five feet away. “Is it you?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. His voice is spun of silk and missing an undercurrent of bitterness.
This isn’t Bastien.
My gaze flies up to him. His hood is cast back, and he’s thrown his cloak behind his shoulders. He looks like he might be Bastien’s age, but his hair isn’t dark and tousled; it’s strawberry blond with loose curls. His eyes are blue, but a stony shade of blue, and they’re wide with wonder, not anger.
I can’t catch my breath.
I’ve lured my own amouré, not Ailesse’s.
This is my rite of passage.
I take two steps backward and clutch my stomach. This is the boy the gods chose for me, and I’ve killed him already, just by playing a song.
I set out to sacrifice Bastien tonight, but now because of me, another boy will die. The ritual is already set in motion.
“Won’t you let me see your face?” he asks. His tone is gentle, but edged with desperation. He’s caught deep in the web of my spell.
I flex my grip on my hidden knife and pull back my hood with my other hand. A few black curls spring around my cheeks. My amouré’s brows draw together. His mouth parts, but no words form. My cheeks flush. Ailesse has told me I’m beautiful, but maybe I only am in her eyes.
I’m supposed to begin the dance, I realize. I’m supposed to show why I’m perfect for him and he’s perfect for me. But all I want to do is bury myself underground.
I shoot a scathing look at the silver owl. Has everything she’s guided me to do over the past weeks been a trick to turn me into a Ferrier—and after that, the new matrone of my famille?
“Forgive me.” The boy combs nervous fingers through his hair. “I thought I heard a familiar song.”
I frown. “This isn’t the first time you’ve heard it?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I suppose I thought . . . you would be her.”
“And who is that?”
His heavy gaze drifts to the other side of the bridge. “I don’t know. I never learned her name.”
My pulse skips. “But you saw her?”
“She was only a specter in white from Beau Palais.”
Beau Palais? I rapidly assess his clothes. He’s in uniform, with medals pinned to his chest. He must be a decorated soldier.
“I left the castle as soon as I clapped eyes on her,” he confesses, “but by the time I arrived, she was already gone. I caught a glimpse of her auburn hair as she ran into the forest with her friends.”
I stare at him, my disbelief raw and biting. My ritual tonight worked. It brought me Ailesse’s amouré. But it isn’t Bastien. “They weren’t her friends,” I say coldly.
His eyes widen, and he steps closer. “You know her?”
“Ailesse is my best friend,” I reply, bringing the knife from around my back to my side. I grip it tightly beneath my cloak. And now I can save her.
Acting as Ailesse, I lured this boy here. And as Ailesse, I will kill him here.
“Ailesse,” he repeats sacredly. “I have to meet her. Now.” He grasps my arm, and I stiffen. I’ve never been touched by a boy. “I’ve barely slept this past month,” he says. “The people in Dovré are ill and becoming desperate. They’re starting to fight among themselves. Yet, I must confess, what troubles me most is this . . .” He shakes his head and splays a hand over his heart. “I don’t know how to explain, but it’s why I walk the ramparts of Beau Palais at night to keep watch on this bridge. I foolishly hope she’ll return.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “I don’t understand why I’m drawn to her. You must think me ridiculous.”
“No, I know the power of that feeling . . . it can’t be ignored.” No amouré has ever resisted it.
He studies me a moment, and his mouth curves into a warm and grateful smile. A dimple even caves in his right cheek, which isn’t fair. I can’t deny he’s beautiful. More than that, he’s also kind and sincere. Is it wrong to be jealous of Ailesse after everything she’s suffered?
“I was beginning to fear I’d lost my right mind,” he says. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course.” My grip slackens on my knife. Killing him won’t free Ailesse from captivity.
His teeth catch the corner of his lip. “Do you think . . . ? Would you be willing to introduce me to your friend?”
I lower my eyes.