I try to scramble away, but he grabs me and holds me still. I jerk against his grip. “All right,” I say, “I’m going.” He slowly releases me, but the warmth from his body still hovers nearby. I square my jaw. Bastien thinks I’m nothing without my graces. I’ll prove he’s wrong and hasn’t stripped me of my courage.
I place both feet in the hole and kneel to slip in headfirst.
“No, feetfirst or you’ll get caught inside,” he says, and I suppress a growl. If this is a trick, I’ll make him suffer for it.
I take one last breath of fresh air and drink in what I can of the moonlight. I pray its cool energy will be trapped beneath my skin long enough to help me survive the darkness.
I slither into the hole.
The space is tight. I’m forced to shimmy in on my back. My head slides in last, and I swallow hard. I’ve wriggled through small tunnels before. The caves beneath Château Creux are riddled with them. But I never did so feetfirst and trapped between three people who want me dead.
“In thirty feet, you’ll feel another hole, the opening of a side tunnel,” Bastien tells me. He sounds irritated, like it chafes him to offer me assistance.
I yank my blindfold off so it hangs around my neck. My surroundings are still dark and smothering. I squirm downward at a diagonal angle until I find the branching tunnel. I shove my legs in, but the tunnel angles upward, opposite the way I’m trying to slide through. Panic builds inside me like growing thunder. I start to whimper. I never whimper.
Laughter echoes, but I can’t tell from which direction. “It’s fun to hear you struggle,” a husky yet feminine voice calls. Jules. “But now I’m bored, so here’s the secret: move down past the second tunnel, then climb back up and go through it headfirst.”
I close my eyes against the blow of my own stupidity. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve been held underwater by a tiger shark and confined in cramped snow caves in the north, but I’ve never panicked like this and lost my right mind.
I take a calming breath and follow Jules’s instructions. At least I’m sliding forward on my elbows now, rather than creeping backward. About fifteen feet later, I emerge from the second tunnel into a larger place where I’m able to stand.
Unlike in the tunnels beneath Château Creux, the air is warm here with none of the coolness from the sea. I blink and try to adjust my eyes to the darkness without my keen peregrine falcon vision. Some tunnels under Château Creux are dim—even black, if you go deep enough. But they’re not this black. Nothing could be darker or more unfathomable. I feel Elara’s Light already leaching from my body, and my natural strength fading with it.
A terrible pang of loneliness squeezes my chest, even though I’m not alone. I miss Sabine. I could endure this if she were here with me.
A thump comes from behind. “Why haven’t you lit the lamps, Jules?” Bastien says. Swish, pat, flick. He must be brushing dust from his clothes.
“I wanted the Bone Crier to have a proper welcome.” I hear the smirk in Jules’s voice, though her words sink into the dense limestone. “Meet the pitch-dark gloom of the catacombs.”
“The pureness of the black is breathtaking,” I reply just to vex her. The pause that follows assures me I’ve succeeded.
A tiny spark ignites, along with the scrape of flint and steel. My brows shoot up. Jules is only four feet ahead of me, not several feet away, like I expected. This place has an unnerving way of eating up sound. She blows on her tinder and lights the wick of a simple oil lamp. The flame isn’t brilliant—it only stretches five or six feet past Jules, and beyond that, the unrelenting blackness reigns.
“You’ve removed your blindfold,” Bastien remarks. In the darkness, his sea-blue eyes have turned the color of the midnight sky. My skin flushes with heat. For a moment his gaze turns from hateful to conflicted, like he’s searching for something within me, and he’s nervous about what he’ll find.
“We’re inside now,” I reply. “Why should I wear it anymore?”
“This isn’t our final destination.”
A heavy thud makes me jump. An overpacked shoulder bag falls from the tunnel hole. Marcel’s head of floppy hair pops out next. “I abhor this entrance,” he says, though his tone isn’t distressed. “Next time we should—”
“Marcel.” Bastien gives him a pointed look. I glance between them and understand: there’s another, easier entrance to this part of the catacombs, which means this quarry passage doesn’t lead to a dead end. Useful to remember as I plot my escape.
