Bone Crier's Dawn

by Kathryn Purdie

  I sigh, massaging my temples. “He doesn’t really know what Bone Criers are,” I murmur to Bastien. “Apparently not everyone was told this story by their fathers.”

  “What story?” Cas asks.

  “Folktales,” Bastien replies. “Women in white on bridges who kill men they lure after sharing a dance.”

  Cas is quiet for a moment. “You meant to kill me, Ailesse?”

  “Oh yes,” Jules chimes in. “A great honor for you, too. And don’t worry, you would have thanked her for it one day in Paradise.”

  I cringe. Did I really once believe that justified the blood ritual?

  “But why?” Cas’s brow furrows. “None of this makes sense.”

  “He doesn’t know about Ferriers, either?” Bastien asks me.

  I shake my head, and Jules laughs. “I think I will sit down.” She plants herself in the middle of the room and tucks her knees to her chest. “This is getting good.”

  I take a deep breath and start at the beginning—with Tyrus and Elara, a new groom and bride separated at the dawn of time by the mortal world that formed between them.

  I explain about Belin and Gaëlle, who caused that to happen and divided the two kingdoms of the dead. Then a Leurress was born, the first and only child of Tyrus and Elara. She was charged with bridging the gap between the mortal world and her parents’ realms and bringing them the souls of the departed . . . and so was every Leurress daughter in her line forevermore.

  But in order to bear daughters, they needed fathers, so the gods gave them amourés. The Leurress couldn’t lose themselves to love, however—they had a divine mandate, after all—so the gods asked them to sacrifice their amourés within one year from the time they were soul-bound, and in reward Tyrus and Elara would grant them the right and the strength to ferry their dead. If the Leurress failed, the soul-bond would become a curse. Their amourés would die at the year’s end, and the Leurress would die with them.

  “But if you had killed me that night,” Cas says, “I could have never fathered your child.”

  My cheeks set on fire. “That was never going to happen.”

  “Damn straight,” Bastien grumbles.

  “Some of the Leurress choose to become Ferriers without first becoming mothers,” I add. “That was my plan.”

  “But you’re next in line to be matrone,” Jules replies, and my chest tightens. I should be matrone, anyway. My mother had no right to replace me with Sabine. She knew I was alive. “Don’t queens need heirs as much as kings?” she asks.

  “No one’s making heirs,” Bastien says.

  “I was going to name an heir instead.” I fidget. “It seemed kinder than . . . well, I didn’t wish to become involved on such a level with my amouré before I had to . . .” I release an exasperated breath. “Intimacy before blood sacrifice is just cruel.” My ears burn, but my anger blazes hotter. “It isn’t fair, what the gods demand. I deserve a better life.” I swallow and look at Bastien and Jules, adding softly, “Your fathers did, too.”

  Jules brows wrench together, and she blinks back moisture from her eyes. Bastien’s gaze drifts to the ledge with his dolphin statue. His jaw muscle flexes. “Then let’s stop this—all of it. Let’s find a way to end blood sacrifice.”

  “How?” I ask. “I can’t just decide to stop it. You know what will happen if I don’t kill Cas.”

  “Isn’t there a way to break the soul-bond?” Cas shifts uncomfortably.

  “Just thinking about that makes my head ache,” Jules moans. “You haven’t met my brother yet, Your Majesty, but believe me when I tell you he’s something of a prodigy, and if he can’t figure out how to break the soul-bond, I’ll be bowled over if anyone else can.”

  “Maybe the problem isn’t the answer; it’s the question,” Bastien says.

  “How do you mean?” I frown.

  He leans closer. “All this time we’ve been asking ourselves how to break the soul-bond, when maybe we should’ve been asking how to break the system that requires blood sacrifice in the first place.”

  I’m still not following. “The world needs Ferriers, Bastien. What’s happening right now in Dovré is proof of that.”

  “I’m not saying we get rid of Ferriers. I’m saying we get rid of all soul-bonds that end in blood. Not just for you, but for everyone, forever. That way no one’s father, no one’s king”—he nods in Cas’s direction—“would have to die the way mine did. That peace would be worlds better than revenge.”

