Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(52)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

 

“Wand?” I asked, already knowing the answer by her expression.

 

She moved to sit down on one side of the bed. I sat on the other, my back to her. The room didn’t have any sort of window or opening in the wall, allowing the heat of the fire to linger with us. It took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t smelling smoke—instead, four stones with carved spirals had been pressed together in the hearth, flames flickering lightly upward.

 

“Salamander stones,” Neve said quietly. “I’ve read about them. Never thought I’d actually see them.”

 

“An ongoing theme of this misadventure for all of us,” I noted, moving outside the fire’s glow. I ran my hands along the walls, keeping to the edges of the room to ensure there were no hidden entrances or spellwork. As impressive as the large stones were, their cheerful glow did nothing to offset the constant baying of the creatures in the ravaged forest below.

 

“How are we ever going to sleep?” Neve asked.

 

I blew a wispy strand of hair out of my face. As tired as I’d been on the way here, I was wide-awake now. Neither my mind nor my body seemed willing to wind itself down, so I went to retrieve my bag from the wardrobe.

 

“I think I have some pills or a tonic,” I said, rummaging through it. “Let’s just make sure they didn’t help themselves to anything—”

 

I swore.

 

“What?” Neve asked, twisting around.

 

“I left Ignatius at the springs,” I said, hanging my head.

 

“Who’s Ignatius?” Neve asked.

 

“The Hand of Glory,” I said.

 

“I knew that’s what it was!” she said, glowing with excitement. “Where did you find one? Did a sorceress make it for you? Does it really open locked doors?”

 

“That, and more,” I said, then, resigned, added, “I have to go get him.”

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of all the idiotic moves I’d made in recent days, this was the most boneheaded. Ignatius had behaved himself so far, but if one of the priestesses or Avalonians found him and he decided to open his eye and take a look around . . .

 

I didn’t want to know what they would make of something as sinister as a Hand of Glory.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Neve asked. “It’s a long walk through the dark.”

 

I hesitated, surprised by how hard it was to turn her down. “I can manage on my own.”

 

“At least take this.” Neve offered up the candle and its iron chamberstick.

 

“There’s plenty of light on the way,” I protested.

 

“Please,” she said more forcefully. “It would make me feel better.”

 

“All right.” I sighed through my nose. “But only to end this conversation.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Neve let out a knowing hum. Knowing what, I had no idea, but I didn’t like it, or the smile that came after. Retrieving her CD player and earphones from her fanny pack, she slipped the latter over her ears.

 

“Go to sleep,” I told her.

 

“I’ll see you when you get back,” she said, still with that same tone. She leaned against the thin pillow and headboard, stretching her legs out over the blanket. Her music followed me into the hallway.

 

I was still replaying the moment as I made my way down through the tower, creeping past the hall of sleepers ensconced in whatever they dreamt of in this nightmare realm.

 

Shielding the struggling candle flame with my hand, I crossed the courtyard quickly, glancing up to make sure no one was watching from the walkway along the high defensive walls. By the time I’d made it down the stairs to the springs, I was out of breath.

 

I forced myself around the last curve of the stairs, chest burning, legs like bags of sand. Breath wheezed out of me as I scooped up Ignatius, still wrapped in his purple silk. I turned back toward the stairs like a prisoner facing the gallows.

 

“Botheration,” I muttered, and went to sit on the maiden statue’s enormous foot instead. Looking up at her from below, I added, “Sorry, girl.”

 

I knew it was a mistake the moment I leaned back against her cold stone ankle. My body went heavy as the last bit of momentum left it.

 

I might have stayed there, sprawled out with only a candle and a demonic sentient hand for company, if I hadn’t heard the quick strike of feet on the stone steps.

 

I slid down off the side of the foot, blowing out the candle as I landed in an ungraceful crouch. It had to be Olwen, but on the off chance it wasn’t . . .

 

My pulse thrummed in my ears as I waited, risking a quick lean around the statue. Then another when I saw who it was.

 

Emrys stood at the edge of one of the pools, staring down into its glowing depths. His face was so devoid of emotion, it was as if his spirit had been ripped from his body. The sight of it sent an unexpected pang through me.

 

And then he removed his gloves. One, two, dropping to the stone. I leaned forward, trying to see, but between the dozens of feet that separated us and that incessant cerulean light, nothing seemed unusual.

 

Not until he reached for the hem of his sweater and undershirt. The muscles of his back tightened as he pulled both over his head.

 

The iron chamberstick slipped out of my fingers and clattered to the ground. Emrys whirled back, eyes wide with surprise or fear or something worse, but it was too late. I’d seen them.

 

“What the hell did that?” I rasped.

 

I hadn’t imagined the scar on his face at Rook House. It continued down along his neck, across his breastbone. That single, ragged scar fed into dozens of others, their brutal seams raised red and angry. My eyes couldn’t follow them all as they stretched over the taut muscles of his chest, his arms, his back, down below the sharp, low V of his abdominals.

 

He looked like a glass figurine that had been knocked from its shelf. Shattered, and hastily put back together.

 

Emrys’s face was rigid as he reached for his sweater and pulled it over his head, as if that could erase what I had seen. I stood there, unable to move.

 

“Are you following me now?” he asked angrily, picking up his gloves and turning to storm back up the steps.

 

“What did that to you?” I whispered. The heavy layers of clothing, the refusal to take his gloves off—no glamour would have hidden this from anyone with the One Vision, so he hadn’t bothered.

 

“Leave it, Tamsin,” he said, his voice like ice.