pushing past him. These are all remembrances of the luring spell.

  “You’re fiercer than any girl I’ve ever met,” he continues.

  I pause. “Sabine was the one who held you at knifepoint.”

  At the mention of her name, his nostrils flare, and I understand why. She brought him to the cavern bridge and told me to finish my rite of passage. Casimir couldn’t have known what that term meant, except that Sabine wanted me to kill him. “Your sister didn’t fight your mother on a narrow bridge with no weapons like you did,” he counters.

  “She would have.” Sabine was changed that night, no longer the girl with only a salamander skull and deep reservations about the need for blood sacrifice. She had three grace bones and a newfound fire in her eyes. She was ready to do anything to protect me.

  Casimir exhales. “Why are we talking about Sabine?”

  “I don’t know.” Exasperated, I manage to elbow past him.

  He catches my arm briefly, and I turn around. The strand of pearls swings, dangling from my fist. I’ve unthinkingly kept hold of them. “You remind me of my mother,” he says.

  I stare at him, unsure how to respond.

  He swallows and repeats softly, “You remind me of my mother.”

  A sharp pang strikes deep inside my chest. He could have said, You remind me of your mother. The words were so close.

  He bites his lip. “Is that strange to confess?”

  I slowly shake my head, though I wouldn’t know. Growing up, no one in my famille ever said I was like my mother, no matter how hard I trained or tried to prove myself. You’re better than the matrone, at least in the ways that really matter, Sabine once said, trying to comfort me. All it inspired me to do was hunt harder for a more powerful grace bone.

  “If her hair had been darker, it would be like yours, thick and a little wild.” Casimir gazes at a wavy auburn lock spilled in front of my shoulder. “But your similarities go beyond resemblance. You’re alive like she was. Radiant. She would walk into a room, and people would flock to be near her. They laughed when she laughed. They danced all night if she did.”

  I’m lost for a moment, thrown off by the differences between his mother and mine. Odiva also wielded a lure over people, but it stemmed more from intimidation than charm. “She must have been remarkable.”

  His mouth curves. “She was.”

  I lower my eyes. Casimir witnessed my mother’s true nature at the cavern bridge. I picture her stabbing Bastien again and wince. “You can’t compare me to her, Casimir. I’ve been sullen since the first day you brought me her
e.” I’ve been heartsick.

  “Anyone would be after what you’ve endured. That doesn’t diminish your light.”

  Again, I’m rendered speechless. Does he mean light or Light? He can’t mean Light. Only the Leurress know about the energy from the goddess Elara’s Night Heavens. All mortals carry its life-force, but the Leurress need to replenish it just as they must nourish their bodies with food and water.

  “I’m leaving now,” I say. Casimir doesn’t know what I am or what I need to survive. “I need to rest before tonight, Cas.”

  He smiles. “You finally called me Cas.”

  I curse myself. “It just slipped out.”

  “I’m glad. You know I prefer it.”

  My heartbeat quickens in the way I hate, the way that reinforces why the gods knew what they were doing when they chose the prince for me.

  I hobble closer on my crutch and place the pearls in his hand. A look of hurt crosses his face. I don’t care. I won’t allow myself to feel guilt over a boy who is hiding my grace bones. “I’m not like your mother. I can’t be.” I’m meant to be a Ferrier of the dead, the matrone of my famille. . . .

  I’m meant to kill you, Cas, just like my mother tried to kill Bastien.

  I turn away and move toward the open door. But I can’t leave yet. One of the soldiers has returned and is standing on the threshold.

  “Your Highness.” The stout man bows to Casimir. “Mademoiselle Ailesse may safely return to her chambers now. We have found no sign of more intruders.”

  “Thank you.” Cas’s voice rings dully, without its usual warmth and vibrancy. “Tell the castle guard they may return to their posts.”

  As the man leaves, I pivot to Cas, unable to help meeting his eyes once more. They’ve lost their luster, though not their kindness. Why can’t he be more villainous? It would help me make sense of his reasons for deceiving me. He’d be that much easier to hate. Or kill. “I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” I tell him, compelled by some inexplicable need to cheer him up.