Silver in the Bone, page 22
I slumped into the seat beside Neve, unsure of how to feel now that my theory of Bedivere was confirmed.
“So you search on behalf of Cabell for this ring,” Caitriona said. “Which may once have been in your father’s possession.”
“Why not tell us that from the start?” Olwen asked. “No one would fault you for wanting to help your brother. We would have been glad to offer any assistance we could.”
“Because of the nature of the ring,” Mari said in that dreamy, faraway voice of hers. “And what it requires to wield it.”
God’s teeth, I thought.
“That’s not—” I began, panic making the words stick in my throat. I grasped at the thinnest of straws to change the subject. “I just didn’t know if I could trust any of you to help us. Was I supposed to tell you this after you threw us in the dungeon—which, by the way, if this is supposed to be such a peaceful and beautiful place, why do you have a dungeon?”
“That’s actually where we used to lock up the wine and mead,” Olwen supplied helpfully. “Some of the small fae developed a taste for it, and around Beltane—”
She stopped when Caitriona placed a hand on her arm.
“What’s required to use the ring?” Neve asked.
“It’s not—it—” I turned to her, my jaw working, but it was too late.
“The ring was created for Sir Lancelot by a priestess who was unusually skilled at silver craft—blessing jewelry and other objects with the Goddess’s power,” Mari said. “Giving them purpose. But rather than destroy the curses and enchantments cast upon its wearer, the ring began to drink them in. It learned the taste of blood, and liked it.”
My pulse spiked.
“That’s not—” I tried to interrupt.
“Let her speak,” Caitriona snapped. “Another word from you and you’ll be back down in ‘storage.’ Go on, Mari.”
And so Mari did, and the last bit of control I had over our situation finally slipped away.
“The Ring of Dispel will only obey the master who proves their worth by killing its last one. It can only be claimed through death.”
I felt Neve’s gaze on me like a brand, blistering with silent accusation.
You don’t owe her rat piss, a voice whispered in my mind. If she didn’t do her research on the ring before setting off to find it, that’s her fault.
It didn’t stem the burn of bile that rose in my throat.
“If this ring can break curses and we think there’s a chance it’s been returned to Avalon, why aren’t we out searching for it?” Olwen asked. “Isn’t this the blessing we’ve been praying for?”
“And risk countless lives searching outside the tower’s walls?” Caitriona shook her head and looked at me. “As it stands, your father is dead, and the ring is seemingly lost. What is it you intend to do now?”
“The same thing you should all do,” I told her. “Leave this festering slice of hell and return to the mortal realm.”
The most surprising thing wasn’t the way Caitriona recoiled at the suggestion, but the way Olwen and Mari averted their attention toward the mirrored leaves of the shelves, as if hit with the guilt of suddenly hearing their own thoughts echoed back to them.
“The isle is our home,” Caitriona said. “It was the pride of our ancestors, and the gift of our Goddess. You may have no faith in the greater tapestry of fate, but we do. I know there must be a way to restore the land and the Children to that which they once were, and I will continue to fight every day to find it.”
“Fight how?” I said. “It’s been two years and you’re no closer to stopping this. You’ve already lost. The only question is how many more lives you’re willing to sacrifice.”
Caitriona’s face flushed with barely suppressed anger. None of the other sisters said a word. Seeing my earlier suspicion validated was the worst kind of victory—hollow and bitter to its core.
“Whatever happened here was fatal,” I continued. “You have the power to open the path back to the mortal realm, don’t you? This isle is dead, and the people here are next. How long before the magic starts to turn the living? Are you going to spend your last days washing blood off the stones until there’s no one left to do the same for you?”
Mari stood up from her seat, trembling and pale. She fled the library with a suppressed sob, her feet pattering down the steps.
“Tamsin…,” Emrys said. “Maybe now’s the time to take a well-earned break from your usual heart-crushing fatalism?”
I ignored the furious looks of the others. I didn’t need a morality lesson from people who refused to swallow even a small dose of the truth.
Caitriona started after Mari, but Olwen stood and held up a hand. “I’ll check on her after we finish here.”
“Look,” I said, but couldn’t bring myself to apologize. “Without the ring, the only thing I can do now is try to find the next relic or spell or sorceress that might be able to help Cabell.”
“And you don’t think the answer could possibly be here?” Neve said, sweeping an arm around us.
“You still have not spoken of how you came to this land,” Caitriona said. “How, then, will you return?”
I spoke before Neve could tell the truth. “Neve opened the path. I’m sure she can do it again.”
“That’s only if I agree to go with you,” Neve said with the sort of deserved resentment that only made me like her that much more.
“Then one of the priestesses can send us back on our merry way,” I shot back.
“No,” Caitriona cut in. “Contrary to your lies, it is impossible for a sorceress to open the path after the Forsaking, and no priestess shall take you. There is not enough daylight to make the journey, and I will not risk any of my sisters’ lives for yours again.”