Jules removes two more oil lamps from a natural ledge on the limestone wall, where she must have also retrieved her tinderbox. As she lights each wick, Bastien drags me close and reaches for the blindfold at my throat. I jerk away and untie it myself, then rewrap it around my eyes. He tightens the knot, even though I cinched it.
We walk deeper into the bleak tunnel. Bastien doesn’t grip my arm like he did aboveground; instead, he prods me forward with little jabs on my back. I know where each of my captors is by the sounds of their footsteps. Jules is in front of me, limping, but in a focused rhythm. Bastien is right behind me, his stride a balanced blend of confidence and caution. And Marcel is behind Bastien, shuffling along in a pattern of ease and distractedness.
I spread out my arms. The tunnel is just big enough for me to support myself against the walls and occasionally the low ceiling. I keep checking the height to make sure it doesn’t dip and ram into my head. I doubt Bastien would warn me.
Up ahead, a muffled splash startles me. “What was that?”
“Jules jumped in the water.”
I plant my feet. “Water?” My mother never told me about any water down here.
“Groundwater,” Marcel replies faintly. I cock my head to him. He’s probably closer than he sounds. “At least half the catacombs are flooded.”
I shudder. Up until now, I haven’t touched any human bones, but the water must carry decomposed fragments like the sea carries salt. Odiva forbids our famille to enter the catacombs because bones are sacred to us. We only take what we need, and we honor the creatures we hunt. But no honor was given to the people whose bones fill this place. In the days of Old Galle, after a century of wars, the mass graves in Dovré started caving in on the limestone quarries beneath the city. The quarries were shored up so Dovré wouldn’t collapse, and the bones in the unmarked graves were dumped inside them. Abominable.
“Move.” Bastien shoves me hard. I stagger forward.
Two steps, five steps, nine. Elara, protect me. My foot hits an edge where the slick ground drops away. I flail to catch my balance; Bastien does nothing to help. With a small shriek, I plummet. The fall isn’t far—maybe three feet. My stomach slaps the water, and my knees graze the ground. My head surfaces, and I cough up a mouthful of lukewarm water. It’s gritty with limestone silt and probably the dust of human bones. I cringe and stand, shaking some of the wetness off my arms. The water reaches the level of my thighs.
Slosh. Swish. Bastien eases into the water. For the sake of preserving his lamplight, dimly glowing through my blindfold, I resist the urge to knock him on his backside. “Go on.” He jabs my spine.
“I will kill you slowly,” I promise. “And when you beg for mercy, I will cut out your tongue.”
The water stirs as he wades closer. His hot breath is in my face. “You’ll never get the chance. After I kill your mother, I’ll find a way past your magic and stop your heart. Your body will rot until you’re nothing but bones, just like all the men you’ve slaughtered.”
“I’ve never killed a man,” I snap. “Each member of my famille kills only one.” For someone who knew enough about my strengths and weaknesses to kidnap me, Bastien has surprisingly slim knowledge about the Leurress. He probably studied how to kill me without bothering to learn why my people do what we do in the first place—and how difficult it is.
He scoffs. “How generous.”
I wish my glare could burn holes through this blindfold.
The water burbles behind
us. Marcel has caught up. “How far ahead is Jules?” he asks.
“Just past our ring of light,” Bastien replies. He releases a tight exhale and pushes me along. “Let’s go.”
I take care not to slip as my flared sleeves trail through the water. Every time my feet hit an obstacle, I shudder, fearing it’s a human bone.
We slowly press forward. The path forks at least fifteen times until it inclines and I’m back on dry limestone. Praise the gods. From here, we only change paths six times, then a hand grabs my shoulder to make me stop. “Are we here?” I ask. All I want to do is to lie down and dream I’ve completed my rite of passage and become a Ferrier of the dead.
I want to wake up from this nightmare.
“Yes.” Jules’s voice is strangely sweet. “You can take off your blindfold now.”
I hesitate. She’s up to something.
“Wait until we’re inside the chamber,” Bastien says.
My jaw tightens. I’m tired of submitting to him. I yank off my blindfold and cast it on the ground. No sooner have I done so than I wish it back again. Twelve feet before me, the tunnel widens and dead-ends into a massive wall of stacked skulls.
