to ferry him to Paradise. His soul will rise at any moment.
“You must understand, Ailesse.” Odiva kneels before me. “I was bound by a pact I made with Tyrus. I have tried my best to protect you, but he demanded terrible sacrifices of me.”
My eyes water. “And am I one of them?”
She presses her lips together.
“Am I?” My heart struggles to beat. “Did Tyrus ask you to kill me?”
Her chin quivers. “Yes.”
“Oh, Ailesse . . .” Sabine’s voice carries my heartbreak.
I squeeze my eyes shut against deep-rooted pain. My darkest fears hiss through my mind:
You’ve never been enough for your mother. She doesn’t need you.
I grind my teeth together. No. I refuse to listen to that voice any longer. I won’t be a vessel for poison. I open my eyes and stare back into my mother’s wretched gaze. Her hypocrisy is astounding. She’s made me suffer because the gods stole her love, but she did the same thing by killing Bastien. I won’t let her take away anything more from me.
With great effort, I rise to my feet. I steady my shaking legs. I have strength of my own. I’ll use it without seeking to impress my mother. Without leaning on the graces I earned to make her believe in me.
A silver owl swoops in through the rift in the ceiling and circles around me. Her outspread wings shine in the light of the full moon.
I hear Sabine gasp. My mother’s pale skin turns ash gray.
Confidence steels bone-deep inside me. I haven’t seen the owl since she showed me a vision of Sabine before the last ferrying night. She’s a sign of hope.
I roll my shoulders back. I’ll avenge you, Bastien.
I’ll avenge myself.
A sudden rush of adrenaline shivers through me. My hands tighten into fists. I slowly stalk toward my mother. “Get up if you dare to fight me.”
She frowns. “Don’t be absurd.” She rises, and we stand face-to-face. “You have no chance to defeat me. Do not harm yourself by trying.”
There she goes again, doubting me, trying to make me feel inferior. She’s unprepared when I shove her with surprising strength.
She stumbles back and glances at the pouch in her hand with my grace bones. Her eyes grow wide. “How are you doing this?”
I honestly don’t know. Maybe it’s the silver owl. Maybe it’s Elara’s Light from the full moon pulsing stronger than ever inside me. Maybe it’s years of pent-up rage and heartache. “Was Bastien your sacrifice, too,” I demand, “or just a needless death?” I drive my palm into her collarbone. Her bear claw necklace stabs her skin. She’s thrown back another three feet, still blinded by shock.
“You also wanted to kill Bastien once,” she replies.
“Because you taught me there was no other way.”
This time my mother is ready when I charge at her. Her leg swings out with a vicious kick. I grab her calf before she strikes me, and twist hard. She flips over, and her stomach slaps the bridge.
The silver owl shrieks above me. It sounds like approval. Even Sabine doesn’t cry for me to stop.
I stand over my mother. She scoots away, gripping her leg. “Killing me will not bring Bastien back to you,” she says. “You will never know what tenacity that requires.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” I tell her, my voice sure and strong. “I’m going to take every grace bone you wear and cast them into the abyss. You’ll never have power to hurt anyone again.”
She swallows as I reach for her skull-and-vertebrae crown. “Wait! This is not necessary, Ailesse.” She rises swiftly, keeping her weight off her injured leg. She glances behind her. The black dust is thinning. Her eyes fill with panic. “He hasn’t come,” she murmurs. “Tyrus still needs a sacrifice.”
I harden my stare, daring her to try to send me through his Gate.
She gasps, suddenly looking past me. “Release Sabine at once!”
My heart pounds. I spin back. But Cas isn’t threatening Sabine. She still has him in a firm grip and looks as confused as I am.
A sharp tug on my dress pocket jerks me off balance. I turn back around, and my mother grabs my shoulders.
“No!”
She hurls me backward several feet—but farther away from the Gate, not closer to it. My back strikes the bridge. My shoulder blade throbs as I lift my head and tense for another attack. But my mother doesn’t move.
The bone flute is in her hands.
“I am sorry, Ailesse.” Her black eyes shine with remorse, but her face is as