Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(47)
Author: Alexandra Bracken
Olwen moved toward the shelves, her fingers skimming leather spines and scrolls until she found a small volume, the thick parchment pages roughly bound with knotted string. The One Vision bled and swirled the symbols on the first sheet into words I understood: Wisdom of the Mother.
“Here it is . . .” She cleared her throat, flipping her magnifying glass down in front of her eye. “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.”
Olwen set the volume down. “There’s no record of such an affliction—silver in the bone—anywhere else. I feel certain the tower’s healer would have noted it in their own records, having examined some of the sorceresses and druids killed in the struggle. And yet . . .”
Olwen shifted back to her worktable, retrieving what appeared to be a long-necked forceps from a leather roll of tools. Then, her hand skimming over some of the covered jars and baskets, she retrieved what looked to be a weighty jar from the shelf and placed it on the work-table.
With a flick of the wrist, Olwen pulled the fabric away, and I found myself staring at a shriveled human head.
“Ooooh!” Neve gasped, captivated.
“Augh!” I gagged.
Olwen removed the lid from the jar, sending a foul odor into the air. It was the reek of death, made fouler by the green ooze the head had been suspended in.
Using the forceps, she fished the head out and set it down on the table, oblivious to the repulsed looks around the room. Even Bedivere, the battle-hardened knight, grimaced.
“Gather around, please,” she said.
When only Neve did, Olwen looked up, confused.
“Not all possess your fascination with such things, dear one,” Bedivere reminded her. “Perhaps a warning might not go amiss in the future.”
The old knight spoke in such a fatherly manner, gentle with his advice and calming in a storm of emotions. Both Caitriona and Olwen adored him like a father—it was clear in the way they looked to him and responded to his words.
“I will work quickly to spare your stomachs,” Olwen said.
Using a different metal tool, she opened a sickly flap of skin on the back of the skull. Beneath the wrinkles of the shriveled layer of flesh was the gleam of pure silver, as if the entire skull had been dipped into a molten vat of it.
“Hellfire,” Cabell said in amazement, stooping to get a better look. “This happens to all of them?”
“All of them, and all of their bones,” Olwen said. She looked to Neve, who was peering at the skull with obvious fascination. “Neve, perhaps you might be able to help me in my research. My knowledge of cursework is admittedly quite thin, and we do not possess many such accounts.”
“Of course,” Neve said, her eyes widening. “I’m sure we can figure this out.”
My brows rose. That was quite the optimistic take.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Olwen said to Neve. “How we are born of the same isle and to the same Goddess, but now use our magic in such different ways. But I am glad to have met you, Neve, and though they may be frightened now, I know my sisters will come to share my gratitude.”
“I can think of at least one who wouldn’t agree,” Neve said.
“She only needs time,” Olwen promised. “If I am absolutely certain of anything, it is this: the Goddess led you here to us. All of you.”
As Olwen spoke, I watched Bedivere’s reaction. The old knight had seen his share of death and darkness, and his stony expression gave his thoughts away. He recognized the futility of the situation, just like I did.
“And I’m glad of it,” Olwen said, “for there have been many days when it has felt as if the Goddess has turned her heart from us. Yet here you are. The path opened for you.”
There was a faint knock on the door, and Betrys stepped inside, hugging a bundle to her chest. “You missed supper again.”
“Well, I was rather preoccupied,” Olwen said defensively.
“When are you not?” Betrys said in gentle admonishment.
Betrys set the bundle down on the table and opened the fabric to reveal a small chunk of bread and what looked like cold gray stew. My mouth watered.
“Thank you, sister,” Olwen said.
“I don’t need thanks,” Betrys said. “I need to know that you’re taking care of yourself. You’ll go to the pools tonight, won’t you? Any of us will be glad to accompany you.”
“Yes, yes,” Olwen said dismissively.
Betrys glanced over her shoulder at the rest of us. “I’ve orders to bring you to the springs to wash. You’ll be given a change of clothes the others will find less alarming and be brought to private chambers to rest.”
“What about our stuff?” I asked.
“You’ll be reunited with your belongings there,” Betrys confirmed. “However, there have been questions raised about this—”
She reached into a bag at her side and pulled out a familiar bundle of purple silk. Cabell coughed, sending me a look of Do something.
Emrys stood from the cot and came forward, intrigued. I watched the slow rise of his eyebrows as Betrys unwrapped Ignatius and held him up into the candlelight. His crusty eye remained mercifully closed.
Botheration. I’d completely forgotten about Ignatius. How had Septimus not stolen him—how had he not fallen out in all the chaos of the last two days?
I clasped my hands behind my back, and it took just about everything in me not to react in the silence that followed. Over the years, I’d learned that a speedy defense only made you look guiltier.
“Oh—I have one too!” Olwen said, delighted. She went back to her shelves, lifted the fabric from one of the covered jars, and proudly displayed a wretched-looking hand suspended in that same green gunk.
Olwen beamed. Betrys shuddered.
“You do it on purpose, don’t you?” Betrys asked weakly.
“Never,” Olwen said innocently. She covered the container again.
That fleeting moment had given me enough time to work out a strategy: play the victim, not the suspect.
“You had no right to go through our things,” I said.
“Didn’t we?” Betrys asked. “Strangers show up in our lands and we have no right to ensure they aren’t bringing weapons or more dark magic with them?”