Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(121)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

 

I forced myself to stop singing, pulling hard on Caitriona and Neve again, but it was too late.

 

With a roll of ear-piercing thunder, the isle erupted beneath us.

 

 

 

 

 

The air filled with strange light.

 

Silvery and elusive, its shafts broke through the cover of dust and mist, falling over me like cool fingers. I stared down at the dirt and blood caked onto my jacket, not understanding. The ringing in my ears was painfully sharp as I tried to sit up, only to find that I couldn’t.

 

My arm was caught beneath a pile of crushed stone. With a grunt of pain, I managed to slip it out, dislodging a large piece. The chunk of white marble rolled down, coming to a stop beside me.

 

I turned my head to find a pale white face staring back at me. Its serene expression was at odds with the splatters of blood dripping from it. A small candle burned on the ground nearby, its flame struggling until, at last, a gentle breeze blew it out.

 

As the mist and dust were gathered and pushed away by the wind, I realized where the light was coming from.

 

The moon.

 

It was full and lovely overhead, crowned by stars that sparkled like cut jewels in the black velvet of the night sky. I stared at it, my mind as bruised as my body, until I remembered.

 

The ritual.

 

I was in the great hall, but no ceiling or tree branches hung above me. Only sky. The Mother tree and the upper levels of the tower were gone, as if they had been ripped clear off by some great and terrible hand.

 

Horror flooded me, tasting of bile and blood. I ignored the flare of pain in my back and neck as I tried to twist around, searching for Neve, Olwen, and Caitriona.

 

“Hello?” I rasped out. The chalky air coated my mouth and throat, making it almost impossible to speak. “Is anyone there?”

 

The world spun as I got onto my hands and knees beside the broken statue of the Goddess.

 

The walls of the great hall were like a mouth of broken teeth, clattering as chunks of stone crumbled onto the mountains of debris. A section of one of the long tables was still standing, its other half buckled under the massive stone arch that had splintered from the ceiling. I crawled over the stones and debris, gasping for breath, trying to call out for the others.

 

They’d fallen like petals where they had stood. A slab of the ceiling had crashed down onto the altar, but the stone had caught it and shielded my friends from being crushed by the rubble.

 

Still disoriented, I crouched down and stumbled forward, reaching Olwen first. I turned her onto her back, pressing an ear to her chest to check for a heartbeat. She groaned, shifting stiffly. Her skin and ink-blue hair were caked in a thick layer of dust and soot.

 

“Tam . . . sin?” she whispered.

 

“You’re all right,” I told her around the lump in my throat. “Don’t move. I’m going to check on Neve and Cait, okay?”

 

Neve was out cold, but Caitriona was already starting to rouse herself. A cloud of dust exploded from her hair when she shook her head. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus on me. She brought a shaking hand to her split lip and started to say something, but a different voice reached us first.

 

“. . . said she wouldn’t be hurt!”

 

I swung toward the place it had echoed from, near what had been the entrance of the hall. My heart slammed into my already aching ribs.

 

It couldn’t be.

 

Another, lower voice answered. “I said she would not die, and she has not.”

 

Their outlines appeared in the mist, faces shadowed. I rose again on shaking legs and struggled through the maze of crushed stone. Splotches of black floated in my vision at the suddenness of the movement, but I drove myself forward, desperate to prove it wasn’t a dream. That I wasn’t dead.

 

The haze pulled back, and I cried out. Confusion warred with pure, burning joy at the sight of Cabell standing in front of me.

 

Alive.

 

He was wearing unfamiliar clothing, and other than a bandage on his forearm, he looked clean and whole. His dark hair had been tied back neatly at his nape. His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of me.

 

“How is this possible?” I staggered toward him.

 

But Cabell stepped back, his expression hardening. I stopped in front of him, and the euphoria I’d felt spoiled into unease.

 

The second figure came alongside him, surveying me with a dispassionate look. He had shaved his beard and—my lips parted in disbelief—his two flesh-and-bone hands were visible as he crossed his arms over his chest.

 

But somehow, it was Bedivere.

 

They were both still alive.

 

I turned to my brother, feeling like I might be sick. “What’s going on?”

 

He only looked to Bedivere, waiting.

 

“You . . .” My mind couldn’t grasp what was happening. “You were dead. Was it the ritual? Did it bring you back?”

 

A muscle feathered in Cabell’s jaw, his gaze still turned away.

 

“Look at me!” I rasped out. “I thought you were dead. Why would you pretend—why would you fake it? Unless . . .”

 

My stomach turned so violently I almost doubled over.

 

“Did you have something to do with the attack?” The words came out scarcely above a whisper, pleading. I knew he had heard me by the way he flinched. “How are you alive? How?”

 

Bedivere looked utterly bored by my horror. The wind tugged at his overcoat, hissing as it blew between us.

 

“Sir Bedivere—” I began.

 

“I am not Bedivere,” the man interrupted, his voice like the most brutal of winter winds. “He had the honor of the first death at my hand. I took the body of the king, as is only right.”

 

“You’re . . . ,” I choked out. “You’re . . . Arthur?”

 

His smile was all teeth. “Not quite. I was in need of form, and came to wear his skin well.”

 

The answer echoed in me. Tasted like smoke on the tongue.

 

I took a step back.

 

He took a step forward, and I hated myself for falling back again. Ice seemed to radiate from him, turning the air around me to freezing needles. The horned crown, the very same one I’d seen on the statue below the tower, materialized from the mist and shadows to rest on his head—as if it had always been there, secret and unseen.