Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(48)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

 

Bedivere stood behind her, silently backing the words. He took the Hand of Glory from her, careful to touch only its metal holder. His top lip curled in disgust. “What is the magic attached to this . . . thing? I can feel its presence, but it does not reveal itself.”

 

The hand remained stiff and the eye shut. It was a true reflection of how grim our situation was, and my heart swelled a bit at Ignatius’s loyalty.

 

“Is that . . . ?” Neve breathed out, daring to come a bit closer.

 

“I always wondered how you managed—” Emrys began.

 

“To find such—ah, a uniquely carved torch?” I finished. “Very lifelike, isn’t it?”

 

“Very,” Betrys said, eyes narrowing. “And its magic?”

 

“To brighten its glow,” I answered.

 

“My sister is drawn to strange and dreadful things,” Cabell offered fondly.

 

“Love ’em,” I said, not missing a beat. “Bring me the macabre, all things forbidding and ghastly—as long as they’re not possessed by angry spirits.”

 

Emrys snorted in amusement.

 

“Why do you think I spend so much time with this hideous wretch?” I said, jerking a thumb in his direction.

 

“Ha,” he said. “And here I thought it was for my repulsive personality.”

 

If I’d been in Betrys’s place, I would have made me light the wicks and prove my ridiculous torch story. Instead, she simply took my word for it and passed it back to me.

 

“Flea has a similar fascination,” she warned, “and the habit of collecting odd things, so I’d keep an eye on it if I were you.”

 

I felt Ignatius’s own eye roll beneath its lid as I rewrapped him and took a stab at changing the subject. “You said something about bathing?”

 

“Yes,” Betrys said. “I did. If you’ll follow me?”

 

“Actually . . . ,” Emrys said. “I’m exhausted. Is it possible to be shown to wherever you’re going to have us sleep?”

 

“I’ll accompany you,” Bedivere told him.

 

“Wait, if you wouldn’t mind,” Olwen said, catching Emrys’s arm. “That is, if you aren’t too tired, would you take a look at my garden and see if there’s anything I may not be hearing from the herbs about what they need to thrive?”

 

My eyes narrowed on the place her fingers still curled around the crook of his elbow. Really? It couldn’t wait until morning?

 

Something clenched in my chest as he nodded. I forced myself to look at the floor. He’d never been able to resist the opportunity to charm before, so this was hardly a surprise.

 

It was just that we had come here together—the four of us. It seemed important to stay together until we had a better grip on what was going on.

 

But Cabell had his hand on my shoulder and was guiding me out through the door before I could say anything at all. The door shut behind us on Emrys’s soft laugh, snuffing out the faint but soothing glow that had briefly sheltered us from the cold and dark of this Otherland.

 

And if we had dared to forget them, even for a moment, the restless Children of the Night had not forgotten us. They shrieked from the other side of the old stone walls, piercing the peace of the courtyard. Relishing their starless night.

 

 

 

 

 

Betrys led us across the courtyard, toward a door in the fortress’s wall. A man in armor leaned over the rampart above us, curious. Behind him, a fire pot licked at the sky, doing little to brighten it.

 

At Neve’s sharp gasp I looked back, only to do a double take. A massive figure, nearly ten feet tall, slowly lumbered around the tower’s stone face, heading toward the tree that served as the tower’s foundation and spine.

 

Its body was like a rough sketch of a human, cobbled together from twisted branches and roots, with hollows near the joints. They groaned and creaked as the creature walked. Atop its head was a spiked crown of twigs and leaves. As it moved, the seams of its body exhaled a mist that glowed green in the night.

 

As it turned to observe us, the mist illuminated its eye sockets, but its face seemed to have no mouth, no expression.

 

“Cripes,” Cabell breathed out.

 

“That’s Deri,” Betrys said when she realized we were no longer following her. “The hamadryad bound to the Mother tree. All of the trees of Avalon once had their own hamadryad caretaker, and there were other unbound dryads to assist them, but . . . well, you’ve seen what’s become of the land.”

 

I gave a dazed nod, acknowledging her words. The hamadryad stooped, scraping dark muck from the tree’s bark in slow, thorough strokes.

 

“Come on, then.” Betrys tilted her head toward the waiting door, and we followed. Beyond it was another spiraling staircase, and, yet again, we descended.

 

After a while, the stairs widened. A distant rush of water echoed on the stone walls, and the air gained an almost mineral taste, not unlike the smell of dust just before the rain. The deeper we traveled, the brighter it seemed to become. Soon the faces around me, my skin, my hair, my clothes—everything was awash in strange cerulean light.

 

We made one final turn around the stairs, and the springs unfurled below. I slowed. Cabell tried to nudge me forward, but I couldn’t bring myself to move just yet.

 

The cavern was vast, its arched ceiling decorated with carvings of young women—the Goddess and priestesses, I presumed. The structure was supported by the shoulders of three massive statues. One, a young woman wearing a crown of flowers and a flowing gown. The second, a peaceful motherly woman in an apron, a basket and loom carved around her feet. The third was an elderly figure, stooped and wearing a cloak that swirled around her and depicted the stars and phases of the moon. These were the three aspects of the Goddess: maiden, mother, crone.

 

At their feet, a river of glowing water ran down the center of the chamber, seeping out from a split in an enormous root of the Mother tree, as if it were sap. Narrow tributaries branched out from it, filling smaller round pools. Mist or steam rose from the surface of each, promising much-needed relief for my stiff and sore muscles.

 

Bitterness warred with awe in me. How many breathtaking places, how many wondrous sights, had I missed before I’d had the One Vision? Nothing in my imagination could compare to what I’d seen here, either for beauty or for monstrosity. To the Tamsin of even a week ago, it would have appeared to be nothing at all.