Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(119)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

 

We’d stood alone together on the open, snow-dusted field, and even as she’d reached out to touch the skin over my heart, to freeze it, I’d wondered if the look on her face was love.

 

Neve wrapped her arms around me from behind, pressing the side of her face against my shoulder. Instead of pulling away, I leaned into her.

 

When she released me, she waited for me to look back before saying quietly, “I’m going to go up to the library for a little while. Have one last look around.”

 

I nodded. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

 

I waited until her footsteps faded on the stairway before facing the door again and pushing it open.

 

The neighboring chamber was a mirror image of our own. The icy bite of the air had set in deeper with its emptiness. Aside from Cabell’s workbag sitting on the end of the bed, there were no signs that anyone had been sleeping there.

 

A fresh bitterness filled me. Emrys couldn’t have known that we would find the ring, but the fact that he’d left no trace of himself here—it made me wonder.

 

I don’t care, I thought, picking up Cabell’s bag and hugging it to my chest. I don’t.

 

I reached into the pocket of my jacket, my fist closing around the piece of smooth wood. I gripped it tightly against the swell of emotion in me, until its edges cut into my skin.

 

And then, with a deep breath, I placed the small carved bird on the pillow and walked away.

 

 

 

I found Neve not wandering through the oaken shelves of the library, but at the very back of it, contemplating the tapestries that covered the windows. On one, a man wreathed in branches raised his sword to face the knight on the other, draped in holly.

 

Neve glanced back as I came toward her.

 

I touched the woven figure sprouting with oak leaves. “Have you heard this story? The Holly King and the Oak King?”

 

“No,” she said. “But I can make a guess—they represent the turning of the seasons?”

 

“Basically,” I said. “They’re personifications of winter and summer, or the dark half of the Wheel of the Year, and the light. They duel one another again and again, their power waxing and waning as their season comes and goes. Some versions say the Holly King is Lord Death and that they’re dueling for a woman they both love, or the Goddess herself.”

 

It was surprising to see it represented here, but given the size of the library and the variety of manuscripts in it, I figured the Avalonians had collected stories from all over the world.

 

“Should we go down?” Neve asked, struggling to pick up her fanny pack. While the spell expanded its capacity, it didn’t do much to lighten the load.

 

“Yeah,” I said, and seized by a strong impulse, I touched her arm. “Thank you for being my friend, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

 

“You really didn’t make it easy,” she said. “But then, nothing truly good ever is.”

 

Footsteps echoed up to us from the staircase. I angled back toward it, expecting to see Olwen or Caitriona there—but no one came.

 

I frowned, moving to the stairs, but there was no one there. Neve and I exchanged a look, continuing down the steps and searching the darkened hallway of the level below. There was movement there, all right.

 

“Oh,” I whispered, dropping to a crouch. “Come here, you rascal.”

 

A trembling gray kitten, his fur matted with blood, darted out of the shadows and all but leapt into my outstretched arms. His claws snagged the front of my jacket as he tried to wrap himself around my neck.

 

“It’s Mari’s cat,” I explained to Neve. His tail flicked my face and made me think of home.

 

Neve reached out, stroking the kitten’s soft head. “Where have you been hiding, little Griflet?”

 

And what have you seen? I wondered.

 

“How would you like to live in a library?” I asked the kitten as Neve and I made our way down to the great hall. “With many other cute and devious friends?”

 

Olwen met us on the stairs. “I was just coming to find you.”

 

I pushed my hair back so she could see the kitten. Olwen’s expression became a watercolor of emotion, none strong enough to hold for more than a moment. “Oh, Blessed Mother.”

 

Carefully, she extracted the kitten’s claws from my jacket and tucked him into the crook of her arm. He purred contentedly.

 

“Are you ready?” Neve asked.

 

“Yes.” Olwen scratched between Griflet’s scruffy ears. “The ritual has to be performed at daybreak, so we haven’t a moment to spare.”

 

The great hall still reeked of blood, and dark stains were still visible on the floor, even after we’d tried to clean it. The statue of the Goddess loomed above the altar, her white stone body speckled with blood. At the center of her chest, a candle still burned.

 

Caitriona stood with her back to us, staring down at the items before her: the athame, the wand, the chalice, a bowl of what looked to be dirt, and a carafe of glowing springwater. At Griflet’s quiet mewling, she turned, her eyes widening.

 

“How?” she rasped out.

 

“Tamsin and Neve found him hiding upstairs,” Olwen explained. She brought him up to press his soft face to her cheek, then stowed him away in the basket with Viviane’s vessel. Griflet nestled into the soft blanket covering it.

 

Neve and I set our bags down beside it and accepted the thin wreaths of greens and twisted wood that Olwen placed upon our heads.

 

“I don’t have magic,” I said, understanding.

 

“Trust me” was all Olwen said.

 

Caitriona motioned us forward to gather around the altar. When I hung back a step, Olwen gently nudged me into place between her and Caitriona. I froze, my pulse thrumming in my veins as I stared down at the glossy black top of the altar. The flecks of gold and silver in the polished stone looked like stars in a night sky.

 

The athame’s blade glinted. The chalice was silver, simple in its form but rimmed with glittering sapphires and emeralds. It was the wand that caught my eye, though. Longer than my arm, longer than even Neve’s own tool, it looked like a straight branch capped with a silver point.

 

While Olwen donned ceremonial robes, Caitriona did not. She bent down to retrieve the massive tome that she had placed near her feet.

 

I drew in an unsteady breath as she thumbed through the pages, revealing glimpses of color and glorious illuminations. Neve shifted, clearing her throat in the silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her decide—she set her wand down near our bags, freeing her hands to let the magic come naturally.