Three magics to be feared . . . curses born of the wrath of gods, poisons that turn soil to ash, and that which leaves one dark of heart and silver in the bone.
“Dark of heart,” I said, my thoughts fracturing, my tongue turning lazy. “Silver in the bone.”
“There is nothing dark about you,” he said vehemently. “Nothing.”
“I killed Septimus . . .” Maybe that had left a mark on my soul. A brand on my very bones.
“The Children killed him,” Emrys said.
My eyelids sank again, and I tried to hold on to his words, to believe them.
But there, in the darkness, I only saw Nash’s bones returning to the earth. Laid out the exact way I was, in an identical tower. Lost and nameless.
Alone.
The sight of him faded like twilight into night.
“Don’t leave,” I begged. “Please don’t leave . . .”
“You’re the bird,” Emrys whispered. “You’re the one who always flies away.”
Liar, I thought. Emrys Dye was a liar, his words as smooth as a snake’s underbelly. He’d leave if it benefited him. If he knew what I’d seen.
He’d leave like everyone else.
Don’t tell him, I thought. He’ll go and it’s too dangerous. She’ll kill him . . .
But if clever Emrys wanted it, he’d find a way. He’d find it, and I wanted to know.
I needed to know.
Because you saw me.
“She has the Ring of Dispel,” I whispered, disappearing into the flickering dark. “The High Priestess . . . she . . .”
Because you saw m . . .
When I opened my eyes again, I did see him.
Emrys sat beside me, one arm wrapped around his knees, his perfect face soft as he watched me through his lowered lashes. His fingers were still clasped around mine, and they tightened, as if to say Rest. As if to promise We’re still here, the both of us.
My eyelids fluttered shut.
The daylight was gone, but he wasn’t.
The rain turned to snow.
I woke in time to see the silent, dreamy transformation. The curtain of rain slowed, and in its place came tufts of white, falling through the night air like a shower of stars. Emrys leaned against the doorway watching, his scarred arms crossed over his chest.
Scars.
He’d stripped off his heavy wool sweater and wore only a plain T-shirt. One, like mine, that had seen better days. The muscles of his arms and back were taut beneath the fabric, as if he was bracing for something to emerge from the trees.
Near his feet, the small fire was struggling. The pile of deadwood he’d gathered had already dwindled to its last few branches. The cold seeped inside the watchtower like an uninvited guest, and now, like the cries of the hungry Children that surrounded us, we would never be rid of it.
I shivered, my teeth chattering painfully. Reeling in that last bit of consciousness that seemed to want to slip away again, I tried to curl my legs up closer to my middle. An unexpected but comforting weight shifted over me. Our jackets and his sweater were tucked in tight around my body.
Emrys reached out to catch some of the snow in his palm, his faint smile fading with some unknowable thought.
Something in me softened as I watched him—it had no name, but it was new and strange and dizzying as the sensation spread. My arm throbbed painfully as I moved it, filling with needles as I tried to curl my fingers, remembering the feel of my hand in his bigger one.
I should have been horrified at the thought of him having to take care of me again when I’d always fought so hard to take care of myself.
Yet all those thoughts turned to ash in the wind as Emrys looked at the remaining firewood, then back out to the woods. Weighing the risk. The cost of trying.
Panic fluttered in my chest.
“Don’t,” I croaked out.
Emrys’s expression shifted to that easy lightness that seemed to carry him through life on a gilded cloud. His posture relaxed as he knelt beside me, adjusting the coats.
“I’m thrilled you think I’m brave enough to go out there right now,” he said, his voice scratchy.
“Br-brave wasn’t ex-exactly the word I was thinking,” I said, trembling hard from the cold.
He clutched at his heart. “Ah, her aim strikes deadly and true.”
There was a luminous, hazy quality to him, like a creature who’d escaped from a dream. The rakish hair and those vivid eyes only added to the effect. My thoughts came warm and flushed with something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“D-do I have a fever or something?” I asked. It was the only explanation for why I leaned into the touch of his palm as he pressed it gently to my forehead. Why it felt so good to have him brush my loose hair off the sticky skin of my face.
“Nah, I just have that effect on people,” he said with a wink. “Well, everyone but you.”
“Th-thanks to N-Nash, I ha-have an immunity t-to charm,” I managed to get out.
Careful to avoid my injury, he rubbed my upper arms beneath the layers of fabric, trying to create some heat. His smile drifted away again, and like a pathetic soft-in-the-head idiot, I immediately wanted it back.
“You have a little bit of a fever,” he explained. “The herbs are doing their work, though. Think you could eat something? I have some bread that didn’t go for a swim with us.”
I shook my head. My stomach was as tight as a drum.
“H-how are you not fr-freezing?” I asked.
“If you were to ask my dear mother, she’d say it was because I was born with gentle fire in my heart,” he said with a strained look in his eyes. “But I think there’s just something wrong with me.”
The heat from his hands felt like it was radiating through our jackets. My jaw locked from the force of the shivers racking my body. Emrys’s face fell with concern.
“That bad?” he whispered.
I nodded. It felt like my lungs had frozen and the silver coating my bones refused to loosen its grip on the cold.
Emrys closed his eyes, turning his face up toward the ceiling of the watchtower, where a winding staircase led to the flat roof. “I am suggesting this in a way that is devoid of anything other than concern for your well-being, and with the full knowledge that you are less likely, in this moment, to be able to punch me for it . . .”