holes. My mind finally clears enough to register it. This symbol has a horizontal line carved through the middle of the inverted triangle—the symbol of earth, not water.
“Um . . . yes,” I mumble, just to say something. I’ve never thought much about the small difference between the symbols, and it still seems unimportant. All I can picture is my mother’s amazed and grateful face when I set the flute in her hands. She’ll welcome me back. She’ll smile one of her rare smiles. She’ll touch my cheek and say, “Well done.”
A riptide of clarity flashes through me. I have to escape. Tonight. At midnight, the Leurress must ferry the dead, and my mother will need the bone flute.
“I had no idea there was a land bridge around here,” Marcel says, still caught up on that fact.
My gaze strays to his cloak, but it’s not parted wide enough for me to see if any knife glints within. “No one knows but my famille. It’s off a shore that’s hard to access.” I’m blurting now, telling him anything I can to keep him captivated. “The cliffs above the land bridge are impossible to descend unless you know where the hidden stairway is.” I shift to directly face him.
“Oh?” He mirrors my movement, and his cloak opens farther. My pulse races. I see a knife on his belt. It’s small, but that doesn’t matter.
“And that place can’t be used as a harbor; the water is ridden with sea stacks and jagged rocks.” I’m going to have to be quick. Grab the knife—which will be difficult with my wrists tied; threaten Marcel so he stays silent; cut my own bonds; grab the flute, and then my grace bones. Bastien hid them in a chipped pitcher when he thought I was sleeping. “The most hallowed part of the land bridge is what’s at its end,” I say, casting my final lure. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. This knowledge is sacred.”
Marcel leans closer. “You can trust me, Ailesse.”
“Can I?” My body thrums with nervous, almost frenzied energy. I grasp his cloak and pull him nearer, as if to search his eyes. He gulps, but I don’t let go. The hilt of his knife is a fingerbreadth away from my hand. “You must swear an oath never to share what I’m about to tell you,” I say, though this secret isn’t any more significant than what I’ve already revealed.
“All right. I—I swear.”
I bring my mouth to his ear. I curl my fingers around the fabric of his cloak. “A pair of Gates divides the mortal realm from the eternal.” I close my hand around the hilt of his knife. “They aren’t made of wood, earth, or iron.” I carefully withdraw his weapon. “Tyrus’s Gate is made of water, and Elara’s Gate is made of . . .” I really don’t know, except it’s unearthly and almost invisible.
“What are you two whispering about?”
My heart jumps.
Bastien is back. He’s standing just inside the chamber by the door, his eyes suspicious. The water bucket in his hands drips on the ground.
I jerk back from Marcel. I slide his knife under my thigh. The pooled fabric of his cloak conceals the move.
Marcel offers Bastien a casual smile. “Ailesse was just telling me about the symbols on the bone flute,” he replies, keeping his promise not to mention the Gates.
Bastien’s frown deepens. “Why would she do that?”
Marcel lifts his hands, baffled. “To help us figure out how to break the soul-bond.”
I steady my gaze on Bastien and add, “You’re not the only one who wants to end this relationship.”
His grimace lingers a moment, and then he lowers his eyes. I stifle a prick of guilt. “Relationship?” he mutters, setting down his bucket. “That implies I had a choice to enter into it.” He strides to the shelves and peeks into a few random pots and jars. “Next time you have something important to say, say it to me, too.”
“Fine.” My chest tightens. The blade of Marcel’s knife is cold beneath my leg. I could fling it at Bastien now. Maybe I don’t need a ritual weapon to kill him and end our soul-bond.
He looks back at me and crosses his arms. “Well?”
I shrug. “I’m out of important things to say for the day. I need to rest now.”
Marcel sighs, a little disappointed. “Well, this has all been most helpful, Ailesse. Thank you.” He eases off the slab, and my stomach tenses as he pockets the bone flute again.
I shift, little by