I begrudgingly accept that the gods chose him well, but my chest aches. Ailesse has always done everything before me, and now she has something far more valuable than another grace bone. She has the promise of love. She has met her amouré. I fear I’ll never have the courage to do what it takes to meet mine.
A flash of black winks out from the fog across the bridge—just enough that I see something creep down to the riverbed. If it’s a predator, it will be drawn to the blood when Ailesse kills the boy. I worry at my lip. I’m not supposed to intervene tonight, but that rule probably means I shouldn’t interfere with Ailesse’s amouré, not whatever it is I just saw.
I hang my friend’s shoulder necklace on a branch, duck under it, and tiptoe to the edge of the riverbank. Ailesse’s amouré doesn’t notice me. He’s watching her walk around him and trail her hand around his torso. I have to hurry. I need to return to my post before the dance is finished. By then, the luring spell of the bone flute will dwindle away, Ailesse will withdraw her bone knife, and I must be back in time to witness her completion of the rite of passage.
The fog churns thick again. I move as fast as possible down the steep bank. At last, I reach the bottom and scan around. I can only see seven feet or so in each direction. The rest of the riverbed is a blanket of white. If I were out hunting, I’d have my bow or dagger, but as a ritual witness, I’m defenseless. The Leurress performing the rite must prove she is adept on her own.
I continue forward carefully. My salamander grace steadies my feet on the uneven ground. It also heightens my sense of smell, an ability I’ve often rolled my eyes at for its lack of helpfulness, but now I’m grateful. I let the scent of leather and wool and light perspiration guide me to the other side, where I hear a small grunt of exertion. It comes again, this time accompanied by faint scraping. The fog parts around a crouched figure—a girl. She jerks her head to me, and her hood falls back.
For a split second I’m baffled, unsure why she’s here. Then my blood turns to ice. Her hands are covered in dirt. The earth beneath her has been dug up in one spot. I curse myself. She must have found the place easily due to the crudely overturned soil.
The girl tenses, ready to attack or flee. My heartbeats crash. I struggle to think. She doesn’t have Ailesse’s grace bone yet. Ailesse would have noticed and cried out to me. I still have time to stop her.
I lunge for the girl. She anticipates me and rolls to the side. I whirl around to find she’s already up on her feet, holding a knife. My nerves light on fire, but I swallow my scream for help. Ailesse needs to focus on the boy.
The hooded girl jumps at me with her outstretched knife. I have nothing to shield myself with but my arm. Pain bursts through me as she cuts through my sleeve to my skin. I gasp and stumble backward.
Control yourself, Sabine. You will heal. It’s the one thing you’re good at.
I pick up a rock as large as my fist.
“Do you think you can stop me?” the girl hisses. “I’m ready for you.”
I throw the rock at her head. She dodges it with a mocking grin. She tosses her knife from hand to hand. “You’re only wearing one bone,” she says. “It won’t even be a challenge to kill you.”
She knows about grace bones? I fumble for another rock. “Who are you?”
“The daughter of a man a Bone Crier killed.” She practically spits the words. “Ashena pretended to love him for a year, and then cursed him and left him to die. Slowly. Painfully.”
Ashena? My lips part. She braided my hair once. When my mother was killed, Ashena gave me a pearly seashell. “Ashena loved your father?” It never occurred to me that an amouré could already have children of his own.
“Pretended,” the girl clarifies. “It wasn’t real.”
“Maybe it was. Ashena didn’t kill her amouré, not directly.” She confessed that much to our famille when she returned to Château Creux. If she had killed him with her ritual blade, the magic of the soul-bond would have spared her life. “Ashena died for loving him,” I add, my throat tightening. It happened in an instant, one year from her rite of passage.
The hooded girl’s eyes shroud, conflicted and confused. “That doesn’t matter. Ashena’s death doesn’t right the wrongs done to my father.”
“What will?” I’m stalling for time as my fingers close around the rock. I already know her answer.
“Your death.” She sneers. “And the death of your friend.”
“You could never defeat Ailesse.”
“Yes, we can.”
We?
In one swift motion, she dives for the overturned earth. I throw my rock. It crashes against her shoulder. She grunts, but the pain doesn’t stop her.
She pulls her hand from the dirt. In her tight fist, she holds Ailesse’s falcon wing bone. I remember the day Ailesse shot her arrow and plucked the bird from the sky. She gave me its longest feather.
Anger blazes like a wildfire inside me.
I charge at the hooded girl. My heart pumps pure rage.
At the same moment, Ailesse releases a cry of terror.
“Sabine!”
8
Ailesse
MY LIMBS GROW HEAVY. I drop to my heels from my toes. The violet tinge of my vision fades, along with its crispness. I wrest out of Bastien’s arms, and my hand flies to the base of my throat. My falcon wing bone is gone. Not from my necklace, but—
I race to the parapet and look over the ledge. I can’t see the riverbed through the fog below, but I hear the sound of a struggle.
Something is terribly wrong.
“Sabine!”
I listen, but only hear muffled thuds and grunts. Then my friend cries, “Ailesse, run!”
I freeze. My knuckles clench the half wall. I can’t run. Sabine is in danger. But I also can’t leave the bridge. Not yet. The ritual magic is alive. I have to choose. About Bastien. No, there is no choice. I have to kill him. Now.
My muscles scream to help Sabine, but I force myself to turn and face Bastien. “I’m sorry.” I shouldn’t apologize. It’s an honor to be my amouré. An honor to die. I reach for the bone knife at my back.
He reaches behind his back. “I’m not,” he says.
I withdraw my knife. He withdraws two. My eyes widen. “What is this?”
“This”—every tender, conflicted expression on his face contorts into a vicious grimace—“is revenge.” His blades slash out for me.
I jump back. I haven’t trained for a knife fight. Killing an animal with one is entirely different than this. “Why?” I ask. Hurt nicks my pride after the dance he and I just shared. “What have I ever done to you?”
His nostrils flare. Rage beats off of him in waves. My sixth sense vibrates up my spine, alert for his next move. “Your kind killed my father,” he growls, speaking of the Leurress as if we’re less than human. “I was a child. I watched him die. A Bone Crier sliced his throat and bled the life out of him.”
My stomach gives a sickening lurch. “You—you shouldn’t have been there. You weren’t supposed to be there.”
“Is that your apology?” Bastien scoffs, his nose wrinkling with hatred. “My father died. A good, kind, unforgettable man died because he crossed the wrong bridge on the wrong night.”