Page 89 of Silver in the Bone

I looked at him, too disgusted to dignify that with a response.

“Anything interesting happen this morning?” I asked him.

“I saw Neve helping in the kitchen earlier. Then I met Lowri—one of the Nine. She has the strawberry-blond hair and is even taller than Caitriona.”

I nodded. I’d seen her in the tower. Her shoulders and arms were incredibly muscled.

“Lowri works in the forge with Angharad the gnome,” Cabell said, as if reading my thoughts. Then added, sardonically, “No one else has even come within arm’s length of me. I can’t imagine why.”

“You do smell like you slept next to a wet donkey,” I told him.

He didn’t laugh.

“They’ll come around.” My throat ached as I spoke. “They’ll see who you really are.”

“Yeah?” he asked, fiddling with the stack of silver rings on his right middle finger. “And what’s that?”

“A wonderful person who was dealt a bad hand,” I said with a look that dared him to argue with me. “Who may smell of donkey, but possesses a heart of gold.”

He managed a small smile. “Thanks, Tams.”

“Now,” I said, keeping my voice low, “we need a plan.”

Cabell turned his back to the training, scuffing the heel of his boot against the ground. “What we really need is what we always need at the start of a job—information. About the tower itself, and if there’s a remote chance of taking longer trips outside the walls.”

I preferred when it was just the two of us working alone, but he was right. In this case, it was impossible.

“Is that what you’re doing out here?” I asked.

“I was going to try to talk to Bedivere about yesterday,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “About how he managed to pull me back from the edge.”

I nodded, ignoring the way my stomach tightened at the mention of what had happened. “That’s a good idea. Actually, it wouldn’t hurt to get close to him. He might know of other ways to get out of here.”

“What about you?” Cabell asked. “Do you need any helpful pointers on how to make friends?”

“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes.

“Cabell!”

We both turned toward the training area. Bedivere was motioning to him with one of the wooden practice swords. “I’ve a blade for you, my lad.”

“Oh—no,” Cabell said, shaking his head. He took a step back. “Really. I’m fine watching.”

I elbowed him in the side, calling back, “He’s been waiting all morning for you to ask.”

The knight left his novices and made his way to us, his smile partly hidden by the wiry tufts of his beard.

He wore a leather chest plate today and smelled of the oil he’d used to soften it, with the faintest bit of horse sweat mixed in.

“Come on, lad. We’re short one for dueling drills, and I’ve a suspicion it’ll help to clear your mind of worries.”

Bedivere tossed the practice sword to him. Cabell caught it with ease. He stared at it as the old knight returned to the group, calling out, “Assume your stances!”

“Information,” I reminded Cabell. “Your idea.”

With a groan, Cabell shrugged off his jacket and left it hanging on the rail beside me. He pulled the sleeves of his tunic down over his tattoos and secured them at the wrist with their ties.

“Get after ’em, tiger,” I said, giving him a pat on the back. “Do the Lark name proud.”

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