Page 124 of Silver in the Bone

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.

The tenderness of the moment turned my lungs to stone. It seemed impossible that Caitriona could have been the one to bring this darkness to the isle, but I couldn’t shake the sickening misgiving that her plans had been derailed by Cabell’s transformation.

But she didn’t kill him, I thought, when she was completely capable of it.

That meant something, didn’t it?

Rhona and Seren had taken up positions on either side of the table. Rhona gripped one of Caitriona’s hands, stroking it.

“You’ll look a fair bit more ferocious now,” Seren was telling her. “The scars will only enhance your magnificent glower.”

“It will be simply tremendous,” Rhona agreed.

“Like the heroes of old,” Seren continued.

“And the greatest of Sir Bedivere’s companions,” Rhona finished.

“Will I ... lose ... the arm?” Caitriona rasped out.

“Olwen didn’t think so,” Rhona said, then paused.

“Tell me ... all of ... it ... ,” Caitriona said.

The raven-haired priestess sighed. “She cannot be sure you’ll have the full use of it once it heals. Time will tell, as it does with all things.”

Caitriona wheezed, her breath wet, considering this. It was Flea who looked up at our approach.

“Get out of here!” Flea snarled at me. “Ye do not belong and never ’ave!”

The focus of the room fell on me, the pressure gathering like a thundercloud from all sides. Emrys edged in closer at my side and Neve came to stand with us, smoothing her hands down the bloodied apron she wore. Tear tracks had dried in the soot and dust on her cheeks.

“Flea, enough,” Seren chided.

“I ...” Words abandoned me. I moved to stand beside Caitriona, but Rhona instinctively shifted, as if to block me.

Caitriona’s hair streamed out on the table under her, having broken free from its usual tight braid. The entire right side of her face was covered in some sort of tincture and bloodied bandages that wrapped down the length of her throat and over her mauled shoulder. They’d stripped off her ruined armor to bind the shallow claw marks across her torso. Her eyes tracked my movement.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, torment welling up in my chest until it was almost too tight to speak. “I’m so sorry.”

“Is your brother ... all right ... ?” Caitriona asked.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “Be terrible to me, please. It’s the only thing I can stand right now.”

“Not ... ,” she managed. “Not ... his ... fault.”

Her gaze shifted to Flea. The girl let out a huff, her bottom lip trembling as she cleaned the blood and dirt from Caitriona’s silvery hair with a wet rag.

Neve drew close to kneel beside them. Some of the rigidity in Caitriona’s body eased as she looked to Neve. The pale, freckled hand resting on her stomach curled.

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