“Bones?”
There’s no time to explain. “Please, she needs them!”
Ailesse releases a terrible cry of exertion. Cas and I jerk around. Her dress is torn away at her left leg. Trails of blood drip from her injured knee. She whimpers and tugs herself up, hanging by her elbows once more.
“Ailesse . . .” Bastien’s voice is hoarse, but I hear him. Whatever he says is drowned by an oncoming battle cry.
Cas’s nine soldiers storm in through the tunnel, their swords raised. One man has a nocked bow and aims at Bastien. “Don’t shoot!” I say. “Cas, tell them to go! Ailesse needs my help!”
His face hardens. “Arrest Sabine!” he calls to his men.
He shoves past me. I chase after him. Bastien is closest to Ailesse and painstakingly crawls toward her.
Boots pounds and approach the foot of the bridge. “Stop!” I shout at the soldiers. “The bridge is too weak.” The middle section webs with more fissures. “You’ll break it!” I rush toward them to drive them away.
“I’m coming!” Cas yells to Ailesse.
The soldiers don’t halt. I run straight for their pointed swords. Before they skewer me, I hurtle into the air and jump over them with my nighthawk grace. Their eyes widen with shock.
I land, turn, and quickly scan for Ailesse. She’s completely dragged herself up onto the bridge. She claws toward Bastien. Her bloody leg streaks a path behind her.
The soldiers charge at me. I race several yards down the curving ledge to lead them farther away from the bridge. I allow the fastest man to catch up to me. I swiftly turn and leap over him. I draw strength and viciousness from the golden jackal and punch the man’s back where his kidneys are. He grunts sharply. His sword fumbles from his grip. I dive for it, but another soldier kicks it away.
I scramble backward and check Ailesse again. She never reached Bastien. She’s wrestling against Cas as he lifts her in his arms in a cradle hold.
I jump to my feet as more soldiers come near.
“Bastien!” A girl with straw-blond hair drops from an opening beside the tunnel. I gasp. She’s the same girl I fought at Castelpont.
Bastien’s face is disarmingly pale as he looks at her. Someone else falls through the opening. Bastien’s other friend. His lantern snuffs out as he tumbles onto the ground.
A burly soldier rushes at me. I grab a torch from the ledge wall. I swing it against the flat of his blade. It flies out of his grip.
Bastien’s friends are on the bridge and running toward him.
Two soldiers fan apart and lunge at me from my left and right. My torch windmills as I spin and kick and bash them away.
Bastien’s friends haul him up into their arms. His arms hang limply. He strains to look back at Ailesse. She desperately mouths his name. Her beating fists slow and stop pummeling Cas. Her eyelids flutter sluggishly. Her leg hasn’t stopped dripping blood. Her head falls onto his shoulder as she passes out.
My torch is knocked from my grip. A pair of rough hands comes around me. I thrash like an animal. Four more hands grab my limbs and force them still.
Jules and Marcel race off the bridge and carry Bastien into the tunnel.
I fight to free myself, but even my graced strength can’t outmatch five men.
The blood from Ailesse’s shattered knee soaks into Cas’s sleeve. He smooths back her hair, walks off the bridge, and looks at me with cold eyes.
My lip is curled. My teeth are bared. My heart pounds wildly. The jackal in me wants to murder him. I thrive on the bloodlust.
“Take off her necklace, too,” Cas commands his lead soldier.
Briand reaches for me. I vainly struggle as he unclasps the shoulder necklace. All my muscles turn to water.
My grace bones are gone.
The other soldiers let go. Briand hefts me up, carrying me as he follows Cas and his troop through the tunnel and up the long flights of stairs.
I’m still stunned by weakness by the time we climb out of the hatch. Briand sets me on my feet, but I struggle to stay upright. He’s about to pick me up again when a flash of feathers streaks across my vision.
The silver owl swoops right in front of us and rasps shrilly.
I release an exasperated sigh. What more do you want from me? I tried my best to save Ailesse.
She wheels around and flies toward my face. Briand whips out a dagger.
“Don’t!” I say.
