Bone Crier's Moon (Bone Grace #1)(7)

My mother’s brows lift, and she suppresses a smile. “Well spoken. You could learn a lesson from Sabine, Ailesse.” Her eyes slide to mine. “A better way with words might curb your penchant to provoke me.”

I square my jaw to mask my hurt. Sabine casts me an apologetic glance, but I’m not upset with her. She was only trying to defend me. “Yes, Mother.”

No matter how hard I try to prove my worth as the future matrone of our famille, I fall short of the simple virtues that come naturally to my friend. A fact my mother never fails to make known to me.

“Leave us,” she commands the other Leurress. With a sweeping tide of bows, they scatter back to their work. Sabine starts to follow, but my mother holds up a hand for her to stay. I’m not sure why, because her words are for me: “The full moon is in nine days.”

My ribs ease against my lungs, and I inhale a deep breath. She’s speaking of my rite of passage. Which means she’s accepted my grace bones—all of them. “I’m ready. More than ready.”

“Hyacinthe will teach you the siren song. Practice it only on a wooden flute.”

I nod fervently. I know all of this. I’ve even learned the siren song by heart. Hyacinthe plays it at night. Sometimes I hear her cry afterward, her soft sobs flowing with the echoing tides of the sea. The siren song is that beautiful. “When can I receive the bone flute?” My nerves thrill at the thought of being able to touch it. I’m on the cusp of a dream I’ve had since I was little. Soon I’ll stand among my sister Leurress, each of us using our graces to guide departed souls through the Gates of the Beyond, the very realms of Tyrus and Elara. “Do I really need to wait until the full moon?”

“This isn’t a game, Ailesse,” my mother snaps. “The bone flute is more than an instrument to call forth your amouré.”

I roll back to my heels from my toes. “Yes, I know.” The music of the bone flute also opens the Gates on ferrying night, which in turn opens all the other Gates around the world. Wherever people live, people die and must be ferried. And without the bone flute, none of the dead, near or far, can move on to the afterlife.

Odiva gives the smallest shake of her head, as if I’m still the impossible child who ran around Chateau Creux badgering each Ferrier to let me try on her grace bones. That was years ago. I’m fully grown now, fully competent, with three bones of my own. I’m prepared to make my final kill.

She steps closer, and my sixth sense hammers. “Have you decided whether or not you will try to bear a child?”

Heat scalds the tips of my ears. A quick glance at Sabine reveals she’s just as red in the face. This conversation has taken a mortifying turn. My mother never discusses intimacy with me. I’ve learned what I know from Giselle, who spent one passionate year with her amouré before she killed him. Unfortunately, that year never produced another daughter Leurress—or a son, for that matter, although conceiving a boy is unheard of. The Leurress look at Giselle differently now, like she’s a failure or someone to be pitied. She takes it in stride, but I don’t envy her.

“Of course I will,” I declare. “I know my duty as your heir.”

Sabine fidgets beside me. I’ve told her the truth. I have no intention of providing another successor in our line. My mother will be forced to accept my decision after I’ve killed my amouré on the bridge. And when the day comes that I am matrone, I’ll choose an heir among our famille. I’ll be the first to break the chain of my mother’s ruling bloodline, but the Leurress will go on. They’ll have to, because the thought of getting to know a young man—for surely Tyrus and Elara wouldn’t summon me an old one—and possibly falling in love with him, then killing him, is a cruelty I can’t face. I’ll do what is necessary. I’ll sacrifice my promised lover, nothing more. Like all Ferriers before me, my rite of passage will be my oath to the gods, my promise to sever my last ties of loyalty to this world and dedicate myself to ushering souls into the afterlife. If I can resist my amouré, I’ll have the strength to resist the ultimate siren call—the song of the Beyond.

My mother’s hands fold together. “Then heed my advice, Ailesse. Conceive a child without forming a lasting attachment to your amouré, no matter how handsome, clever, or amiable he turns out to be.” Her eyes look through me, lost to somewhere I can’t follow. “You cannot escape the consequences of time spent in passion.”

Is she thinking of my father? She never mentions his name. When she does speak of him, it’s indirectly like this.

“He won’t break me,” I reply, steadfast in my answer. One day I will rule this famille with Odiva’s fierceness and dedication, but I’ll also show each Leurress deep and unconditional affection. Perhaps my mother once intended to do the same, but killing my father built a wall around her heart. She isn’t the only Leurress who suffers from the loss of her amouré. It may be the real reason Hyacinthe cries at night. After playing the siren song on her wooden flute, she whispers the name of her beloved.

Odiva hesitates, then places a hand on my shoulder. I startle at the contact. Her warmth tightens my throat with a surprising rush of emotion. “Without the Leurress,” she says, “the dead would wander the land of the living. Their unmoored souls would wreak havoc on the mortals we are sworn to protect. Our task is to keep the balance between both worlds, the natural and unnatural, and therefore it is our privilege to be born a Leurress and our great honor to become Ferriers. You will make a fine one, Ailesse.”