“A woman in white is on the bridge and another one is retreating from the other side. That woman is wearing green, though, so your all-in-white theory doesn’t stand, Marcel.”
“Perhaps the white is ritualistic,” he muses. “In the legends, Bone Crier sightings happen during the dance on the bridge. Only one story mentions witnesses, and it doesn’t note the color of their dresses, but . . .”
I scarcely hear a word as Marcel drivels on. Jules finally smacks him, which shuts him up. She looks back at me, and her smile splits wide. “Bastien, we’ve done it! We’ve found them!” She stifles a burst of crazed laughter.
I don’t grin back. I can’t think, can’t find my breath. My pulse throbs behind my eyelids. I knew in my gut I’d have my revenge tonight. The scene I’ve captured in my head—the scene I’ve imagined for years—unfolds before me.
I step on the bridge. The Bone Crier and I clap eyes on each other. I pretend to be spellbound. We dance. I’m playing her game. Then I announce who I am. I name two of the men her people have killed. My father. Jules and Marcel’s father. I slit her throat with my father’s knife, and Jules kills the witness. We don’t bury their bodies. We leave them where they die.
“Bastien.” Jules shakes me.
I swallow, coming back to myself. I rub my hands together to get my blood pumping. “Marcel, guard the road—back where it’s out of sight of the bridge. The Bone Crier’s true soulmate will come at some point. With any luck, we’ll be finished by then.”
“I’ll climb a tree and watch for him.” Marcel looks upward, and his hair flops over one side of his face. The one eye I can see is already distracted by the variety of trees above us.
Jules frowns at him. “Don’t mess this up. No comparing sap or bark or whatever else fascinates you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of staying on task.”
“Are you?” She arches a brow. “Prove it. Stick to your post until we call for you, not a moment sooner. Leave the fighting to us. I don’t want to mop up your guts when this is finished.”
“He’ll be fine,” I say, and lean close to Marcel’s ear. “Think of rosewater.” I nudge him. After tonight, our revenge business will be done.
He tamps down a smile and gives me a private nod.
“Are we ready, then?” I ask my friends. “This is everything we’ve worked for. We’ve got to be flawless. That Bone Crier out there”—I point, as if I can actually see her—“will be lethal in ways we can’t even imagine. We have no idea what powers she’ll possess.”
“She won’t use them,” Jules says. “I’ll see to that. I’ll take her buried bones before you’re finished dancing.”
The two of us exchange a fierce glance. I trust Jules with my life, and I know she feels the same about me. “I’m counting on it.”
Marcel reaches for his bow. “If I do see the soulmate, I’m only aiming to maim, correct?”
I cringe, imagining all the ways that could go wrong. “How about you stall him with your words? The Bone Crier can’t catch a glimpse of the other man. That’s the most important thing to remember.”
Marcel gives me a lopsided grin, like he hopes he’ll still get to see some action. He better not.
“Don’t even think about—”
A mournful cry quivers on the air.
No, not a cry.
A melody.
A tremor chases up my spine and shudders across my shoulders. I’m ten years old again, alone in my father’s cart. I leave the cart and follow the song, walking in the small shoes my father made me. The music warbles. The low tones sound so ancient they spark memories I don’t have, shapeless echoes of a time before I was born, or my father was born, or any soul lived and died upon this land.
“Bastien.” Jules grabs my leg, and I inhale sharply. I realize I’m standing and facing the bridge.
“Stick to the plan,” I say gruffly, and spit out the rest of the mint leaves. I’m fine. If the Bone Crier wants a soulmate, I’ll give her one. I’ll give her me. Then I’ll break her.
Jules lets go. I stalk forward through the wild grass and roll out a crick in my neck. When I take my first step onto the road, my breath catches. The Bone Crier’s ghostly white dress stands out against the dark stones of the bridge. She’s real. This is finally happening. My fists tighten. I approach like the thief I am.
Her back is to me, her hair sleek and long and deep copper. My eyes follow the loose waves down to the curved line of her hips.
I can’t look away. Why should I? I tread louder, scuffing the bridge stones, bold and reckless. I’m here for you. The trap is mine this time, not yours.
Fifteen feet ahead, the Bone Crier pulls the flute from her mouth. Her shoulders rise as she breathes in. Like some creature from a dream, she turns to me. Her trailing dress resists the movement and clings to the ground in spiraling folds. She looks sculpted from marble, like something my father would have painstakingly crafted, one chisel strike after another. My skin flushes with heat.
The girl’s hair billows around her slender shoulders. Her beauty is unfair, masking the vicious predator within. But didn’t I expect that? Then why is my blood pounding?
Her large eyes glow umber in the moonlight. Her lashes are dark, not warm in color like her hair. I’m near enough to notice that now. Somehow I’ve moved another ten paces closer, drawn to the look she gives me. Feral, sure, astonished. I’m mirroring that look. We’re both staring at our destiny. Certain death. But I won’t be the one to die.
“What is your name?” the girl asks in a slightly high-pitched voice. She’s young, I realize. Close to my age. Was the Bone Crier who killed my father so young? Did she only seem older because I was a child?
“Bastien,” I blurt. So much for giving a false name. I meant to reveal my own in due time. I won’t slip up again.
“Bastien,” she repeats, her mouth carefully trying the word like she’s never heard it before. It makes my own name feel new to me. “I’m Ailesse.” She twists the bone flute in her hands. A sign of nervousness. Or a trick to make me believe she’s nervous. “Bastien, you were chosen by the gods. It is a great honor to dance with a Leurress, a greater honor to dance with the heir of Matrone Odiva’s famille.”
“Are you asking me to dance?” I play along and steady my feet. This girl, Ailesse, is the equivalent of a princess. My perfect victim. Her people will think twice before they kill another man.
A surprising bubble of laughter spills out of her. “Forgive me, I’m getting ahead of myself.” She smooths her hair back, walks to the parapet, and sets the bone flute on the ledge. When she returns, her eyes are focused like the huntress—the murderess—she is. “Bastien, will you dance with me?”
I fight the urge to glance over my shoulder. Jules should be under the bridge by now. With any luck, she’s already dug up the first bone.
I bow like I’ve seen barons do, one arm folded in front of me. The strap of my knife harness pulls tight across my chest. “It will be my greatest pleasure to dance with you, Ailesse.”