My racing heartbeat slows. I register the ache in my muscles and trembling limbs. Blood drips from my fisted hand. The leg and blunt claw are still curled inside and digging at my wound.
I never received the nighthawk’s graces, I realize.
Did I offend the gods? It was a kill made in rage and a grace bone taken thoughtlessly.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Tyrus and Elara, but I’m looking at the silver owl. “I did it to save Ailesse.”
The owl folds her wings.
Warmth rushes over my skin, and I startle. The world around me changes like another sun has risen, only it casts a faint violet glow. I know what I’m seeing—Ailesse described this after she killed her peregrine falcon. This is vision with an additional color. I haven’t seen the color yet. But I will whenever I first see the dead. Every Ferrier needs this grace.
The gods have forgiven me.
“I will save her,” I tell the silver owl, like we speak the same language. “I know I’m the only one who can.”
She screeches softly, almost a purring sound.
“And I’ll be wise when I choose my next kill.” The nighthawk’s graces aren’t worthless, but they don’t give me strength, which is what I need most. “I’ll also be clever and strategic.” If Odiva and four elder Leurress couldn’t rescue Ailesse, I’ll need to plot as carefully as Bastien and his friends have done.
The owl bobs her heart-shaped face, forward and back, side to side.
My resolve forges bone-deep. I’m going to have to exercise patience in order to succeed. I can afford a little time. Ailesse must have told Bastien by now that their soul-bond ties them in life and death, and he must believe her or he’d have killed her already, especially after losing his chance to kill her mother.
“I won’t fail.”
The owl opens her wings. My vision changes again. This time it isn’t cast in violet, but shimmers with silver, like the ring around a full moon. Whatever I’m seeing, it can’t be from my nighthawk grace.
An image appears in my mind. Or maybe I’m actually seeing it. It’s translucent and struggling to take shape before me.
I gasp. It’s Ailesse. She’s sitting on a stone bench, tied up by her wrists and ankles. Her head droops to the side as she listlessly leans against a wall. Her auburn hair is matted. She’s scraped up and filthy, and her eyes look hollow. All her fire is gone. “Oh, Ailesse,” I whisper, my chest aching.
As soon as I speak, her gaze lifts. Our eyes meet. My heart quickens. “Sabine?” Her voice cracks with shock and hope.
I smile with desperate relief. I believed she was still alive, but it’s another thing to see her. “Stay strong,” I tell her. “I’m coming for you.”
A tear streaks down her face.
I reach out to touch her arm. She’s that close. But as soon as I try, the vision ripples like disturbed water. Ailesse disappears.
My heart gives a hard pound. “What just happened?”
The only one listening is the silver owl.
She beats her wings. Lifts off the ground. And flies away.
20
Bastien
MARCEL HISSES AS I PICK another bit of gravel out of his wound. “Almost done,” I tell him. We’re back in our chamber, and he’s sitting on an overturned mining cart we use as a table. His right sleeve is rolled back, exposing a gouge mark that runs the length of his forearm. A rock struck him during the explosion; he misjudged how far away he needed to be from the cask of black powder. “Jules will be back soon with the water. We’ll wash this up and help it heal into a proper scar. Birdie will find it irresistible.” I wink at him.
Marcel forces a grin past clenched teeth. “You think so?”
“’Course.” I pluck out another piece of debris. “She already knows you’re brilliant. This will make you look tough, too. She’ll be smitten.”
Ailesse gasps in amazement, and I bristle. But as soon as I turn to where she’s propped up on the limestone slab, I see her expression, and it isn’t mocking. She’s sitting up, body rigid. Eyes wide. Face pale. My stomach tenses. Is she in pain?
I rush over to her. She croaks out, “Sabine!” A tear rolls down her cheek. She isn’t looking at me. She’s staring straight ahead. She gasps again and blinks a few times. “Sabine?” She shakes her head a little. “Where did she . . . ?” Her eyes take focus on her surroundings. Then me. Tears