mother did her own fair share of damage. She abandoned Théo for a sailor when the kids were small and left port on a ship that never returned. “Of course.” I step over a gnarled root and set a quick pace again. Spin, dive, slice.
“Birdie is tired of perfumery. The musk makes her head ache.”
“Oh?” I’m not sure what he’s getting at, but I smirk at his nickname for her. “She got another way to make a living?”
“She wants to assist me in my work.”
“Pickpocketing?” Jump, stab. I bet the Bone Crier will choose one of the bridges in the deep forest south of Dovré. Some bridges are forgotten and hard to find. Not for me. “Or did you mean the revenge business?”
“Scribe work,” Marcel says slowly, not realizing I’m teasing. “I still have most of my father’s tools. There’s parchment to prepare, lines to rule—plenty for Birdie to do. A scribe does more than merely read and write,” he adds, like all poor kids in Dovré can do the same.
I scratch the back of my neck. Is Marcel really so anxious to go off and commit to a profession already? I never let myself think past the next full moon. “Listen, I could have picked up a chisel and hammer over the years.” If my father were alive, that might have made him happy. But he isn’t alive. Now I can only give him justice. “Turns out all I needed was a knife.”
Marcel pushes a reedy branch out of our path. “I don’t follow your point.”
“Look, have a good time with Birdie—when you can, anyway. But don’t lose focus. Jules and I need you.” I give him a brotherly slap on the shoulder. Without Marcel, we wouldn’t know the finer details about Bone Criers, even though that knowledge is patchy. “Becoming a scribe is sure to make your father proud, but his memory needs to be put to rest first, all right?”
Marcel’s chest sinks, but he musters a brave nod.
Jules whistles a birdcall, impatient for us to catch up. We hurry along faster, but Marcel’s footsteps fall heavy. I nudge away a prick of guilt. Reminding him to keep his head in the present is nothing Jules won’t tell him herself. At least from me it doesn’t come with a shouting match. Marcel was seven when Théo died. Jules was nine. The two years she has on him give her a harder understanding of what they lost. Marcel needs revenge as much as we do. One day he’ll thank us for making him stick it out until the end.
By the time we spy Jules ahead, she’s nearing the first bridge on our route. She’s about to step out of the forest and onto the road when she stops abruptly.
I freeze, always in tune with her, and hold up a hand to stall Marcel. Someone must be nearby. Jules will wait for him to pass. We’re known thieves. If we came across the wrong person—
Jules’s silhouette grows stiff. Hitched-up shoulders. Spread fingers. Not good. How many people are out there? She backtracks slowly, ducking lower with each step.
“What’s happ—?”
I clamp a hand over Marcel’s mouth.
Jules hits a low-lying branch. She’s never that clumsy. “Merde,” she says, and drops flat to the ground. The wild grass rustles. She crawls through it. When I see her again, she’s pointing wildly behind her.
Marcel and I crouch. The three of us gather in a tight circle of heads. “Soldier?” I ask. The king’s guard doesn’t patrol this far from the city wall, but I can’t think of who else could have Jules in a panic.
She shakes her head. “Bone Criers.”
My throat runs dry. I blink stupidly at her. Even Marcel is speechless. “What, here?”
She nods.
“Castelpont?” I’m still disbelieving. I never considered this bridge could be a target, just a shortcut. It’s in full view of Beau Palais.
“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