I clap my hands over my mouth and shrink backward. My eyes pool with tears. “Where—?” I choke on my words. “Where are their other bones?”
Marcel removes his pack. “There’s a gallery of femurs in the west catacombs.” He rolls out his shoulders. “But most of the bones—ribs and clavicles and the like—are lying in heaps behind monuments such as these.” He shrugs lackadaisically. “I suppose our ancestors couldn’t spare the time to arrange all of them.”
“Are all their skeletons separated like this?”
“Mm-hmm.”
My tears spill over. This is sinful, abhorrent, revolting. The Leurress bury men whole. The gods forbid us to remove human bones from their bodies. If we did, their souls would suffer a state of endless unrest in the afterlife. They wouldn’t be reunited with their bodies. They wouldn’t be able to touch or act upon things. They wouldn’t be able to embrace their departed loved ones.
“Why are you offended?” Bastien’s brows furrow. He grabs a crate tucked against the wall and passes it over to Jules. “Your kind wears all sorts of separated bones.”
“That’s different. Animals are ordained for us by the gods.” I wipe away another rush of tears. “Their souls were granted inferior glory.”
Jules snorts. “She’s unbelievable.”
“But humans were crafted in the image of the gods,” I go on, ignoring the disgusted look she gives me as she crouches and removes several clay lamps from the crate. “We’re destined for a higher place in the eternal realms.”
She rolls her eyes. “Naturally.”
Why am I explaining sacred things to hateful people? My gaze drifts back to the wall of skulls, and I tremble, numb with shock, sick with horror. I drop to my knees and lift cupped hands to the Night Heavens, somewhere above all this rock and death.
“What is she doing?” Jules asks. I hear the whoosh of flame as she lights all the lamps with hers.
“She appears to be . . . praying,” Marcel says.
Grant these souls peace, Elara. Tell them I mourn for them.
After a brief spell of silence, Bastien mutters, “Watch her, Jules. Come on, Marcel. Help me carry in these lamps.”
As their footsteps retreat, Jules scoots beside me. “So let me guess—you Bone Criers receive the most glory.” Her snide laugh grates on my ears.
“My soul chose this path, just as you chose yours. Do not mock what you don’t understand. To be a Leurress requires great sacrifice.”
“Yes, but not for your people. You consider the men you kill to be your sacrifices—my father, Bastien’s father. But we’re the ones who have suffered, not you.”
I meet her hard gaze, and guilt nicks my stomach. “Is that why the three of you banded together? Because you all lost your fathers?”
Jules roughly swipes a hand under her nose. “We were only children.”
My guilt cuts deeper, but Jules doesn’t understand. None of them do. “Your fathers are in Elara’s Paradise, a place of great joy and beauty.” I recite what I’ve been taught. “They’re happy, and they accept their deaths.”
Jules spits in my face. I recoil with wide eyes. “Do you know what does comfort me?” She pushes to her feet and walks to the dim edge of our circle of lamplight. She withdraws something tucked under the neckline of her bodice. I squint and barely make out that it’s long, slim, and pale. “Knowing you Bone Criers won’t be able to lure another man without your flute.”
Adrenaline flashes through my veins. She has it. Found it. Took it from the riverbed. She stole it. “That belongs to my mother!”
“Does it?” She unceremoniously holds the flute over her knee.
And breaks it in two.
My heart stops. I gape at the severed pieces in her hands. “What have you done?”
“Don’t worry, Princess. Your mother can surely stoop to carve herself another one.”
My mind reels. No, she can’t. Not without the bone of a rare golden jackal. A beast that isn’t even native to Galle. No living Leurress knows where to travel to hunt one.
Jules tilts her head. “Unless it’s irreplaceable.” She grins and fury builds inside me. “Do all you Bone Criers share the same flute?” I school my features, though blood roars through my ears. My silence betrays my answer. She tosses the pieces of the broken flute into the darkness. “Excellent.”
My rage peaks. I lunge for her. “You monster!” She jumps out of my path and steadies her weight on her good leg. Not good for long.
