I shift on restless legs. “Their spirits rise from the grave and gain a tangible form.”
“Which makes them dangerous in the first place. But do you know what becomes of souls when they cannot pass through the Gates of the Beyond?”
I try to picture the Gates I’ve been told about but have never seen with my own eyes. Elara’s Gate is supposed to be nearly invisible, while Tyrus’s Gate is visible and made of water. When the land bridge emerges from the sea, both Gates crop up at the summoning of the bone flute, just like the dead are also lured by its song. “They don’t get punished?” I ask, speculating about the Chained, though my answer is obvious. I’ve never heard of any soul who successfully evaded ferrying.
Odiva shakes her head. “It is much worse than that. The Chained become even more sinister, and if the Leurress are not able to restrain them, they can flee the bridge and retain their tangible form. Do you understand the implications?”
A commotion rises from the tunnels. The elders. They must be gathered now and ready to leave. “The Chained return from the dead?” I ask, impatient to finish this conversation.
“If only it were that simple. The souls are neither alive nor dead in the mortal realm, where they should no longer be. In this frustrated in-between state, the Chained seek more power and feed off the souls of the living.”
Feed? I forget about the elders and give the matrone my full attention. “How?”
“They steal their Light.”
My eyes widen. Elara’s Light is the life force within all mortals—strongest within the Leurress. Without it, we would weaken and ultimately die. “Then what . . . what happens if the Chained take all of their Light?”
Odiva grows silent, her gaze distant. The feathers of her talon epaulettes flutter on the breeze, and one catches on the largest talon, the carved pendant bone of an eagle owl. “They die an everlasting death. Their souls are no more.”
Dread, deep and black, overwhelms me, like my Light is already fading. What she’s speaking of is the worst form of murder—to murder a soul—something I never thought possible.
This is the reality Odiva has been laboring to drive into me: to her, the loss of the bone flute is worse than the loss of her daughter. And I’m responsible.
“I’m sorry.” My voice wavers, flimsy as seagrass. After the rite of passage, it was my job to place the bone flute back on the bed of lamb’s wool in the cedar chest. Now, not only is Ailesse’s life at risk because of me, but countless other lives are, as well. Ferrying needs to happen in fifteen days, during the new moon. “What can I do?”
“You can grow up.” Odiva grimaces like it costs her to reprimand me. “I have been too soft on you, Sabine. You are not a child anymore. If you had obtained more graces before tonight, you would have been able to overpower your assailant. Ailesse would have had a fighting chance.”
Fresh tears gather in my eyes, but I deserve this chastening. “I promise to hunt for more, Matrone.” I have to get over my qualms about killing animals. “But first . . . please, let me help my friend. Let me go with the elders.”
“With the graces of a fire salamander?” Odiva’s eyes fall to the tiny skull on my necklace. “Absolutely not.”
All seven elders emerge into the courtyard to cross through. Their most striking grace bones gleam under the moonlight. Roxane’s stag antler hair wreath. Dolssa’s snake rib necklace. Milicent’s vulture wing bone earrings. Pernelle’s fox vertebra pendant. Nadine’s eel skull hair comb. Chantae’s boar jawbone choker. Damiana’s wolf fang bracelet.
I fight the urge to hide my own pitiful grace bone as they leave through another tunnel on their way out of Château Creux. “Please, Matrone. I’m the one who was with Ailesse tonight. I’ve seen what her amouré is capable of. He and his accomplices must have studied the Leurress. They knew what they were doing. What if they’ve abducted her?” As terrible as that would be, at least it would mean Ailesse isn’t dead. “What if the elders can’t find her?”
“If they cannot, it is no matter.” Odiva’s raven brows lower over her sharpened eyes. “I will find her. Ailesse is blood of my blood, bones of my bones. There is magic between a mother and daughter that even the gods cannot explain.” A deep ache rises in my chest, a yearning to