“Well, I need to catch this fire salamander first.” I’m crouched on the bank in the shade of a willow tree. I hold myself rigid as a yellow-spotted black tail peeks out from the mulch by the tree trunk. My salamander skull was crushed in Cas’s fight with Godart, and I’m eager to get my healing power back.
The silver owl set a high standard for allowing me to share her graces without any bloodshed, but I’m determined to reach it once more. So many people in Dovré still suffer from Light they’ve lost. If I can obtain a fire salamander’s graces again—if I can share them with others—I can restore their Light. From the visionary dreams I keep having over the last five days, I truly believe it’s possible.
Ailesse laughs the way she always has with me, not cutting or condescending, but affectionately amused. “Oh, Sabine. You don’t need to catch him.”
“How else am I supposed to go about this? He won’t stay still.”
I lean close again, but as soon as I’m within a yard of him, the salamander darts out from the mulch and skitters down the bank. He hides under a fallen branch.
I sigh. How will I show my famille they don’t have to sacrifice animals anymore if I can’t prove that my experience with the silver owl wasn’t a one-time occurrence? None of the Leurress lost their graces when Tyrus surrendered, but aspiring Ferriers will need to obtain new graces in the future, and I want to show them there’s a better way.
I creep toward the fallen branch when Ailesse asks, “Have you kissed him yet?”
“The salamander?”
“No.” She giggles and walks another length of the parapet, her feet ibex elegant and agile. “Cas, of course. I can’t spy on you two anymore, so you have to divulge everything.”
I shake my head at her, but I can’t hold back a grin that makes me feel twelve years old again. “When would I have kissed him? He’s been shut up in Beau Palais, having meetings with his councillors . . . or whatever it is a king does to restore order in his castle. I haven’t even seen him since the new moon.” The five days that have passed feel like forever.
Ailesse’s brow arches. “No secret rendezvous in the forest, then, after everyone is sleeping?”
“No!” I snort. “What would our famille think if they saw me sneaking out at night?”
“They’d think it’s refreshing to have a matrone so young and passionate.”
I laugh and rub my cheeks, which must be flaming red. Ailesse makes kissy faces at me, and I laugh harder. “Stop!”
A few days ago, I couldn’t have imagined such a lighthearted moment between us. The Sabine who wore the jackal pendant wouldn’t have let Ailesse talk her into continuing forward as matrone, let alone allowed her to tease me about how smitten I am with her former amouré. Her soul-bond with Cas broke when Tyrus surrendered to us, and Ailesse has been practically dancing ever since.
The fire salamander streaks out from beneath the fallen branch. I curse and start running. “Get him!” I call to Ailesse as he tears onto the bridge.
“But he’ll drop his tail.”
“Then don’t catch him by his tail!”
She lowers herself off the parapet, careful with her ribs. As she sets foot below, she quickly swipes for the salamander, but he dodges her and scurries up the half wall to where she was just standing. I rush over the moment he slips between a deep crack in the stones.
I blow out a heated breath and set my fists on my hips.
“Are you sure he’s really a fire salamander and not the spawn of a Chained?” Ailesse asks.
I scoff and poke her in the shoulder. We both burst into laughter.
Someone walks toward us. I hear the distant footsteps the moment Ailesse shivers from her sixth sense. We both turn to the path that curves around the city wall. She gasps, and my heart somersaults in my chest. Cas.
Ailesse squeals and squeezes my hands. “Promise to tell me everything!”
Before I can reply, she kisses my cheek and hurries off the bridge in the other direction. I roll my eyes, but stifle a giggle.
As Cas comes nearer, I exhale a steadying breath and tuck a few stray curls into the knot that half of my hair is wound up in. I hope I’m not too sweaty. The day is already hot, and I’ve been chasing the fire salamander for over an hour.
He reaches the foot of the bridge and shyly smiles at me, his dimple caving deep. Another flush of heat rushes through my body.