I kick her knee with my heel. She shrieks and swings her fist at my face. I duck, then ram my head into her stomach. She falls back on the ground. I tumble on top of her. “I’ll kill you!” The dense air muffles my shout. She grabs my wrists to keep me from striking her. I thrash to break her hold. “The gods will bind you in chains for this!”
“Jules?” Bastien’s muted but alarmed voice grows louder. He charges into our ring of lamplight.
She tosses him a smug grin, even as we wrestle harder. “I just confirmed what Marcel suspected,” she says, panting. “Ailesse’s bone flute is the only one that exists. We don’t have to worry about another one.”
Bastien yanks me off of his friend. “Good.”
“I hate all of you!” I rail against him and manage to clip his jaw. My mother is going to murder me when she finds out about the flute. “You’re pathetic, soulless excuses for human beings!”
“Feeling’s mutual, Bone Crier.” He wrenches my arms behind my back and pulls me with him along the wall of skulls. Jules rises, limping to follow.
A few kicking and stumbling paces later, we reach a square opening that leads into a chamber. Light from the extra lamps that Jules lit pours out from within.
Bastien hauls me forward past a panel of skulls resting beside the entrance—a false door to keep the secret room hidden. He pushes me inside, and I duck my head under the low clearance. I catch a glimpse of the door’s back. It isn’t made of stone, but only thatched straw and thin clay. It can’t weigh more than I do; it will provide for an easy escape. And I vow to escape soon.
In fifteen days, the tides will recede to their lowest and reveal the land bridge in the sea. On that new moon—like every new moon—the Leurress need to summon the dead from their graves and ferry their souls past the Gates of the Beyond. If they don’t, the souls will grow restless and leave their burial places on their own. The dead must be ferried, my mother told me as I prepared for my rite of passage, or they’ll wander the land of the living and wreak devastation.
But the Leurress can’t summon the dead without the bone flute and the song Odiva must play on it. I see only one solution: I have to make a new bone flute from the bone of a golden jackal. Somehow I’ll find one. I need to make this right. It’s the only way to prove myself to my mother.
Bastien and Jules follow me into the chamber
. He lugs me to the back and shoves me down onto a limestone slab. He binds my hands with rope from Marcel’s pack, then all three of my captors roll a heavy stone over the end of the rope that’s tied around my ankles. “Get comfortable,” Bastien says, knowing full well that’s impossible. “And pray your mother comes quickly.”
12
Bastien
I CAN’T BE THE BONE Crier’s soulmate.
A bead of sweat drips down my spine. My hand slides to my sheath. I graze the hilt of my father’s knife.
I could kill Ailesse now.
She sits on the stone slab in the corner of our secret catacombs chamber. I’m standing a few feet away, leaning against a limestone wall. I haven’t been able to sleep, unlike Marcel who’s sprawled out and snoring, smack in the middle of the oblong room. This space has always felt large—fifteen paces wide and twenty long—but with Ailesse among us, I’m cramped. She holds her knees to her chest with her tied hands looped around them, and rests her cheek on top. Curled up like that, she looks so small. So easy to murder.
Her head turns. Her umber eyes collide with mine. In the warm glow of the oil lamps surrounding us, she holds my gaze with the same ferocity she did at Castelpont.
A wave of heat rushes through my body. I clench the muscles along my jawline to make it stop. I slowly pull my hand away from my knife, but now the blade feels lodged between my ribs.
What if we are soulmates?
Her death would be my death. My father would have no justice.
“Here.” Jules limps over to me and presses a wooden cup into my hand. “The water has settled.”
I unhitch my back from the wall and take a long swallow. I don’t mind the mineral kick of the limestone water, especially when it’s not choked with the silt we dredged up in the tunnels. “How’s the leg?” I ask, putting the cup aside.
“It’ll heal,” Jules replies, the scratch in her voice raspier than usual. She takes my hand and turns it over, examining all my cuts and bruises, like I’m somehow hurt worse than her. I let her warm touch linger. We’re going to figure out how to make it through this mess like we always do—together. Not only will we survive, we’ll find a way to get our revenge.
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