Sabine stands and hurries over to her. “I’m so sorry.” She knows Birdine a little from the time we spent plotting to free Ailesse from Beau Palais. “I’ll ferry all the Chained as soon as I can, I promise.”
“Thanks.” Birdine forces a tiny smile. “I only pray my uncle isn’t dead by then.”
I nibble on my lip and consider Sabine. I don’t ask her how she thinks she’s going to ferry souls without the backing of her famille. I don’t want to destroy Birdine’s hope—or mine—that South Galle can finally be rid of these monsters . . . before it’s too late for those suffering from stolen Light. My eyes slide to Jules. She’s suddenly intent on stitching a tear in her leggings and acting like she can’t hear us.
Cas clears his throat. “The, uh, poison is for Godart,” he says, gently breaking the silence with a calm and focused tone. No doubt he learned such diplomatic skills from his royal upbringing. He pushes to his feet to join those of us standing. “Seeing as Godart is in possession of Sabine’s salamander skull, we asked Birdine to concoct the strongest tincture possible.”
“Godart will need to take a full sip for it to take effect,” Birdine adds, “but one drop is enough to knock down a regular person.”
I note the way both of them dodge saying “kill,” a word Jules, Marcel, and I came to terms with years ago in our quest for revenge.
“The plan is to slip the poison into Godart’s drink,” Cas continues, “and then give Odiva an ultimatum: we won’t administer the antidote unless she tells us how to free Ailesse.”
“And free the Unchained,” I stipulate, crossing my arms. “We can’t win a war without leverage. If we can get the Unchained back, Tyrus will realize we’re a threat to him. We’ll be in a position to make more demands. We can ask him to end the need for blood sacrifice.” I pause, wondering if Cas even knows that more Unchained were stolen. “Has anyone told you what happened on the soul bridge?”
He nods somberly. “Sabine informed me about the transfer of souls, if that’s what you mean.”
I strive to keep my voice steady. “My father was among them.”
His brows slowly draw inward, and he studies me for a long moment. He swallows and takes a deep breath. “If I were you . . . if my father still had a soul, that is . . .” He looks down to compose himself. “I’d do anything to see him rightly returned to the fate he deserves.” He meets my gaze again, and his voice lowers in pitch and lines in steel. “We’ll bring him back where he belongs, Bastien. I give you my word that I will not rest until we see it done.”
My throat tightens as I stare back into his determined eyes. For the first time, I see him as a king I would follow. “And I promise we’ll get Godart off your father’s throne.”
Marcel lifts a finger and clears his throat. “This seems a fitting moment to give you back your father’s knife, Bastien. I found it on the quarry floor, where you said it fell.”
My heart pounds as he passes me the simple and unwieldy blade I’ve kept with me for eight years, the blade I’ve sworn to fulfill my vengeance with. Once it’s back in my grip, it feels like a natural extension of my arm. I briefly close my eyes and release a long exhale. “Thanks, Marcel.”
He grins. “If this were a folktale, a beam of light would shine on you right now, and all of us would start singing a hero’s ballad.”
Jules groans. “If you break into song, Marcel, I swear I will cut out your tongue.”
He holds up his hands and retreats to stand by Birdine, who whispers, “I wouldn’t mind a song.”
I sheathe the knife and crack my knuckles, thinking over the poison plan. It’s desperate at best, but the longer we wait to come up with something smarter, the stronger a foothold Odiva and Godart will gain in Dovré. That will put Cas in more danger, which will threaten Ailesse in turn. My stomach tenses, and I flex my jaw muscle. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.
“All right, then. Who’s breaking into Beau Palais with me?” I shouldn’t have asked, because Jules looks up hopefully. “We should keep our numbers small,” I quickly add, “to maintain a low profile.” She glares at me and sags back against the wall, coughing into her handkerchief again.
“I agree,” Sabine replies. “My mother has the grace of a whiptail stingray, which gives her sixth sense. She’ll pick us out from the servants and guards if we move in a big pack.”