The owl beats her wings back and dodges his swipe. She screeches once more, then soars away.
My mind clears in a sudden rush. I understand what she was trying to tell me: I haven’t tried my best. And I don’t need my grace bones to do so. My body is only in shock from losing them so suddenly. Even without them around my neck, I know what it is to be salamander-agile, nighthawk-quick, and jackal-strong.
A surge of hope floods my veins. I inhale a deep and sustaining breath.
I’ll find a way to escape. I’ll get back my grace bones, and I’ll come for Ailesse.
I’ll save her.
And this time I won’t fail.
54
Ailesse
A STAB OF SORROW AWAKENS me. My eyes open to radiant light, but I shut them again. I fold my arms over the deep ache in my stomach. I haven’t seen the sun in thirty days—the day of my rite of passage—and now I don’t want to. My mother is gone. Bastien is gone. And I don’t know whether or not he survived.
My hands tighten into fists. I can’t lie here any longer. I need to find him.
I throw my blanket back and sit up. A shock of pain shoots through me. I suck in a harsh breath and hitch up the skirt of the nightdress I’m wearing. My knee has been wrapped in a linen bandage. Merde. I forgot about my injured leg. Hopefully it can still support my weight.
I press my lips together and slowly slide both legs off my mattress. I search for something to lean on, and take a long look around me.
I’m in a stunningly ornate bedroom. Even my mother’s fur-laden chamber in Château Creux can’t compare. The fireplace is a masterpiece of carved stone, the furniture shines dark and glossy, and scarlet tapestries cover the stone walls.
I scoot toward my bedpost and rise up on my good leg. I grab the back of a nearby chair and hop, hissing as it jostles my knee. From there, I brace my hands on a table for support. I hop slowly to the end of the table, then pause, staring at a tall window ten feet away. Between the table and the window is only empty space.
I inhale deeply and prepare for unavoidable pain. I take my first step on my broken leg.
A hundred knives pierce my knee. I shriek and collapse.
The door bursts open. Casimir. My nostrils flare. I look away from him and hold back another cry of terrible pain.
He picks me up and carries me back to the bed. “I wouldn’t suggest jumping from that window. There’s a hundred-foot drop to the river.” He lays me down, and I wince as he gently prods my knee. “Please be careful. We haven’t set the bone yet.”
He pulls up a stool and sits beside me. I fight for breath as the pain gradually subsides. “What is this place?” I ask, glancing at the velvet canopy above me. “This isn’t the room of a soldier.”
“We’re in Beau Palais.”
My brows lift. “You live here?”
He nods like he’s embarrassed. “I’m, um, the dauphin.”
The prince? I don’t believe him at first, but then my eyes stray to the fine clothes he’s wearing, as well as a jeweled ring on his finger. “Why were you in uniform last night?”
He shrugs. “The successor to the throne must learn the art of warfare.”
I’m at a loss for words. The heir of the kingdom of South Galle is my amouré? What are the gods thinking?
“Are you comfortable?” Cas’s cheeks flush. “I asked my maids to change you into that nightdress.”
I don’t care about my clothes. “Where’s Sabine?” I long to see her again, but my chest aches. She isn’t the Leurress my mother preferred over me; she’s the daughter my mother l
oved more than me. It isn’t Sabine’s fault, but it still weighs heavy on my heart.
Casimir scratches his light strawberry-blond hair. “What is the last thing you remember about her?”
I concentrate, but those memories are foggy. “She was battling your soldiers.”
He nods and fidgets with his fingers. “She escaped.”
I exhale with relief. That’s something to be grateful for.
His expression grows soft as he gazes at me. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you on that bridge,” he confesses. “Your fighting was incredible.” His fingertips skim the corner of his lip. “Your power is connected to the bones in that pouch you wore, isn’t it?” When I frown, he explains, “You grew weak after your mother took them away.”
“How do you know what was inside the pouch?”
“Oh . . . I was safeguarding it for you.”
“Was?”
He glances aimlessly around the room. “I’m afraid I lost it on the journey back to Beau Palais.”
I study his stone-blue eyes, suspicious of everything he tells me.
