Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  “Well, she must have at least opened the Gates for a bit, because she saw your mother.”

  I rear back slightly. “What?”

  Jules draws a steeling breath that rattles in her chest. “Odiva is alive, Ailesse. Trapped. And she wants you to set her free.”

  14

  Sabine

  IS YOUR SISTER NOT AT the very heart of your weakness? The words my mother spoke in my dream call back to me as I keep watch on Château Creux. I’m hidden where the plateau meets the forest, a distance where none of my famille should be able to sense me with their graces. I haven’t returned home since I walked in my sleep last night. I’m still wearing my bloodstained ferrying dress.

  I glance at the path that leads to Dovré. The late afternoon breeze kicks up the scent of lavender from the fields and salty brine from the Nivous Sea, but nothing human, certainly nothing like Ailesse’s earthen and unique wildflower smell. Where is she?

  Earlier, I ventured near Beau Palais, hoping to catch some rumor that might help me learn if she escaped last night, but the castle is even more closed off now. They wouldn’t even open the gates for regular couriers. I later checked Birdine’s apartment to see if Jules or Marcel had any news, but everyone’s personal belongings were gone. I have no idea where they’ve all run off to.

  A cloud passes over the sun. My meadow viper’s heat vision flickers and catches the glow of nearby life. Again, nothing human, only a fox with a hare in his mouth. Sharp pangs of worry twist through my stomach. What if Ailesse didn’t escape with Bastien? Did I kill them both with the vipers I set on Beau Palais?

  Ailesse is blood of my blood, bones of my bones. There is magic between a mother and daughter that even the gods cannot explain. Again, my mother’s voice comes to mind, and this time I’m desperate to believe she’s right. Can that same magic extend to sisters? Ailesse can’t be dead. I would feel it. She’s alive, just like she was when my mother declared her dead before.

  I look back to Château Creux and shake out my hands. My famille needs a matrone. Ailesse would want me to lead if she couldn’t.

  I whisper a prayer to Elara and cross the plateau to Château Creux. I draw on the majesty and boldness of the red stag—or is it the jackal that helps me carry myself like a queen? I’m not just any sixteen-year-old girl, I remind myself. I’m Odiva’s daughter by all rights, too.

  I walk down the crumbling stone staircase and enter the ancient castle, passing the engraved crow-and-rose crest, the symbol of the dynasty that ruled South Galle before its last monarch, King Godart, died and Château Creux fell into ruin.

  I descend to the lower levels and weave through the tunnels. By the time I set foot inside the open cavern courtyard, most of the Leurress have already gathered there. Perhaps they sensed me coming, because this feels like an intervention. All the elders who are present—Nadine, Pernelle, Chantae, Roxane, and Damiana—stand where Odiva used to preside, at very center of the limestone ground, above the carved face of Tyrus’s golden jackal—my jackal—nested in the curve of Elara’s sickle moon. The rest of the Leurress are assembled against the curving edges of the courtyard, giving those with more authority a wide berth.

  My famille turns the moment I enter. Maurille gasps. Isla’s eyes narrow, and Pernelle’s grow round. Little Felise and Lisette startle and hide behind Hyacinthe’s skirt. I’m a terrible sight in my blood-streaked dress, but I hold my head high.

  I’ve fashioned my red stag’s antlers into a crown worthy of the matrone I need to be. Roxane, one of the strongest elders, also wears a stag wreath, but its antlers only have eight tines. Mine have sixteen. I used Odiva’s ritual spear to saw them off today, and then wrapped a ring of twigs around them so they jut up like fangs. My meadow viper vertebrae and nighthawk leg and claw are woven among them at the base of the crown, and I’ve threaded the waxed cording from my old grace bone necklace around two of the antler tines so my fire salamander skull and golden jackal pendant hang down across my forehead.

  With Odiva’s ritual spear in my grip, I walk to the center of the courtyard to take my place, but the only elders who step aside are Pernelle and Damiana. Roxane stands where I should stand, and she draws herself taller. We’re like two stags facing off in battle for the rights to the harem.

  “Your timing is impeccable, Sabine.” She arches an ash-brown brow. “Those of us who are not out contending with the dead you failed to ferry have gathered to discuss your premature role as our matrone.”

