glance out to the sea and my knees lock. I stumble to a stop. The land bridge has started to submerge. The Ferriers are now standing in an inch of water. The Chained tug at them, trying to drag them into the depths. I don’t have time to descend the cliffs. I need to act now.
I draw the bone flute from the sash at my waist. The unique siren song that opens the Gates is imprinted in my mind. My mother often played it on a wooden flute in a secluded meadow near Château Creux. I’d hide in the wild grass and watch her. She had the deepest look of longing in her eyes.
I blow in the mouth hole. The song comes clumsily at first, but then I steady my trembling fingers. Coming from the bone of a golden jackal, the siren song sounds so much richer and more harrowing.
Will anyone hear me? The chaos below is cacophonous.
Maurille looks up from the beach. She has a hand pressed to her bleeding head. Soon Giselle, Maïa, Rosalinde, and Dolssa turn and lift their eyes. They’re on the shore, closer to me, and have the sharpest hearing. A moment later, another Leurress follows their gaze.
Sabine.
My chest swells with a rush of happiness, despite the horror below. Her face mirrors my shock and my joy. The fifteen days I’ve spent without her have felt like a thousand.
She’s holding a bone knife—my ritual knife—in a defensive stance. I don’t understand. Is Sabine a Ferrier? A lump forms in my throat. The two of us have never hunted for grace bones without each other.
Chazoure streaks off the sinking land bridge. The color floods the water and swarms onto the shore. The dead are coming closer to me.
The Leurress aren’t the only ones who heard my song.
I trip back a step. I can’t think about Sabine right now. I’ve failed to open the Gates. The dead are flocking to me now, like I’m a living Gate—a door that some want to embrace and others want to destroy.
I curse the names of the gods.
I desperately pray to them.
Tyrus, Elara, what do I do, what do I do?
Past the oncoming flood of chazoure, I meet my mother’s dark and determined eyes. She’s not looking at me directly. Her gaze is latched on the bone flute in my hand. She holds another flute, but its color isn’t aged. And it clearly didn’t open the Gates.
My mother’s nostrils flare. She strides toward me through the rising water above the bridge, another half inch deeper. She must think I lied about the flute. But I didn’t. I thought it was gone.
A Chained man retreats off the bridge. He’s slower than the others—and he’s in Odiva’s way. Her lips curl back, and she springs for him. She delivers a powerful kick on his back. He slaps the water face-first. She drags him up, spins for momentum, and hurls him into the sea. He crashes against a protruding rock. She turns back to me, her eyes narrowed.
I ball my hands into fists. Bastien and the others are a half mile behind me and getting closer. I can’t worry about them yet. Several Chained are scaling the cliffs. Any moment now they’ll reach me.
I inhale and set my jaw. Slide the flute into my sash. Focus on my graces.
I’m my mother’s daughter, and she’s just dared me to prove it to her.
26
Sabine
I GASP AS THE DEAD flood to Ailesse. The Ferriers look as shocked as I feel. Odiva doesn’t pause. She charges through the water of the sinking land bridge and attacks every Chained in her path. Her eyes are livid and desperate. She thought Ailesse was dead. Or she lied, saying she was. Either way, she must be frantic about retrieving the bone flute. It’s the only way to get rid of the dead—if it’s not too late to raise the Gates.
“We have to stop the Chained!” I call to the Ferriers. “Ailesse can’t fight them all at once!”
Élodie squares her shoulders. Roxane lifts her chin. They chase after the souls, their staffs lifted. The other Ferriers shout a battle cry and follow after them.
Maurille is sitting on the stone I eased her onto after saving her from the Chained man. Blood drips down her brow, but she seems more alert now. “Take my staff,” she says.
I look to where it’s floating in the water near the shore. I’ve trained to fight with a staff like every novice Leurress, but only halfheartedly. I