  “What you’re inferring means waging war on the gods.” Cas’s voice drops to a grave whisper. “Is that wise? Is it even possible?”

  “It isn’t war,” Bastien says. “It’s—”

  “—outmaneuvering them.” Jules catches on.

  “Like a bargain?” I think of my mother’s pact with Tyrus. “Bargains with deities come at a high price.” I was to be that price.

  “Not exactly.” He drags a thumb across the stubble on his jaw. “Look, I’m not sure what the solution is, but we’re on the right track. I can feel it. And with Marcel’s help, we’ll find the answer soon enough. Meanwhile, we keep the king here and . . .”

  His voice becomes distorted and tinny. The air shimmers in front of him, rippling like a silver mirage. I’ve seen this before, back in our old catacombs chamber when I first glimpsed—

  The silver owl.

  As soon as I think of her, she appears in a radiant wash of Light with her wings unfurled. She beats them once, and I’m sucked inside a vision. It’s so rapid-fire I can scarcely comprehend the images flashing by. . . .

  Sabine. Castelpont. A bounding wildcat—no, a jackal. Sabine’s arrow in the jackal’s heart. A new grace bone. A pendant carved like a crescent moon. Sabine wearing it as she breaks through a stained-glass window.

  Then a storm in the sea. The land bridge. Ferriers and chazoure flares of oncoming souls. My mother’s black eyes. The Gate of water holding her back. Her hand reaching for Sabine. Sabine fleeing the bridge. Another flash of the pendant.

  Sabine in Château Creux now, a crown of antlers on her head. Her face ferocious, but scared. A swinging spear in her hand. A great commotion in the courtyard. Shock on her face. Tears as she races outside, sobbing.

  The silver owl rasp-screeches. I’m thrown out of the vision, and her wings close. The silver Light vanishes. The owl’s gone. I’m shaking, gasping for breath. Cas and Jules and Bastien all stare at me.

  Bastien’s hand is on my back. “Ailesse, what—?”

  I jerk away and grab my crutch. “It’s Sabine,” I stammer. “I—I saw her.”

  Jules’s brow wrinkles. “How did you . . . ?”

  I can’t explain or stay here a moment longer. My sister needs me. I need her.

  I race out of the room, quick with my falcon grace, even on one leg.

  “Ailesse, wait!” Bastien says.

  I don’t. I spring up the scaffolding, ibex agile and tiger shark strong.

  I’m coming, Sabine.

  16

  Bastien

  “AILESSE!” I CALL. I CAN’T believe how fast she’s able to move, in spite of her broken leg. With her graced strength and ability to jump, her crutch has become a more of a vaulting pole. I chase her through the alleys of Dovré, but she stays out of reach. She springs off barrels and crates, and bounds for the west wall of the city.

  “Can we talk about this?” I have no idea what set her off so suddenly, except it’s something to do with Sabine. Honestly, I have no idea what’s setting her off about a lot of things. Including me.

  She leaps up a steep and narrow stone staircase that runs along the side of a building. “Go back, Bastien.” She pivots at the sheer edge of a step, incredibly agile and balanced. She looks down at me. “Stay in hiding. If the royal guard finds you—”

  “They’ll be searching for you, too.” I rub my throbbing stab wound. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. Is Sabine—?”

  “She’s not meant to be matrone.” Ailesse rushes up the stairs again, t
hree steps at a time. She hisses as her long dress snags beneath her crutch. “Sabine never prepared herself like I did.”

  “She’s with your famille. They can protect each other at Château Creux.” I race up the stairs. “That’s over seven miles away. We shouldn’t travel that far with the Chained on the loose.”

  “I’m doing this alone, Bastien. I can fight the Chained.” She hurries across a rooftop and leaps the six-foot gap to the next building. She grunts as she lands. “Go back. Please.”

  Before I can say anything else, she bolts across the next rooftop. Its far edge is thirteen feet from the city wall. “Ailesse, stop! That’s too far!” Graces or not, she’s only got one good leg.

  Her jaw is set. She doesn’t hesitate. She hurtles forward. Her crutch propels her faster and faster. I jump the gap between the first set of roofs. She’s too far away. I’ll never reach her in time. If she falls, she’ll fall thirty feet. “Ailesse!”