Odiva also has a sixth sense for tracking her daughters, though I suppose we can use that to our advantage.
“I’ll be coming, of course.” Cas stands taller. “I know the quickest routes through the castle and alternate ones, if necessary.”
“And we’ll need the strength of my graces,” Sabine says.
I eye her antler crown, trying to guess which of the tines is the one imbued with power. “Any chance you could string your grace bones on a necklace? I’m not sure how covert we can be with you looking like the queen of the dead.”
She arches an unamused brow, but nods. “We’ll also need disguises.”
“Right. Guards’ uniforms would be best.”
Cas scratches his chin. “And where are we going to purchase guards’ uniforms?”
I smirk. “Who said anything about purchasing them?”
30
Sabine
WE WAIT UNTIL NIGHTFALL TO approach Beau Palais. Dark clouds mask the light from the waning moon as our rowboat pounds through the rapids of the Mirvois River. The strength from my jackal and red stag helps me wrestle the oars and prevent the boat from tipping over.
I guide us to a rocky bank. Bastien jumps out in a spot of calmer water and moors us. Casimir hops out next and drags a large bundle of rope. We’re going to enter Beau Palais from the cliff of the hill it’s perched on, then climb the castle wall to reach the guards’ barracks. A risky endeavor, but we’ve used the entrance through the dry well too many times. It’s surely been compromised.
I set down the oars and step out of the boat last. Until we can steal new disguises, I’m clothed in a pair of Jules’s leather leggings and one of Birdine’s loose blouses. They’re much easier to move about in than the tattered ferrying dress I’ve been wearing for weeks.
A few curious Chained souls watch us from a distance, but don’t venture too near. My grace bones hang in full view from a cord just beneath the hollow of my throat. Once the Chaineds’ chazoure eyes clap on my crescent-moon pendant, they stop advancing.
Bastien, Cas, and I walk several yards around the base of the cliff, searching for a good place to climb. I’m going to go first. My nighthawk vision will make it easier to see each crag and nook. Bastien and Cas will have to rely more on the rope I’ll throw down afterward.
I stop once I spy a route with decent handholds and footholds. Cas passes me the coiled rope, and I drape it over my head and shoulder. He rubs my arm and whispers, “Be careful.” His pupils are large in the darkness, but my keen eyes still catch the thin ring of blue around them. It calms my pounding heart. None of my graces give me great skill for climbing, like Ailesse’s alpine ibex, and I no longer have my fire salamander skull to give me graced agility—or to heal if I fall. I’ll have to depend on my strength to keep me anchored to the rock.
“Thank you,” I say, and dry my river-wet hands on my sleeves.
I begin the climb.
Except for a tricky overhanging rock midway up, navigating the cliff isn’t too difficult. Perhaps my meadow viper grace is helping after all. Snakes are known to climb rough surfaces. But when I glance above at the towering castle past the cliff, my pulse trips in double time. Those smooth limestone walls are going to be my greater challenge.
I find a deep crevice at the top of the cliff and secure the grappling hook that’s attached to the end of the rope. I toss the coil down to Cas and Bastien, and the rope unravels.
My jackal hearing picks up a few of their words. They’re arguing over who gets the privilege of climbing up next. I roll my eyes.
While they debate, I slink along the castle wall until I’m closer to the
north corner, where the barracks are. I study the architecture. Aside from mortared grooves between the large limestone bricks, there’s little to hold on to except for a few arrow slits and ledges of crenelated molding.
Bastien and Cas catch up to me a few minutes later, after they finish the first leg of the climb. Bastien walks ahead of Cas, so he must have won the squabble.
“Proud of yourself?” I tease him.
He shrugs with a smirk. “For the moment.”
Cas hands Bastien the rope, and Bastien passes it to me. I take a deep breath. Here we go again.
I’m only twelve feet up when my muscles start shaking. I channel all my graced strength into my limbs, toes, and fingertips. I slowly inch myself toward the arched window on the second floor, blessing every slightly protruding brick and slim ledge, anything I can lean my weight on to ease the grueling strain on my muscles. Thankfully, my leather leggings provide a little traction. I already mourn the fact that I’ll have to give them back to Jules.