He clears his throat. “Can you tell me about that dust storm your mother jumped through? I’ve never believed in magic, but what other explanation is there?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t understand it either.”
Now Casimir is the one contemplating me. “I’m not your enemy, Ailesse.”
Does he really believe we can be friends after last night? “I can’t stay here.”
“Your leg needs to heal.”
If only I possessed Sabine’s salamander grace. “I. Can’t. Stay.”
His jaw muscle flexes. “Because of Bastien Colbert?” He suppresses a scoff. “He’s a wanted thief.”
“I don’t care.”
Casimir’s brow furrows at the steel in my voice. He opens his mouth to say something, then shakes his head and stares down at his hands. “Did you know my father is dying?” he murmurs and rubs his jeweled ring. “He’ll be gone in a month—two at the most.” He lifts his eyes to me. They’re filled with heavy sorrow. “I’m his only heir. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be king.”
I shift with an uncomfortable twinge of pity.
“Will you give me a chance, Ailesse?” he asks. “The same chance you gave to the boy who abducted you.”
My stomach hardens. “Leave Bastien out of this.” Casimir only wants me because he can’t forget the siren song he heard a month ago. It should have lost its lure after my grace bones were dug up under Castelpont. Still . . . he is my amouré. The gods want me to give him a chance.
The gods have nothing to do with us. Bastien’s words return to me. We don’t have to play their game.
But I’ve already been sucked into one. I’ve lost my first battle of wills with Tyrus. I would have walked through his Gate if my mother hadn’t thrown her knife into Bastien’s back.
My throat tightens. I struggle to swallow the ache. The image of Bastien lying on the bridge and bleeding out is still seared in my mind. Have Jules and Marcel found a way to close his wound? I pray for the gods to spare his life, then I stop myself. I can’t pray for Bastien anymore. I won’t tempt Tyrus and Elara to make him suffer like the man my mother loved. He ended up in the Underworld, and I won’t let the gods wrap Bastien in chains.
“Will you stay?” Casimir gently takes my hand. I’m stricken with guilt, so I don’t pull it back. He doesn’t realize I can never provide him with an heir. I refuse to even try. I won’t allow myself to get close to him. He’s fated to die in eleven months, but I will kill him sooner, before our soul-bond kills me.
I catch my callous thoughts. If I kill him, it would be the same as if I’d killed Bastien’s father. How can I do that when Bastien and I clung to the hope that we could break our soul-bond—the bond I really share with Casimir?
I flex the muscles along my jawline. I won’t give up until I discover it. My leg will heal, and when it does, I’ll leave this place.
You’re not missing from me, Bastien. I’m not missing from you.
I take a breath that fills every space of my lungs. I have to believe he’s alive. I’ll find a way for us to be together again—not underground, but somewhere we can walk under the moonlight and starlight, with no more dead pursuing us, with no more curse hanging over us.
Casimir brushes his thumb across the back of my hand, awaiting my answer.
I raise my eyes.
I whisper, “Yes.”
55
Bastien
I HISS, BURYING MY HEAD in a pillow as Birdine jabs her needle into my back again. “How many stitches do I need?”
“Two more,” she replies, matter-of-fact. “Three, if you keep squirming. I’m not a seamstress, you know. I don’t have the steadiest hand.”
Jules huffs and paces near the bed. We’re in the room Birdine rents above a tavern in the brothel district. The catacombs aren’t safe anymore. “You should have let me sew you up, Bastien.”
I clench my teeth as Birdine cinches a knot in the catgut string. “I guess I wasn’t keen on getting another raging fever.” My voice is hoarse with weakness. “Or a scar matching the one on my thigh.”
“What, you don’t like puckered fish lips?” Jules smirks.
“Hilarious.”
The morning sun beats into my eyes from a small window. I squint and painstakingly shift on the lumpy mattress. I want to go back to the darkness. I’d stab Odiva before she set foot on the soul bridge. Kill that bastard that took Ailesse.
I didn’t recognize him at first, not in the soldier’s uniform he was wearing, but his identity came to me soon enough. Casimir Trencavel. I suppress a bitter laugh. Ailesse’s amouré is the damn heir to the throne.