He’s still a little pale and has a hitch in his step when his left side jostles—I’ll help him recover from his injuries soon—but other than that, he looks well. He’s wearing a fine scarlet doublet and soft breeches tucked into his polished boots. I wish I was clothed in something nicer than my simple brown hunting dress, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind. His blue eyes are rapt on me as he walks toward the crown of the bridge where I’m standing. “I saw you from Beau Palais,” he says, trailing his finger along the parapet. “Is this going to be our new meeting place?”
“Perhaps.” I grin. Maybe it’s why I came here of all places to catch a fire salamander.
He joins me, and we stare at each other for a stretched-out moment. His loose strawberry curls shine blonder in the sun, and a gentle breeze sends a lock tumbling across his brow. My stomach flutters. “How is everything with your famille?” he asks.
“They’re well.” I turn and lean my folded arms against the parapet. “Though some are a little nervous that the king of South Galle knows where they ferry now.”
He nods and also leans on the half wall the way I do. Our elbows are almost touching. “I hope, in time, they will come to trust me. I envision the Leurress and myself as allies. I promise you I’ll never expose their way of life.”
I never doubted it. Well, maybe a month ago I doubted it, but not now. “Thank you.” We share another look that leaves me slightly breathless. “And you? Is everything well in Dovré?” I quickly amend, “As well as it can be, anyway.” I’m still determined to heal the people.
He nods again, winking against the bright sunlight. “The dissenter movement has weakened. As it turns out, most weren’t overly fond of King Godart.” He grows quiet a moment, and then clears his throat. “My, um, coronation will be in three days.” He idly kicks his toe against the wall. “Would you . . . ?”
My stomach twists. My heart patters faster.
“Would you like to join me as my special guest?”
My brows rise, and I purse my lips. “Define special.” I suppress a smile. “How special?”
Cas makes a noise between a groan and a laugh, and his head drops into his hands. His ears are the most endearing shade of red. “Sabine . . .” He sighs. “I want you to know I’ve thought a lot about what you said the other night.” He meets my eyes again. “About you thinking you’re second best, that’s not how I—”
I cut him off with a kiss. He stiffens, surprised, but then his hands slide up to my jaw and cradle my face. He melds into me, kissing me so tenderly and spellbindingly that I wonder if he has his own magic, much stronger than a siren song.
When he finally draws back to gaze at me, something black and yellow catches the corner of my vision. I tense. “Don’t move, Cas.”
He cautiously looks where I’m looking. The fire salamander has returned. He’s peeking up at us from the crack in the parapet.
“Hello,” I whisper gently, and reach for the Light inside the tiny creature. “May I talk to you about your graces?”
46
Ailesse
I MEET BASTIEN AT SUNSET in a field of blue mist flowers. Marcel and Birdine are also there. The four of us work together to lift a heavy three-foot pillar of limestone out of a wooden cart, and we set it upright on the ground in the shade of a hazel tree.
Bastien kneels and brushes a little dust from the fresh engraving he chiseled with his father’s tools. It’s a picture of the Gates to Paradise, with a staircase spiraling up into the clouds.
Bastien says the work is flawed and simple, but if they were here with us, I know his father would be proud and J
ules would be beaming.
They probably are.
Seven days later, at the harbor near the royal shipyard, the sun is still shining. I can’t get enough of it after so many weeks spent underground, indoors, or in the rain. My nose and cheeks have a light sprinkling of freckles and even the hint of a burn. It’s glorious.
Bastien and I stand on the dock near La Petite Rose, waiting for the ship’s final boarding call. New adventures await us. We’re going to see the volcano on the Ember Isles and the colossal waterfalls off the coast of the Dagulu rain forest. From there, who knows?
Sabine and Cas have come to see us off, but right now she’s sitting on a bench with a frail-looking sailor. I can’t hear what they’re saying amid the commotion of gathered passengers and a few merchants watching their last barrels being loaded onto the ship. But from Sabine’s earnest expression and her gentle hand placed on the sailor’s arm, it’s easy to guess what is happening, though I doubt the sailor knows it. She’s healing him, restoring his Light.