I grab an edge of molding with both hands and start to slide my legs up. The molding under my right hand breaks away. I yelp and swing down, barely hanging on by my left hand. Adrenaline crashes through me. Cas gasps my name. Bastien curses. I scramble for a foothold, but can’t find anything. Dizziness rocks my vision. Calm down and focus, I command myself. I grit my teeth and reach up, grabbing a more secure spot. Eventually my toes anchor on the mortar between two bricks. I press my forehead against the stones and pant, laboring to steady my racing heartbeat.
You’re almost there, Sabine. You can do this.
No, you can’t, the weaker half of me whispers in my head. Ailesse would have already reached the window by now. Stop while you can. This is a fool’s errand. You can’t outsmart your mother. You’re leading Cas and Bastien to their deaths.
My muscles quiver harder. Perspiration drips down my spine. I can’t hold on anymore. I’m going to fall. I whimper, then chide myself for doubting my abilities. It’s the jackal grace playing upon my insecurities. If Ailesse were here, she would be the first to say I can do this. Perhaps she is here, like she was with Cas when she showed him how to escape. I imagine her smiling and holding her hand out to help me. I tighten my jaw and climb.
The ledge of the window finally comes within reach. I peer inside, and true to Cas’s word, this barrack room is empty. We timed our break-in to coincide with the guards’ shift change. I pull up on the ledge, attach the grappling hook, and throw down the rope again.
Cas climbs after me first this time, and my sharp eyes focus on his quirked half smile as Bastien begrudgingly waits his turn. Once both boys have made it to the window, we quietly pull up the rope, stash it under a bunk, and tiptoe into the hallway. Cas is familiar with the place, and he leads us to a closet. We shut ourselves in and listen for the guards to return. I’m acutely aware of how close Cas stands beside me. The heat of his skin radiates through his sleeve to mine.
Several minutes pass until my graced ears hear the sound of light snores and rhythmic breathing from the nearest bunks. I reach Cas’s hand and squeeze, signaling that we can go now. He squeezes back, then holds my hand longer than he needs to. The nerves along my palm tingle. I try to quell the flush rising through my body. He’s in love with Ailesse. If his fingers are lingering on mine, it’s probably because he’s distracted and trying to listen for the guards himself.
He finally lets go and opens the closet door. I’m thankful for the dimly lit hallway. My cheeks must be flaming red.
We come to the first room, and Bastien sneaks inside. I may have graced lightness on my feet, but he’s the thief. This task is his. I studiously avoid Cas’s gaze as we wait for Bastien to return with our uniforms.
“You did well out there,” he murmurs, breaking the silence.
My eyes lift to his, and my insides melt when I see the soft pride in his expression. Some other emotion is there, too. I glimpse it when the corner of his lip lightly catches on his teeth as he searches my face. Nervousness? Another deeper sentiment? I can’t tell. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, you have a lovely voice.”
It takes me a moment to understand why he’s brought that up, and then I wince. “Oh no. Was I singing while I climbed?”
“Here and there.” He grins. “It isn’t the first time I’ve caught you softly murmuring a song.”
I cringe again, shaking my head at myself. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”
“It isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Like I said, your voice is beautiful.”
A tingling sensation sweeps through my limbs, and I look down at my hands, fidgeting with the cuff of my sleeve. We grow quiet, and that silence makes my heart thump faster.
Ever since we made peace with each other in the forest gully, I’ve felt more awkward around Cas, which makes no sense, although I feel that new shyness coming from him, too. We often drift toward each other, but then don’t have much to say. I keep finding myself earnestly pretending to be normal—whatever that is—and I can’t recall any helpful lessons from my famille on my predicament. Ailesse and I were taught that an amouré would be chosen for us and belong to us. I never thought I’d have to work at getting to know a boy . . . or what to do if I actually began to like one I didn’t need to kill.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Cas. “About tonight,” I add, when his brow wrinkles.