  My jaw muscle flinches. “Odiva named me as her heir. You all bore witness.”

  “We do not dispute that,” Nadine replies. “But surely Odiva expected to live many more years.”

  “You are so young, Sabine,” Chantae adds. “What happened at the land bridge is proof you’re not prepared to fulfill your duties.”

  Heat flushes my face. “You would have run away, too, if you had seen—” I exhale and clamp my mouth shut.

  “There’s a reason the rest of us had to sacrifice our amourés before we were allowed to ferry,” Isla says.

  “Stay out of this.” I glare at her. “You’re not an elder.” Isla is barely twenty years old, the youngest of the Ferriers.

  Roxane holds up a hand. “Isla may have spoken out of turn, but she isn’t wrong. It was a mistake to let you lead the ferrying so soon.” Isla smirks once Roxane looks away.

  “I have five grace bones now, and each death cost me. I am committed. I don’t need to sacrifice an amouré.”

  “Oh, but we all do,” Chantae says. “That pain is necessary, and we bear it together. It strengthens our sisterhood.”

  “It proves our loyalty to the gods,” Nadine adds.

  “And it gives us power against temptation.” Roxane glides a step nearer to me. “If you had cultivated that resistance, you wouldn’t have fled the land bridge.”

  “That’s not why . . .” I struggle to breathe. No one’s giving me a chance to speak. They’ve already made up their minds. “Now isn’t the time to discuss my rite of passage. We need to focus on how to manage the loose Chained. Luckily, we’ve dealt with this situation before, so we know how to—”

  “We have declared you unfit to rule, Sabine,” Roxane cuts me off.

  My legs turn to water. “What?”

  “Don’t take it personally,” Chantae says. “None of us could have ruled at your age.”

  But Ailesse could. That’s what everyone’s thinking, but not saying.

  “We’ve decided to appoint a regent in your stead,” Nadine tells me.

  “Regent?” I frown. “No, that’s not— We’ve never had a regent before.”

  “We’ve chosen Roxane.” Chantae clasps her hands together. “She will rule until you’re sufficiently prepared. Perhaps in ten years—”

  “Ten years?” My voice pitches higher. “No, no, no. You can’t take away my power.” Ailesse’s power. If the elders do, it will be much more difficult for her to wrest it back again. She’ll never forgive me. “You don’t have the right.”

  “We believe we do,” Roxane says.

  “Well, you’re wrong!” I look from her to the others—to everyone in my famille. Why aren’t they listening to me? I’m supposed to be graced with indisputable abilities of a leader. I’ve killed a stag with sixteen antler tines. I’ll never be clean of his blood. “If Ailesse were here—”

  “She isn’t here,” Roxane snaps, losing patience. “She’s missing, probably dead.”

  “Thank the gods,” Isla says under her breath. My graced ears catch it, and I whirl on her, tightening my grip on my spear.

  “What did you say?”

  She lifts her chin. “You heard me.” She flips her ginger hair over her shoulder. “Who am I to argue with Tyrus and Elara? If they can choose our amourés, they can certainly choose who should rule us. Apparently Ailesse wasn’t cut out for the job.”

  I lunge for her, teeth bared, spear raised.

  “Sabine, no!” Pernelle cries.

  Isla yelps, unprepared for how vip
er-fast I strike. She barely dodges my attack.

  “Just as I thought.” I spin back for her. “You’re all words and no muscle. I can solve that.” I grab hold of her chin and yank her forward. “We’ll be grateful when you’ve lost your tongue.”

  “Let her go, Sabine!” Roxane commands, but she doesn’t have authority over me.

  I set my spear tip at the corner of Isla’s mouth. I’m not going to hurt her, just teach her a lesson. “I’ll tell you who the gods find pathetic,” I snarl. “Someone who can’t let go of her jealousy, even though she believes her rival is dead.”

  Tears spring to Isla’s eyes, but her glare is vicious. “I’m not the one who skulked in the shadows, thinking I could never measure up to Ailesse.”

  My blood catches fire. The elders shout at me, but my pulse thrashes in my ears and drowns out the sound. My spear tip trembles against Isla’s lip. One little yank, and I could tear a gash through her cheek. An image from my dream flashes to mind. My reflection in the water below Castelpont. Me with jackal teeth and yellow eyes.