She’s been going about it quietly these past few days, in simple and unobtrusive moments just like this. Her patients have no idea that the kind and beautiful girl who listens to their troubles is a Bone Crier from myth and Old Gallish fairy tales. She wouldn’t want them to. She’s content to know that they will wake up the next morning, and each one after, feeling stronger. I’m proof of that. She’s already healed me of the little Light I lost—Cas, too—not to mention my broken ribs, his sword wound, Bastien’s bruised head, and all the other aches and pains we’ve endured since the new moon. She even managed to revive Birdine’s uncle from his deathbed. Birdine cried for a solid day.
Cas gives Sabine and the sailor a few more moments alone and ambles over to me and Bastien. The coronated king of South Galle is wearing inconspicuous clothing today, as well as a woolen cap to hide his hair. So far no one has recognized him.
He passes Bastien a rough-spun sack with two loaves of bread that poke out from the top, and my graced nose picks up the smell of salted meat and hard cheese. “Some food for your journey.”
Bastien’s arm sags once he takes hold of it, unprepared for its weight. He wrinkles his brow and peeks inside. I look with him, curious. A considerable pile of gold coins lies at the bottom of the sack.
“Cas, this is too much.” Bastien shakes his head. “You already secured our passage.”
“Consider it payback for locking you in my dungeons.”
“I think we’re even, since you were our prisoner, too.”
“Well, then consider it a gift from a friend. It might help you start an honest life.”
Bastien smirks. “So I can’t say I robbed a king?”
Cas shrugs. “If it helps your reputation. You never know. Your ship could get set upon by pirates.”
Bastien chuckles and gives the sack a little shake, jangling the coins. “Thanks, Cas.”
Sabine joins us and pulls Bastien aside to say goodbye to him first. Cas and I are left awkwardly staring at each other. I clear my throat. “So . . . we’re still friends, right?” I’m under no illusions that he has any remaining attachment to me, but I don’t want him thinking his tenderness to me wasn’t meaningful or that I was callous toward his affections.
“Of course.” He grins. “We’re most assuredly not enemies, so we must be friends. There’s no middle ground after mutual abduction, forging and breaking soul-bonds, and all our other death-defying experiences.”
A small laugh escapes me. “That’s true.” I sneak a glance at Sabine, and then bite my lip. “Listen, I never knew your mother, Cas,” I say, remembering his reason for being attracted to me after the power of my siren song faded. “I don’t know how much I really am like her, but I do know there’s no one in the world better than Sabine. Your mother, if she really was like me, would have no doubt about that. She would be so happy for you.”
His smile softens, and he looks down at his feet for a moment before he nods and whispers, “Thank you.”
Sabine walks over to me and sniffs. “Promise this isn’t goodbye forever.”
I take both her hands in mine. “I promise. I might even come back with stories of the other Leurress I meet. I can tell them everything that the founding famille has accomplished, so they can share our blessings.” I want the rest of our people to know that they can live like us, without the burden of blood sacrifice.
Sabine and I embrace each other. I hold on tightly as a rush of affection makes my eyes grow hot. “Thank you for being my best friend . . . and the best sister I could ever have asked for.”
She hiccups with a soft sob. “I love you, Ailesse.”
“I love you, too.”
Someone from the ship calls for the final passengers to board. I take a steeling breath, pull away from Sabine, and wipe my nose. “Ready?” I ask Bastien.
He already has our bags slung over his shoulder, but then he scans the busy docks and frowns. “Marcel said he would be . . . ah, there he is.”
I can’t pick Marcel out of the crowd with my sixth sense; I’m prickling all over from too many people. But soon enough I spy a head of floppy hair and an easygoing swagger. Marcel is in no rush, oblivious to the mild panic of everyone else at the harbor. He spots us and quirks a smile, waving what looks like a scroll of parchment at us.