Three knocks sound on the door. Then one. Then two.
Marcel’s code.
Birdine bounces, and my stitches pull tight. “Careful,” I groan.
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Sorry, Bastien.”
Jules rolls her eyes and walks over to the door. She unlocks it, and Marcel struts inside with a satchel slung over his shoulder. He tips his head at Birdine, and her rosy cheeks blush even rosier. “Anyone hungry?” he asks cheerfully.
Jules shakes her head. “Are you ever in a bad mood?”
He purses his lips, giving it serious thought.
She sighs. “Never mind.”
He sets his satchel on a small table and starts unloading the food—two loaves of rye bread, a wedge of hard cheese, and four pears. “No, I didn’t steal this, if anyone’s asking. Birdie used her hard-earned money to provide this meal for us.”
Birdine beams and tucks a frizzy lock of ginger hair behind her ear. “Enjoy it while you can. I can’t feed four mouths for long.”
Jules ambles over and gives her a pointed look. “Go on.” She wags her thumb at Marcel. Jules is tolerating Birdine since she’s helping us right now. “Get something to eat. I can finish up here.”
Merde. I bury my head in the pillow again.
Birdine and Jules switch places, and I prepare myself for a lancing stab. All I feel is a bee sting. I turn my head and raise my brows at Jules.
“What?” She pulls the needle through. “I can be gentle when I want.”
There must be a first for everything. “So . . . how bad is it?”
She takes a heavy breath. “Well, you’ll never walk again, and Marcel says the loss of blood you suffered will permanently damage your brain.” The corner of her mouth curves. “But you’ll live.”
“Good thing I can wiggle my toes right now, or I might just believe you.”
She ties a knot in the catgut string. “You’re going to be all right. You just need to be patient while you heal. It’s not going to happen overnight.”
My chest sinks into the mattress. “By the time I’m able to fight again, Ailesse might be . . .” My raspy voice cracks, and I mash my lips together to make them stop trembling. “She’s in worse shape than I am, you know. She can’t just walk out of Beau Palais.” Rumor has
it the king will die soon. And if Casimir thinks he can make Ailesse his queen . . . I grab a fistful of bedding and squeeze tight.
Jules cuts the catgut with a pair of shears and places her hand on my shoulder. “Believe it or not, I want to rescue Ailesse, too. I owe her.”
I take a closer look at my friend. Jules’s eyes are sunken, and her skin’s even paler than mine. “How long do you think that Chained man was inside you?” I ask tentatively. Ailesse said the Chained can eat away a person’s soul, steal their Light. “Maybe we can figure out how much . . .”
Jules’s face hardens. She abruptly stands and tosses her braided hair behind her shoulder. “You’re all stitched up now, Bastien. You should rest.”
“But—”
She crosses her arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I sigh and nod. “Fine.” Jules probably can’t even answer my biggest question—if someone can gain back the Light they lost.
Three knocks sound on the door.
Everyone in the room freezes.
One more knock. Then two.
Marcel’s code. Again.
Jules withdraws a knife. Birdine scoots closer to Marcel. Marcel tries his best to look brave. I bolt upright, and my back wrenches in pain.
“Who’s out there?” Jules calls, creeping toward the door.
No one answers.
She turns to Marcel. “Were you followed?”
“Would I know if I was followed?”
“Well, I would know if I was followed.”
My head spins. Don’t pass out, Bastien. I’m still dizzy from blood loss.
Rap, rap, rap.
Rap.
Rap, rap.
Jules throws me a questioning glance. I nod and ball my hands into fists.
She tightens her grip on the knife. Slowly unlocks the door. Cracks it open.
“Merde!” She jumps backward as a cloaked figure kicks the door wide.
Before anyone can react, a hand flashes out from the cloak. Seizes Jules’s knife. Flings it across the room.
Thwack. The blade sinks into the wall right behind me. Adrenaline shoots through my limbs.
“I don’t want to fight any of you,” the visitor says in a distinctly feminine voice. One I recognize.
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