  I jerk back from Isla and swing my spear away.

  Someone shrieks. It’s Hyacinthe, the oldest Leurress. Her eyes fill with horror. She clutches the side of her throat. Blood seeps through her fingers. I gasp and drop the spear. I’ve cut her by accident. “Hyacinthe!” I trip forward.

  She collapses to her knees. Pernelle rushes to her side and applies pressure to her neck. The other elders swarm to assist her. Little Felise and Lisette start crying.

  “I didn’t mean to—” I can’t breathe. “Will she be all right?”

  Pernelle, who has always been supportive, turns fearful eyes on me. “You should go, Sabine.”

  “But I—”

  “Just go!”

  I turn on my heel and run out of the courtyard. I rush through the tunnels, the crumbling corridors, the stairwells. Pernelle probably meant for me to go to my room, but I race outside instead. I can’t remain here. I’m too dangerous. They’ll take away my grace bones—the punishment when one Leurress attacks another in the famille.

  I was a fool to think the red stag could keep my golden jackal grace in check.

  What if I gave it up?

  No, I can’t. The dead are afraid of it. I need it to help me rein them in.

  The jackal is too great a burden to shoulder on your own.

  I cry out, raging against the words my mother spoke in my dream. She wants me to hand over Ailesse before she’ll help me. I refuse to.

  I run faster until I can no longer see Château Creux or sense all the panic within its walls. “She’ll live, she’ll live,” I chant, willing Hyacinthe to stop bleeding.

  Ailesse will return soon. That’s what I want, isn’t it? She’ll fix this. She’ll fix everything. Until then, I’ll fight what Chained I can. I’ll draw them out from Dovré.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes and grit my teeth.

  I will conquer myself. I will master this grace.

  15

  Ailesse

  “WATCH YOUR FEET ON THE scaffolding right here,” I tell Jules. “The wood has rotted.” She dodges the weak spot, and we continue to descend the side of the quarry pit beneath Chapelle du Pauvre.

  The day is almost over. We searched all afternoon throughout Dovré for Bastien and found no sign of him. My stomach is in knots.

  “We’re almost there.” I hop down to the second-to-last scaffolding platform on my good leg. I’ll give Cas some food and water; then I need to continue my search. Maybe I can persuade Jules to stay here and guard him. She needs to rest. The neckline of her shirt is drenched in sweat.

  “Do you need me to hold the candle?” I ask. The one we found in the cellar keeps dripping hot wax on her fingers. There was no spare lantern.

  “I’m fine,” she grumbles on a thin breath. “You’re worse than Bastien with all your coddling.”

  I bite my tongue. Showing strength under duress is admirable, but Jules’s strength is feeble at best. Admitting you need help isn’t weakness, Sabine often told me.

  Sabine. The knots in my stomach cinch tighter. Did she really see our mother past the Gates of the Underworld? Maybe that’s the real reason I’ve lost my appetite. The person I thought was my mother will be dead forever. She never existed. My true mother is a stranger, a betrayer, a murderer. What would she do if she broke free of the Underworld? A flush of cold dread races up my spine.

  “Here we are,” I say, and step off the scaffolding. The small quarry room is already lit with the lantern I left for Cas. He’s bound up where I left him, although a second candle glows from the ledge with Bastien’s father’s figurines. My heart gives a hard pound.

  “Bastien?” I rush over to where he’s lying asleep in a corner of the room. I set aside my crutch and crouch beside him. Thank the gods he’s safe.

  His eyes slowly bat open, and his mouth curves. “Hey, beautiful.” Warmth flutters through my chest. “You came back.” His voice is a little spell-drawn from sleep. Then he blinks, and his eyes grow large. “You . . . you really came back.”

  “Of course I did.” I grin. “I sort of had to.” I steal a glance at Cas, who’s glowering at both of us. The warmth inside me vanishes. What a tangle I’ve gotten myself into.

  Bastien sits up and winces, reaching for his back. I gasp when I look at the dark red spot on his shirt. “Did your wound reopen?” I touch the stained fabric. It isn’t wet. “Do you need to be stitched up again?”