A blazing swell of fury and outrage rose in me. “There has to be another way—”
A bell tolled harshly, its frenzied clang-clang-clang a desperate summoning. My pulse sped to meet it.
“What now?” I asked.
Caitriona’s armor rattled as she ran past me toward the back wall and pulled aside a tapestry, revealing a row of arched windows. We gathered behind her, searching the darkness beyond the tower’s walls.
Caitriona gripped the crumbling sill, her breathing turning ragged.
Below us, the parched moat was an inferno of fire. The flames cast a sinister light on the hundreds—thousands—of Children of the Night who had gathered at its edge.
Some threw themselves at the flames, testing whether they could pass. One flung itself from a nearby tree, clawed hands somehow catching the fortress’s wall, only to skid down and be devoured by the shimmering heat. A second made it farther up but was picked off by an archer before it could scale the curtain wall.
There was a clattering of footsteps on the stairs. Betrys burst through the door a moment later, her brown skin glowing with sweat.
“What’s happened?” Caitriona asked, going to her side.
“They’re—” Betrys sucked in a deep breath. “They came all at once. They’ve surrounded us completely. I lit the moat—but they’re not fleeing from it, the way they have before. How did they get through the protection wards in the forest?”
A whisper of fear crossed Caitriona’s face before she steadied it into its usual mask of calm control. “Their magic has finally failed. It’ll only be a matter of time before those on the tower’s walls do as well. You were right to light the moat.”
“What do you mean, their magic has failed?” I demanded. “How is that possible?”
“Dark magic is corrupting,” Caitriona said. “The presence of the Children weakens the isle’s oldest and strongest spellwork.”
I caught Emrys’s eye.
“Should we light the secondary fires on the upper walls?” Betrys asked.
Caitriona shook her head, taking her sister by the arm. “Wake the rest of the tower guard. We’ll need to search the lower levels and springs to ensure none have gotten inside—” Their voices disappeared as they passed through the door.
An image of the ravenous Children lingered in my mind long after Caitriona and Betrys had departed. “How much brush and wood do you have to keep the fires burning?”
“It’s burning with magic,” Olwen explained. Her words were meant to be reassuring, but the way her lips trembled with her smile didn’t instill much confidence. “The Nine will take turns feeding it until first light, when the Children retreat.”
“And if the Children never leave?” I asked.
Olwen didn’t dare answer, but I already knew.
We’d be trapped here with them.
And when the last protective magic burned itself out, and claws met the cold stones, we’d die with them.
* * *
Without any sort of agreement, let alone acknowledgment, the others followed me to the room Emrys and Cabell shared. The heavy oak door was already ajar, as if my brother had been expecting us, or at least wondered about the bells still clanging.
He sat on his bed, his knees curled up against his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His shoulder-length black hair had fallen forward as he stared at the opposite wall. Cabell didn’t look over as we came in and Emrys shut the door behind us.
“You told them?” Cabell asked gruffly.
“I had to,” I said.
He lifted a shoulder. “You could have at least waited for me to be there.”
“I know.” And because it was all I really could say: “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, then rose to sit at the table in front of the hearth. The fire of the salamander stones flickered with the shifting air. At the edge of my vision, both Neve and Emrys took an unconscious step back at his approach.
The widening chasm of numbness inside me immediately filled with white-hot anger.
“I don’t bite,” Cabell said, and my heart broke just that little bit more as he forced his tone to stay light, joking. His white teeth flashed in the firelight. “At least not as a human.”
“Tough luck with the curse, Lark,” Emrys said, sounding like his usual arrogant self again. “I suppose that explains why your old man was after the ring in the first place.”
He claimed the seat across from Cabell at the table—a round table not so different from Arthur’s, where we all had equal status, and equal ability to eye one another suspiciously. My mouth twisted into a humorless smile.
“What happened outside?” Cabell asked, turning to look at me.
“The Children have surrounded the tower,” I said. “The Nine are holding them off with fire.”
Cabell frowned. “Is that going to be enough?”
“Olwen told me fire is the only way to truly kill them,” Neve offered, rubbing her finger along a knot in the wood. “The creatures fear it, and hate light.”
“The bigger issue is that they’re blocking our way back to the portal,” I said. “We need to find another way back to the mortal world, otherwise we’re little more than a feast for the undead.”
“You’d really leave?” Neve asked in disbelief. “You don’t even want to try to help them?”
“What am I supposed to do about any of this?” I asked.
Her gaze hardened. “I don’t believe you’re that heartless.”
My nerves prickled. “Could that be because you barely know me?”
“We can do something,” Neve tried again. “This can’t be the end of Avalon.”
I knew she wasn’t just angry with me for having a realistic take on the situation. There was at least some misplaced anger over keeping the truth about the ring from her—someone who clearly prided herself on being self-taught and knowledgeable. Which, fine. It felt good to fight. To release some of that painful pressure that had been building up in me since we entered the watchtower.
