Page 96 of Silver in the Bone

That evening felt like a basilisk venom dream—dark and illusory. My mind drifted between sharp moments of awareness and the shadows of my own thoughts. The great hall was a blur of motion and candlelight around me, but I couldn’t stop staring at it.

The rose.

The priestesses had placed it in the pale, upturned palms of the Goddess’s statue. The pale flower stayed there throughout the evening meal.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Neve’s voice cut into my thoughts. “You look even more irritated than usual. Like an angry toad.”

Cabell snorted, but at my look, he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

“Angry toad?” I repeated, mentally comparing my features to the warty little beast that had shown up to collect the Sorceress Grinda’s locket. It was strange to think that had been less than a week ago—the memory felt so distant, it might as well have been a past life.

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet one,” Neve said, taking another sip of her wine. “They are very rude.”

Her dark eyes were glassy. In fact, she looked incredibly relaxed despite the suspicious stares still fixed on her from all over the room. As she brought the goblet to her lips again, I put a hand over it and gently guided it back down to the table.

“Can’t you be happy just this once?” she asked, clutching my arm dramatically. “It won’t kill you. Olwen says a rose hasn’t bloomed in Avalon since the Children appeared. They think it could be a sign the isle is healing.”

I almost told her then, but what would I have said—I dreamt it would come?

“Even Sir Bedivere seems to think it’s a sign,” Cabell offered.

“Not you, too.” I glanced over at Emrys, but he was looking at the rose himself, contemplating it. “Is it still singing?”

“Singing?” Neve’s eyes lit up. “What was the song? Did you recognize what it was saying?”

He scratched at the stubble along his sharp jawline. My gaze drifted toward his mouth as he spoke. “It was more of a humming, but ... it’s fading now that they’ve cut it.”

Emrys turned toward me, brows raised as he caught me looking. His eyes glittered with recognition that felt instantly dangerous.

I flushed, grateful for the hall’s shadows as I threw back the last drops of my shallow pour of wine. The Avalonians around me conversed animatedly, and there was a palpable but almost hesitant sense of ease about them as they started in on the watery broth of barley and dried meat.

Everyone had been given a small round of bread that reminded me of a soul cake; the one in front of me was spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, with a star cut into its top. It was the best thing I had eaten in days—and judging by the empty plates around me, the feeling was unanimous. Dilwyn, our elfin cook, beamed with pleasure at the compliments she was receiving.

A harpist sat at her instrument beside the Goddess’s image and began to play. After a moment, the other Avalonians sang, too, their voices naturally flowing together in a stream of emotion.

Born of the spring that ever comes new

Born of bright starlight, undying and true

Born of the mists, the mountains, the dew

Fair isle of her heart, I sing to you

As the bud blooms to flower

As the moon passes to mark the hour

As Lord Death rides upon his cold power

So the Goddess built the tower ...

“Is there a moon here?” I whispered to Neve as the song continued. “Or a sun, for that matter?”

“I read in one of the library’s books that the sky here is a mirror of our own,” Neve said. “Reflecting the heavens above the land it used to occupy in the mortal world. Though I don’t think they’ve seen any celestial bodies since the Children appeared.”

“They haven’t,” Emrys chimed in. “You can feel it in their vegetation and soil. Any sunlight they’re getting is provided by magic, and it’s a pale imitation.”

“Oh!” Neve nearly knocked over both of our goblets as she turned to him, her face lit with excitement. “Did you talk to the others more about turning part of the courtyard into a garden? I can help you find mushrooms around the tower—”

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