  She lifts her dress to her knees. Pushes off the roof’s edge with her strong leg. Catapults toward the wall. Her cry of exertion echoes back to me. I keep running. Desperate adrenaline pounds through my veins. Please, please, please.

  Her right foot catches the wall, but she doesn’t have enough traction. She can’t hold her landing. She drops her crutch. Scrambles to grab the wall with her hands. Her long sleeves are in the way. She tumbles over the wall on the side of the forest.

  “Ailesse!” I grind to a stop. She doesn’t call back. Merde, merde, merde. I wheel around and race back for the other rooftop. I run down the stairs and sprint for the west wall on ground level. There’s a weak spot a quarter mile away. I’ve used it to make quick exits after thieving.

  I find the place, make sure no one’s watching, and slip behind the honeysuckle vines. I shove out a few loose bricks from the wall that need repair. I make a hole big enough for myself and squirm through it. “Ailesse!” I shout. I rush back to the place where she fell.

  She isn’t there, but a tall and thorny patch of underbrush is smashed in on one side. I find her tracks—the marks from her crutch aren’t subtle—and follow them. For the first half mile, they point a steady course toward the coast and Château Creux . . . but then they veer off and zigzag in strange directions. What is she doing?

  I pick up speed and finally see her from a distance. She’s standing on a forest bridge. She leans on her crutch and looks down at the river. I know this place. It’s one of the bridges I scouted during my search for a Bone Crier.

  I creep closer, not wanting to spook her. I don’t have the energy to keep up all this chasing. When I’m near enough, I notice that her dress—the same brocade-and-velvet dress she’s been wearing since the feast for La Liaison—is shredded and torn from her fall in the thorn patch. Her face is scratched, too. She continues to stare at something—not the river, I realize, but a bird on the far bank.

  “It’s the silver owl, Bastien,” she murmurs. I freeze, startled she knows I’m here. Of course she does. I forgot about her tiger shark’s sixth sense. “Do you think she wants me to kill her?” She adjusts her grip on the bone knife in her hand. “Maybe that’s why she sent me the vision. A matrone needs five grace bones.”

  She had a vision? I didn’t know a Leurress could have those—or anyone, really. “You recognize this owl?” I set foot on the bridge and carefully walk closer. Its wood is rickety and old and creaks beneath my feet. “Has she sent you other visions?”

  Ailesse nods without looking away from the bird, whose angled eyes stare back at us. Her feathers shine amber in the sunset. I’ve never seen an owl so close to water. They’re usually in trees or roosting in barns. “The silver owl showed me Sabine once before.” Ailesse wrinkles her brow. “Maybe I shouldn’t kill her. Maybe she’s watching over us.”

  I sidestep a broken plank. “What did she show you in your vision today?”

  “I saw that Sabine is unstable. She killed a golden jackal and claimed its graces.”

  “Unstable? She told me the jackal makes her strong.”

  Ailesse darts a puzzled glance at me. “You know about the jackal?”

  I nod. “It’s her third grace bone.”

  She frowns and turns back to the owl. “That must be how she made a new flute—with another bone from the jackal.” Ailesse bites her lip. “But now Sabine has more grace bones. In the vision, she wore a crown of stag antlers, and she must have meadow viper graces, too. She couldn’t have set snakes on Beau Palais without sacrificing one first.”

  I finally reach her. I’ve never seen her eyes in the sunlight before. Her umber irises glow like liquid fire. She’s close enough to touch, to hold close against me. I’m afraid if I do, she’ll jerk away like she did in my quarry room. What happened to the girl who said just a month ago, I can’t imagine anyone else for me but you?

  “If Sabine has five grace bones, doesn’t that mean she’s officially the matrone now?”

  Ailesse flinches. “I’m supposed to be matrone.”

  “But you told me the gods only give graces to those who make honorable kills.” I keep my voice gentle, trying to be sensitive. She looks ready to gut me on the spot. “Maybe that means they’ve already accepted Sabine as the next ruler of your famille.”

  Her cheeks flush dark. “You believe she’s more capable than me?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “She never even wanted to be a Ferrier.”

  “People change their minds. What if you did?”