“I came here for the Ring of Dispel, and now the trail isn’t just cold, it’s dead,” I said, not bothering to soften my tone. “I’m not going to risk my life or Cabell’s scouring the forests for a relic that may no longer even be here. I’d rather get back to our own world and find another solution, and I suggest you do the same.”
“This is about more than the ring now,” Neve protested. Her face was the very portrait of noble-minded compassion that had been getting heroic people killed for thousands of years. If ever there was a time for her to be selfish, to trust the impossible odds, it was now.
“Did you forget the whole reason you wanted the ring?” I asked. “What makes you think the Council of Sistren will accept you for saving the very place they were banished from?”
Neve looked down, her expression tightening. Clearly, that was exactly what she’d been thinking. “It’s not—it’s not just that.”
“You want access to the priestesses’ texts so you can learn more about magic?” I suggested. “Including that light spell you cast?”
“The one that saved your life?” The fierce expression she turned on me made me sit back in my chair. The fire seemed to suddenly roar at my back, echoing the heat of her words.
“Tamsin’s right—” Emrys said.
I looked over, brows raised.
“Yes, for once I actually agree with you, Bird—”
“Stop calling her that,” Cabell interrupted.
Emrys continued, ignoring him. “We still have the portal waiting for us. If we travel by daylight, we can probably survive long enough to use the one trip back the hag promised.”
“Yeah, let’s just hope one of the Children doesn’t find it and try to climb out into our world first,” I said.
The three of them looked at me with varying degrees of horror.
“Can you please tell whatever chaos gremlin lives in your brain to be quiet?” Cabell asked, pained.
“I’m just saying that time is of the essence,” I said.
“You’re right,” Neve said, pushing her chair back. “Which is why I’m going to stop sitting here spiraling into deeper and deeper panic and head back to the library to look for solutions.”
I shook my head, casting a quick glance at Cabell, but his troubled expression had only deepened.
At the door, Neve stopped, and didn’t bother to turn around as she said, “I’m sorry about Nash.”
Then she was gone.
Emrys stretched his arms up and rolled out his neck. “On that note, I’m off to get some food and start poking around the place to see what I can find.”
After he was gone, Cabell rose and sat again on the edge of the bed. I moved to sit beside him, feeling the silence between us like a third presence in the room. All at once, the anger, the resentment, hurtled through me. My hands curled into fists in my lap as I leaned my head against Cabell’s shoulder. He leaned his head on top of mine.
“He’s really gone, huh?” Cabell said after a while.
When I closed my eyes, I saw Cabell there—the Cabell of seven years ago, small and frail, soaked to the bone with freezing rain after searching Tintagel for Nash. Telling me what I already knew. He’s gone.
When it became just us.
“He’s been gone for seven years,” I said. “It’s just that now we know for sure he’s never coming back.”
“You’ve always thought that,” Cabell pointed out.
“Doesn’t mean I wanted to,” I heard myself admit.
He sat up, craning his neck to look at me. “Maybe we’ll find another journal of his. And it’ll have answers about what he was thinking, coming here with the ring. Or your birth parents’ names.”
My jaw set, and I resented the way my eyes prickled with heat. “It doesn’t matter. We’re all we need, right?”
Cabell sighed, and it was a while before he could bring himself to say, “If it happens again…if I shift…”
“It won’t,” I said, straightening. I gripped his forearm, forcing him to look at me. “It won’t happen.”
“If it happens,” he continued, looking down at his hands, “don’t let me hurt anyone, especially not you. I couldn’t live with it. Do whatever it takes to stop me.”
“It’s not going to happen,” I said.
“Tamsin,” he said firmly. I met his dark eyes, hating the haunting way the shadows painted his face. “Whatever it takes.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder again, welcoming the quiet back into the space.
“It’s not going to happen,” I repeated, because I never made promises to my brother I knew I wouldn’t keep.
* * *
The endless night stretched into what Olwen called the resting hours, when most of the surviving Avalonians tried to sleep, however impossible that was.
I ate a few bites of the bread and barley stew I was offered by Dilwyn and went to bed early, relieved to find Neve wasn’t there.
I left the room’s hearth cold; my thoughts were clearer in the dark, where their only competition was fear and memory. I lay on my side, staring at the wall until my eyes had adjusted enough to count each stone and my ears no longer noticed the screeching of the Children gathering along the edge of the burning moat.
Trapped. The word was on my tongue like bitter dandelion greens. Every plan I conceived—flying, digging, fighting—collapsed under the weight of its own implausibility.
I turned onto my other side, feeling every bit of the ache in my back and legs.
You’d really leave?
I would, and in a heartbeat, if it meant saving us. Even Emrys. This wasn’t our world. We had no responsibility to it, or anyone in it.
Blowing out a sigh, I rested my cheek against my hands. I knew I should be grateful for the breath in my lungs, and for the fact that we’d made it this far. But everything dissolved into simmering anger beneath my skin.
Come on now, Tamsy, it’s not so bad.
In the stillness of the moment, hundreds of questions rose into a poisonous swarm in my mind. But the crushing truth lay beyond these walls, scattered among his bones.
