Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(77)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

 

“What is this?” I whispered.

 

The liquid silver simmered as I leaned over it. An unnameable feeling passed through my body from scalp to toe, an animal instinct that there was something beyond that mirror-like surface. That someone was watching from the other side.

 

Before I could stop myself, before I could tell myself what a stupid idea it was, I dipped the very end of Ignatius’s candlestick holder into the surface.

 

Nothing happened for several heartbeats. Then came the tug.

 

It pulled down, sucking at the holder even as I tried to lift it free. Small shapes spiked in the liquid, rising from the surface like—

 

Like reaching fingers.

 

The Hand of Glory’s eye bulged, its burning wicks squealing as if in terror, guttering wildly at the tips of the fingers. Emrys was there in an instant, helping me rip my arm and Ignatius free.

 

“What are you doing?” Emrys choked out.

 

A hard gust of wind billowed down the steps, sweeping past us and blowing Ignatius out completely. I held up the end of the holder between us. It was coated in solid silver.

 

“The bones of the Children . . . ,” Emrys whispered.

 

They were the same.

 

I stooped, walking around the cauldron, trailing my fingers along the basin until I found a slight rise in the rim. It almost looked as if it had been scratched off, worn down until it was nearly impossible to tell what it was.

 

Nearly.

 

I’d seen it before.

 

I reached into my bag, retrieving Nash’s journal. For the first time in my life, I wanted to be wrong. My hands shook, just that little bit, as I flipped through the pages. I found the page of symbols that Nash had sketched and labeled, and held it up beside the mark.

 

It was a spiraling knot pattern with a crude sword slashed straight down through the serpentine twists. No wonder I’d felt the stir of recognition at the mark on the statue’s hand—it was a section of this very one.

 

“Tell me it’s not what I think it is,” Emrys said, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“It’s the emblem of the king of Annwn,” I said.

 

He looked a bit queasy. I looked around the room—at the horrible sculptures, at the curse sigils—and felt the chill creeping along my skin turn my body numb.

 

Neither of us seemed to want to say the name aloud now. Lord Death.

 

The familiar sound of scraping stones echoed up from far below. With one last shared look of horror, Emrys and I spun around, searching for any place to hide. There was no room behind the armor or in the cabinet. The shelves were too open and pressed to the wall. The only way out was up.

 

I led the way, switching off my flashlight and returning Ignatius to my bag. The upper deck was enclosed by a roof and four walls with large open windows that overlooked the courtyard below. We were at the very top of the tower—what I had thought was merely a decorative embellishment.

 

The door’s lock clanked open. I dropped down onto my stomach on one side of the stairs, moving far enough away from the edge to avoid being seen from below. Emrys did the same on the other side of the opening.

 

Don’t come up, I thought, don’t climb the stairs . . .

 

A light patter of footsteps was accompanied by the whisper of fabric dragging over stone. Because I apparently hadn’t had my fill of stupid for the night, I inched closer to the opening in the floor, trying to see who had come in.

 

It was the same cloaked figure as before. The brightening sky revealed the deep blue tone of the fabric sweeping behind them as they stepped up to the cauldron. Closer now, I could see other details, too.

 

Raising a small, curved dagger, the figure pressed its vicious tip against their palm and, with a hiss of pain, slashed down. Blood dripped from the pale hand into the waiting pool of silver.

 

In the forest, the howling of the Children of the Night turned to screeching. It knifed at my ears, piercing every thought until I was desperate to clamp my hands over my ears.

 

They’re being controlled. The thought hammered in my skull. And if they could be compelled, what was to say they hadn’t been made—born of the dark chamber below us?

 

The cloaked figure lingered by the cauldron, listening. Clearly satisfied, they started toward the door. As they passed by the suit of armor, the movement was enough to shift the bottom of the hood, revealing a hint of a braid.

 

It took me a moment to realize why it was so difficult to see reflected in the surface of the breastplate. It was the same color as the cloudy metal.

 

Silver.

 

Cold, deadly silver.

 

 

 

 

 

Knowing another uninviting dawn was upon us and there would soon be people working in the great hall, Emrys and I waited only a few minutes before rising and silently making our way down into the gallery of death. My heart was thundering in my chest as we followed the path out through the storage chamber and into the tunnel.

 

The back of Emrys’s hand brushed mine again and again as we hurried along the corridor and over the roots. I couldn’t seem to pull away any more than I could put words to what we’d seen.

 

We emerged from the hidden doorway just as the first of the women arrived at the great hall with their looms. Their eyebrows rose at the sight of us alone together, but I was beyond caring or trying to explain it away. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered, except getting us back to our own world.

 

Our eyes met one last time on the steps leading into the courtyard, an unspoken promise passing between us. The Children had quieted with the coming of daylight, but the relative silence felt all-consuming without the calls of birdsong to comfort us. It left a different kind of ache in me, a longing for the ordinary I’d never appreciated before.

 

“Oh—I was just coming to find you!” Olwen’s bright voice was jolting after the dark hell we’d crawled out of. She seemed to appear out of nowhere, her gray dress and white apron blending into the colorless morning. Her inky-blue hair waved around her, as if drifting in water.

 

“We’re about to pull up the stones to see if the earth beneath will take crops,” she continued. “That is . . . if you feel well enough for it?”

 

Emrys hesitated but plastered a smile on his face. “Of course.”

 

“Are you certain?” Olwen’s dark eyes narrowed with consideration. “You look a bit peaky.”

 

“Just didn’t sleep very well,” he assured her.