  “Nah. Bleeding’s stopped. More stitches will just cause infection.”

  I bite my lip and nod. “How long have you been here?” I curse myself for not checking this place sooner. I could have left to find Sabine already.

  He scratches his head. “You’d have to ask His Royal Specialness over there. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out.”

  Jules saunters into the room. “His Royal Specialness doesn’t look too eager to speak at the moment.” Her smirk is half sardonic, half amazed as she gawks at Cas, whose brows are lowered in a highly unamused line. “May the gods save the king,” she adds, dipping into an awkward curtsy. “Or if they won’t, I guess we will.”

  Cas blows a strawberry curl out of his eye. “You can start by untying me, unless you also want to be charged for treason.”

  Jules shoots me a sharp glance. “I told you this was treason.”

  “No one’s untying him.” My tone is adamant.

  “Ailesse, the abductor.” She nods approvingly. “I like this look on you.”

  Bastien chuckles, sliding closer beside me. I tense with the sudden urge to scoot away. I’m not sure why. For hours, I’ve longed to see him. Now I know he’s safe, all I want to do is run home. Which is not so easy now that I’ve taken the king captive.

  “I’m serious,” I reply. “Cas isn’t safe in Beau Palais—or anywhere else aboveground. Don’t let him persuade you otherwise. The dissenters in Dovré would be happy to see him dead. Some of them are dead and far too dangerous. This is for his own good.”

  “Is it?” Cas narrows his eyes. “Or is it for your good, Ailesse?”

  “Hey, now, take it easy,” Bastien says. “Ailesse has a right to protect her own life, too. And her soul, for that matter.” He slips his arm around my waist, and I squirm on instinct, unable to hide my reaction this time. He immediately lets go, his ears tinged red.

  What’s the matter with me? Ever since I learned my mother had named Sabine as heir, my head has been muddled. Anything that pulls focus from my famille overwhelms me, even Bastien.

  “And what of the souls of my people?” Cas demands. “Are you really intent on hiding me here while they remain defenseless against an army of the dead?”

  I meet his gaze squarely. “I haven’t forgotten about your people. My people have been protecting everyone in South Galle since long before your family took the throne. I’m certain they’re doing everything in their power right now to rein in the dead and—”

  Bastien stiffens. “Jules, don’t touch—!” He lets out a
tense breath. “Just put that down. Please.”

  She returns the dolphin sculpture to the ledge and holds up her hands. “Good to see you, too. I’m alive and well, thanks for asking.”

  Bastien sags back against the wall, careful with his wound. “Sorry, I’m not used to this much company down here.”

  “I can see that.” She prods a mug filled with wilted wildflowers and eyes all the unlit candles in the room. “Looks like it was cozy enough for two, though.”

  He groans. “I brought Ailesse here as a last resort, all right? Besides, this was my home before I ever even met you.”

  “So.” She crosses her arms. “Explain why you made Marcel and me sleep in reeking alleys in this very district when you had a better place nearby.”

  He opens and closes his mouth. “I was . . . This is . . .”

  “It’s a sacred place for him.” I touch his leg defensively, then catch myself and pull away. “Can’t you see his father’s things are everywhere?”

  Jules glares at me. “He has lungs and a voice, you know. He can speak for himself.”

  “How would Bone Criers protect people?” Cas asks, still stuck on that fact and ignoring the rest of our conversation.

  I sigh and turn to Bastien. “I’m sorry I brought him here. It was the closest place I knew of.”

  “It’s fine.” He musters a kind smile, even though I keep jilting him. “I’m just glad you’re here and safe.”

  That’s part of my problem, I realize. I don’t want to be anywhere that feels like another prison. I don’t want to be shut away from Elara’s Light or tied to an amouré or even obliged to anyone. Suddenly it’s all too suffocating. I never asked for these complications that keep dragging me away from my birthright.

  Jules scoffs at Bastien. “Unbelievable.”

  He rolls his eyes and waves her over to him. “Come and sit down, all right? We’re all tired. Let’s save the arguing for—”

  “Protecting is the opposite of killing,” Cas says, belligerently pressing his point. “You said you were the girl who was supposed to kill me, Ailesse.”