Page 112 of Silver in the Bone

“Did you miss the part about the literal human bone statues?” I said. “And the mark of the king of Annwn?”

“Those ‘statues’ could be used for anything, including to commemorate the dead.” Neve took a book off the table’s towering stack. “And the cauldron could have been a gift.”

“You didn’t feel that room,” I said. “There’s something wrong about it. Something dark. And the cauldron ...”

“Here’s the thing—there are a number of legendary cauldrons, as I suspect you well know,” Neve said. “Not all of them serve darker purposes. One can produce endless food, for example. Actually, I wonder where that one is ... Do you think it could produce, like, sour gummies? Or macaroni and cheese? I would give up a toe for some mac and cheese right about now. Not the big one, though.”

“It has to be her,” I insisted. “The height, the way she moved ... it’s her.”

“Why are you so set on it being Caitriona?” Neve asked.

“Why are you so certain it’s not?” I countered. “I don’t understand why you’re defending her when she treated you so horribly.”

“Why not?” Neve asked absently as she returned to her book. “I still defend you to the others.”

She realized what she’d said a beat later, looking up.

“Don’t you dare try to soften it or take it back,” I told her. “I deserve it. And for the record, I am sorry we didn’t tell you the truth. But knowing how the ring is claimed, can you blame me?”

“I don’t blame you for wanting to protect your guardian, and I certainly don’t blame you for trying to help your brother,” she said, letting the book slam shut. “But I do resent being made to feel like an idiot, which you and I both know is the furthest thing from the truth.”

“I understand,” I told her.

“And what somehow makes it worse is that even after you got to know me, you still thought I was capable of killing Nash to get what I wanted,” Neve continued. “So which is it? What am I—the clueless weakling you can use, or the cruel, ruthless sorceress?”

My hands clenched beneath the table. “Neither. I know I can be—”

“Difficult? Prickly? Mulish?” she suggested.

“All of those things,” I agreed.

“And you’re proud of it,” Neve said, shaking her head. “Why? I know you think I’m too trusting—too softhearted, or whatever—but where’s the bravery in pushing everyone away the second they get too close?”

“I think it’s a mistake to try to help everyone. You have to put yourself first because no one else will,” I protested. “And while there’s nothing wrong with being as kind as you are, everyone has to develop a thick skin eventually, otherwise the world will keep finding ways to cut at them.”

“Tamsin, you don’t have thick skin, you have armor,” Neve said. “And while armor can stop some blows, it also means that no one ever really gets to see who you are beneath it.”

“That’s not true,” I protested, feeling my heart batter my ribs.

“After a while, they all stop trying, don’t they?” she continued. “They think you’re indifferent to them. They get tired of the negative takes. And what does that give you? A sense of safety? Or does it leave you with nothing at all?”

I wanted to push back from the table, to walk out of the room, but it was as if her words had turned me to stone. I couldn’t draw a deep enough breath. Cold sweat broke out on my chest and back.

“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I do get it,” Neve said. “Showing that you care about something or someone makes you vulnerable, because it gives the world another way to hurt you. But there comes a time when you have to decide if feeling empty is really any better than the risk of being broken.”

She stretched her arm across the table toward me, palm up. After all I’d done, still offering.

I hesitated, but did the same, gripping her forearm as she gripped mine.

Neve smiled. The green flecks in her hazel eyes were bright in the candlelight. “You are a clever, loyal, and caring person.”

Her hold on me tightened in a playful way, and her smile blossomed as I tried not to fidget. “That’s right. You’re going to have this earnest, heartfelt moment and you’re going to suffer through it even though you’re dying a little inside, aren’t you?”

I winced. “Uh-huh.”

“Good,” she said primly, and, with one last squeeze, released me. “As penance, you’ll have to bear more of these tender moments with me, and accept that you are my friend.”

“Have mercy,” I begged. “Can’t I just steal something else for you to take back to the Council of Sistren and we can call it even? Maybe one of the creepy bone statues will impress them—”

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