  She balks at me. “I would never . . . How can even you say that? This is who I am, Bastien—it’s who I was always meant to be.”

  I nod slowly. “And why did you want to become a Ferrier?”

  Her eyes are large and disbelieving. “I just told you.”

  I hold up my hands. “Just hear me out. Your mother held a strong sway over you, right? Sabine said you were always trying to impress her—even outdo her.”

  “Of course I was. I’m her heir.”

  “But you’re not the only heir. Not anymore.”

  Her jaw clenches. “Why are you arguing with me? I thought you supported me.”

  “I do, Ailesse.” I sigh. It doesn’t seem like she feels that support anymore, no matter how much I try to show her. “I’m just asking . . . what do you want? You could be the matrone—hell, maybe the gods will let you have five grace bones, too. Or you could be the next queen of blasted South Galle.” I swallow a bitter taste in my mouth. “But all that was chosen for you. The gods are shifting you around like a pawn on their chessboard. What if you choose the next move, not them?”

  Her lips press together in a slight grimace. She glances at the silver owl again. The bird cocks her head. “I don’t have that luxury. Sabine needs me. All my famille does. Why would the owl show me that vision if they didn’t?”

  Ever so gently, I take her by the shoulders. Her brows twitch, but she doesn’t pull away. “Think about when that happened, right after we were talking about finding a way to end blood sacrifice. Your power, it comes from the gods, right? The owl could have showed you that vision to trick you. The gods don’t want us rocking their boat. They want you back home, doing things like they’ve always been done—more death, more sacrifice.”

  “But the silver owl wouldn’t trick me. She’s appeared to me before when I needed strength. I think . . . I think Elara sent her. The goddess never tempted me on the soul bridge; it was Tyrus who wanted me to come through his Gate, and now my . . . my . . .” Ailesse’s voice catches. She buries her head in her hands.

  “What is it?” I draw her close.

  “Don’t.” She shrinks back like I’ve burned her.

  I exhale tightly and run my fingers through my hair. I have no idea how to act around her anymore.

  “I’m sorry, I . . .” Her eyes fill with pain, like she’s hurting more than she’s hurting me. “Right now I just need you to listen, all right?”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. “All right.”

  “Sabine talked to Jules.”
A tremor runs through her shoulders. “My mother . . . she’s alive. She’s trapped in the Underworld, and she wants me to break her free.”

  My mouth drops open. I can’t breathe for a moment. My lungs are blocks of ice. I stare at Ailesse, but I’m not really here anymore. I’m at the cavern bridge again, lying in my own blood with my father’s knife in my back. “Y-you can’t—”

  “Of course I wouldn’t.” She slips an inch closer. “But don’t you see? I can’t take the silver owl’s warning lightly. What if Sabine is the one who’s in danger? I don’t think Elara is our enemy. My mother is our enemy—and through her, Tyrus. He’s the one we have to stop.”

  I scrub my hand over my face and look across the river at the silver owl. My father taught me to believe in the four gods of Galle, at least in an easy and distant kind of way, but I never imagined how powerful and dangerous they really were—or that the true target of my revenge would be the god of the Underworld, not a Bone Crier.

  I take a steeling breath. “So let’s say you’re right, and it was Elara who sent you these visions.” I try to piece everything together. “What has she been trying to accomplish? Maybe she wants to show you Sabine is capable because of her five grace bones. She could be saying you’re fine to focus on what you’ve already set out to do: protect Casimir—and yourself—until after the next ferrying night. Meanwhile, we work to break the chains Tyrus has you and your famille all wrapped up in.”

  “We’re not Chained.”

  “He makes you slaughter your amourés, or he kills you otherwise. I think it’s safe to say your lot in life is just as heavy.”

  Ailesse’s gaze drifts to the silver owl. Her knife hand is trembling. “I don’t think that’s why Elara sent me the vision,” she says, going back to my question. “I think she really does want me to kill the owl for her graces. That way I’ll have abilities linked to a god, just like Sabine.”

  “Why would you need them?”

  “I’ve told you why.” She turns to me, exasperated. “I’m the one who should be matrone.” Tears rim her eyes. “Who am I, if I’m not?”

  The owl spreads her wings and pushes off into the air.