Page 162 of Silver in the Bone

“Move,” I told her coldly.

She didn’t.

“Move,” I said again, a pressure rising in my ears.

Neve stepped forward, and before I could pull away, she gripped my shoulders. I tried to shift, but she was surprisingly strong, locking me in place. Forcing me to be still. To feel it—all of it.

I had never felt as exposed as I did then, stripped of a lifetime’s worth of lies and careful performance. The humiliating truth was bared for all to see. Hidden beneath all those cynical, cold layers wasn’t a core of strength. It was fear. It was the little girl even I’d tried to leave behind.

I slumped against Neve, my face buried in her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around me. “Please don’t turn away from us.”

Every part of me felt like it might snap. For a moment, I smelled pine and realized I’d never taken his sweater off. I pulled away, ripping it off me and letting it fall over the creature. The cold was better than having it touch my skin.

“I’m so stupid,” I said in a ragged voice. “I let it happen again.”

Alone.

Discarded for something more important. And it was more important—saving his mother, getting away from his father, all of it had outstripped whatever trust had grown between us.

If he was even telling the truth at all, that familiar voice whispered in my mind. Clever Emrys Dye, always quick to hide and lie.

The thought was enough to leave me raw. I’d told him my truth. I’d told him things not even Cabell knew.

“He is the only one who should feel shame,” Caitriona said, anger simmering in the words. “He deceived us all.”

Olwen stroked my arm, her fingers skimming over the gash she’d hastily rebandaged. “You do not have to keep the thought of him from your heart, but do not let the love in you harden because of him. He was not worthy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I should have said something of it before, but I did not want to wound him.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “I do recognize that sword you carry, and I do know its story. Mari told it to me years ago.”

“Then ... ,” I said. “What is it?”

“I believe that blade is called Dyrnwyn, or White-Hilt. It was forged in Avalon and once carried by a king, Rhydderch Hael,” Olwen explained. “It was said that the blade would burn with flames when held by someone worthy and well born.”

I stared at her.

“Are you certain?” Caitriona asked.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said dryly, but a little laugh bubbled in me at her expression as she realized the implication.

“No, I did not mean that,” she said. “Of course you are worthy.”

“I’m really not,” I said, “and no offense was taken. Should we test the theory?”

I held the sword toward them, hilt-first, but all three stepped back.

“Really?” I asked.

“I don’t want a piece of metal to pass judgment on me,” Neve said, holding up her hands.

“I am content with my own sense of worth,” Olwen said simply.

Caitriona eyed it several moments longer than the others but in the end still turned away. “Tamsin, are you sure you don’t wish for us to follow him? The snow will allow us to track him with ease.”

Neve gripped my hand, watching me. Waiting for the choice to be made.

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