“I made something for you.” He catches up to us as we walk toward the boarding plank. “I copied it out of Ballads of Old Galle.”
Bastien grins. “Just like a proper scribe.”
Marcel nods, bouncing lightly on his toes. “Remember when we were all sequestered together in the catacombs,” he says, like the days I was held captive there are among his fondest memories. He unrolls the parchment. “This is that song about the Leurress that I showed both of you. That was the moment we figured out just how dire the soul-bond was—even though you ended up not being Ailesse’s amouré,” he adds to Bastien. With a chuckle, Marcel flips his hair out of his face before reading:
The fair maiden on the bridge, the doomed man she must slay,
Their souls sewn together, ne’er a stitch that can fray,
His death hers and none other ’cross vale, sea, and shore,
Lest her breath catch his shadow evermore, evermore.
He smiles broadly, rolls the parchment back up, and passes it Bastien. “Anyway, I thought this might serve as a type of good-luck charm . . . you know, to remind you, if you’re having a rough day, that nothing can be as bad as what you’ve already been through.”
Speechless, I turn to Bastien, whose bewildered and amused expression matches my inward reaction perfectly. But his voice is heartfelt when he replies, “Well, thanks, Marcel.”
“Anytime.” He reaches the boarding plank before us and absently walks up it.
“Are you coming with us?” I tease.
“Whoops.” He hops down.
I laugh and give him a hug. When Bastien hugs him next, his eyes grow a little misty. “Take care of yourself, all right?”
Marcel closes his eyes, his chin tucked over Bastien’s shoulder. “All right.”
Bastien and I board the ship and find a spot on the side to wave goodbye to our friends. Sabine is nestled against Cas, his arms folded around her waist. She blows me a kiss.
As La Petite Rose sails out of the harbor, I give Bastien a sly look while leaning back against the rail. “You still have it, don’t you?”
“Have what?”
I grab his trouser pocket, yank him forward, and dig my hand inside.
He jumps. “Ailesse, what are you—?”
I pull out the scrap of my chemise and wave it in front of him. “Do you really need this anymore?”
His mouth parts, and he blushes. “How did you know about . . . ?” He laughs and shakes his head at me. “How much did you see while you were in the Underworld, anyway?”
I shrug coyly. “Let’s just say I numbered your baths.”
“Oh really?”
I nod. “And, sadly, you never bathed.”
It takes two hours of waiting, but the time passes quickly between more stolen kisses, stories of Bastien’s father, and my stories about Sabine. And then, sure enough, dolphins start leaping in pairs along the wake of the ship.
When night falls, Bastien and I remain on deck, all wrapped up in each other and too excited about our journey to fall asleep. The waxing moon basks us in her silvery light, and our ship sails forward under the constellations of Elara’s Night Heavens.
The starry claws of the Jackal continue to reach for the Huntress. Perhaps the gap will close between them in time. Regardless, she isn’t dissuaded. She sets her own path, she is her own north, and the lodestar rests on her brow.
Acknowledgments
WRITING THE CONCLUSION OF AILESSE, Sabine, and Bastien’s story was a great challenge, but one that brought me immense joy. Many thanks to those who gave a helping hand:
My agent, Josh Adams, who has been in my corner for over seven years now. You’re more than my agent; you’re my friend. Thank you for continuing to make my dreams a reality.
My editor, Maria Barbo, whom I’ve had the pleasure to learn from since our first book together, Burning Glass. Four books later, you’re still my amazing emperor editor.
My publisher, Katherine Tegen, and her incredible team at Katherine Tegen Books HarperCollins, especially assistant editor Sara Schonfeld. Thank you for all your talents and generous support.
The fantastic design team: art director Joel Tippie, Amy Ryan, and Charlie Bowater, who illustrated another gorgeous book cover. I am beyond thankful to each of you.
The incredible authors who helped launch this series with their wonderful blurbs: Stephanie Garber, Mary E. Pearson, A. G. Howard, Evelyn Skye, Jodi Meadows, and Sara B. Larson.
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