“Oh.” He quietly chuckles and tugs the collar of his shirt. He’s removed the fine doublet he wore earlier and is now in a black shirt and breeches. “I’m, um, working to stay focused, one task at a time. When I pause to dwell on Godart in my father’s castle or think of Odiva touching my mother’s heirlooms . . .” His nostrils flare, and he shakes his head. “Let’s just say it doesn’t put me in a charitable mood.”
I offer him a quavering smile. “You’re lucky you had parents you admired . . . though I’m sorry you lost them the way you did.”
He lowers his eyes and softly scuffs the toe of his boot against the floor. “I’m starting to wonder if my mother may have lost her soul, the way my father did. She died during the great plague. What if it wasn’t illness that killed her, but the Chained?”
My chest hurts for him. “I wish I could tell you, if it would bring you comfort.”
“That’s all right.” His dimple flashes as he musters a grin. “I’ve imagined her watching over me for so long.” He sighs. “I suppose I was braver and kinder and altogether a better person because I sought her approval, even from Paradise.”
“Then you still honored her memory, and she would be proud to see who you’ve become.”
Cas holds my gaze for a long moment. He swallows. “Thank you, Sabine.”
I nod, growing warm at the gentle but fervent way he says my name.
“What’s more incredible is who you are, given your own parents,” he says.
“Another woman raised me,” I confess, and lean my shoulder against the wall. “I believed she was my mother for most of my life, though I probably owe any of my better qualities to Ailesse. We were best friends long before we found out we were sisters.”
He tilts his head, studying me for another stretched-out moment. I chide myself for bringing up Ailesse and wonder what’s taking Bastien so long. “Do you know what I think?” Cas finally asks, and I arch a brow. “You give yourself far too little credit. The world can be a bitter and cruel place. In the end, each of us must decide who we are and what we will do with the lot we’re given. And from what I know of you, you have a fierceness and loyalty that can’t be inherited or mimicked. They’re earned by true devotion and selfless sacrifice. You, Sabine—you are the reason you’re remarkable.”
I’m left speechless, blinking against the heat brimming in my eyes, struggling to see the person he sees in me . . . and yet feeling seen in a way I’ve never experienced before, despite my failings and weaknesses—because Cas has also seen me at my worst. “If you speak like that to all your subjects, your people will follow you anywhere.
” I laugh, a little breathless.
He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck shyly. “I’m not usually this inspired.”
Bastien emerges from the bunk room, quiet as a wildcat, but he may as well be stomping for how rude the intrusion feels after the spell Cas has me under. His arms are piled high with uniforms and boots. “Got them,” he says, in case we hadn’t noticed. With a tip of his head, he motions us back to the closet.
We take turns changing clothes. I go first, fumbling in the darkness with the buckles on the ill-fitting leather cuirass. I pull a tunic on over that, then a hood piece. The breeches are tight in the hips and baggy everywhere else. I abandon them and the boots, which don’t fit either, and stick to my own leggings and the leather shoes Jules loaned me. Last of all, I fasten my own belt around the tunic and push it low on my waist.
I walk out of the closet and shrug. “This will have to do.”
Bastien snickers, but Cas grins. “It becomes you,” he says, and slips past me to change next.
Once all three of us are dressed, we sneak out of the barracks and stride through the courtyard, adopting the confident bearing of royal guardsmen. We each wear our sheathed weapons of choice: me with my bone knife, Bastien with his father’s knife, and Cas with the jeweled Trencavel dagger.
Cas leads us to what looks like a servant’s entrance tucked behind a large tower, and we enter a storage room lined with corked barrels and sacks of grain. From there, we take a few branching hallways until we reach a twirling staircase inside a narrow tower. Halfway up the flight, we come across a Chained man. I quickly step in front of Cas and pull out my grace bone necklace from beneath my tunic. The man hisses and races in the other direction.
The only other souls we pass on the way to the third floor, where the royal apartments and the private library are located, are Unchained. Maybe Chained souls are just as afraid of Odiva as they are of me.
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