Silver in the Bone (Silver in the Bone #1)(88)
Author: Alexandra Bracken

He didn’t react, not even a flinch, as I knotted it tightly where the flesh was coming apart.

 

“I’ll be right back,” I promised.

 

As the old knight moved to the entrance of the stable, he brushed a hand over each of the animals, soothing them into a settled quiet. The horses watched us with dark eyes.

 

Bedivere looked out into the courtyard, where Betrys was helping a man with a gashed leg struggle toward the tower.

 

I gripped his arm, drawing his attention back to me. I didn’t care how desperate I looked or sounded. “He didn’t mean to do it. He would never have wanted to hurt her or anyone else—”

 

He covered my hand with his own. The skin was heavily callused and surprisingly cold to the touch. “There’s no need to convince me, lass. I saw with my own eyes how he fought the shift.”

 

I understood in an instant why the Nine looked to Bedivere with such adoration and trust. His unflinching calm was a ballast to the storm raging in me. He neither tried to hide the problem nor offered false assurances. His long life, and all that it had shown him, had shaped him into a rare source of dependability in Avalon.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” I said, my throat thick.

 

“I see your pain,” he said quietly. “You have cared for him all these many years. He has spoken of how you have protected him, and how honorably you have tried to find the answers to his struggles.”

 

“He’s my brother,” I said. “He’s my responsibility.”

 

“Yes,” Bedivere said, nodding. “But I’ve been working with him these last few days and I see potential in him. I believe, with more time, I can help him find some measure of control over his magic until the blessed day comes that his curse is broken.”

 

I knew better than to hope, but it was so hard not to cling to the idea of what he was offering. More time. “How?”

 

“It is fear and pain that spark his transformations,” Bedivere said, “and both can be conquered. I will teach him what I know of these things.”

 

I hesitated, glancing back toward Cabell.

 

“You have been alone in this for so very long,” Bedivere said. “If I may relieve you of some of this weight, if only for this small measure of time, please allow me that honor. I care for the lad, and I believe this is what he himself desires.”

 

Maybe that’s what was bothering me. That Bedivere had been the one to truly help Cabell, and not me. Not after years of trying and searching.

 

I’d failed him, but maybe Bedivere wouldn’t.

 

“What if he shifts again?” I asked. The adrenaline had faded and now exhaustion battered me from all sides. “What if the others want to kill him for what he’s done?”

 

“I swear to you, lass, on my life and on that of my lord and liege, that I will let no one harm him,” Bedivere said, kneeling with his oath. “I believe I may be able to suppress most shifts with what small magic I possess. That will ease the fears others may harbor.”

 

It would. The others, even Caitriona, listened to him. Respected him. They would never hurt Cabell so long as the knight was there, defending his humanity. If I couldn’t get us out of this hell, I could at least give him the best chance of surviving it. I could do that.

 

“It’s his choice,” I forced myself to say.

 

Bedivere bowed his head, drawing his hand across his chest as he rose. “I shall speak with him, then.” When I started to follow, he held out a hand, stopping me with an apologetic look. “I think it best I speak to him alone.”

 

My stomach clenched but I nodded. Nothing felt more wrong than this—entrusting someone else with the care of the only person who truly mattered to me. “His wound . . .”

 

“I’ll see to it,” Bedivere promised. “The others will need you as they clear the courtyard and tend to the bodies.”

 

I left the stables in a daze, feeling as if my body might fold in on itself and collapse before I reached the tower. Gray smoke twined with the mist, turning it as silver as the bones of the dead creatures around me. It thinned, revealing Emrys standing a short distance away, his face soft with worry. Waiting for me.

 

I moved toward him, needing to feel something—anything—other than the sharp ache in my chest and the cold gathering on my skin. Yet when he lifted his hands as if to reach for me, I stopped. I forced myself to.

 

Ash fell around us, catching in the waves of his hair. Hopelessness bled into his expression, darkening even his bright eyes. Sweat and blood molded his tunic to the muscles of his chest; I knew by the look of some of the deeper cuts that the night had added to his collection of scars.

 

Emrys gave a weak shrug, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. A dangerous feeling rose in me, terrifying in its clarity. I wanted to comfort him as much as I wanted to be comforted by him. The thought of being so exposed, and in front of him, made the lingering nausea worse. I was Tamsin Lark and he was Emrys Dye, and whatever the moment could have been passed.

 

“Is Cabell all right?” he asked carefully.

 

“Do you know where Caitriona is?” I countered.

 

He blew out a breath and nodded.

 

They’d gathered the dead beside the forge. The bodies were maimed to such a degree that some weren’t even recognizable as human.

 

There were twelve in all—fewer than I’d feared. Lowri, Betrys, and Arianwen worked silently with a handful of men to lay them out, to wash them in one last act of tenderness. Some had already been covered in shrouds of white linen.

 

“They have to burn the bodies,” Emrys said quietly, pulling me toward the great hall. “To keep them from turning.”

 

“They’re supposed to be returned to the earth,” I said, “so they can be reborn. That’s what the Immortalities say.”

 

“I know,” came his soft reply. “I know.”

 

The wounded numbered in the dozens. Most were up and walking, tending to the more critically injured, who were laid out on the long tables. Neve moved among them with water and bandages. Mari brought a basket of herbs and tools to Olwen, staying close to the healer’s side as she bent over a man who’d lost the lower part of his leg.

 

Flea sat at Caitriona’s head, as if to stand guard. She was still crying, stubbornly wiping tears away against her sleeve. She stroked Caitriona’s blood-caked hair and bandaged cheek. It wasn’t until Caitriona’s eyes fluttered open that I knew for sure she was still alive.