Page 128 of Silver in the Bone

The knight crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose it has nothing to do with your nightly excursions scurrying about the tower while everyone else is asleep? Do not insult me with falsehoods—your own brother told me it was so.”

Your own brother told me. The words were like a knife between the ribs. My hands curled into fists at my side. Cabell would have no reason to tell him that. To betray our confidence.

“Are you looking for a way out of the tower as he said?” Bedivere asked. It might have been the shadows of the tunnel, but there was an ugliness to his expression then, as if he was revolted by us. Our cowardice.

Disbelief stole through me.

Cabell did tell him. I hadn’t realized they were close enough for that.

“Hello?” a voice called down the tunnel. “Who’s there?”

“’Tis Bedivere, my lady Olwen,” Bedivere called back.

The priestess appeared a moment later, carefully stepping through the labyrinth of roots. Her gaze moved between our faces, taking quick measure of the situation as always. “I saw that the doorway was open ... What is amiss?”

“I came upon our guests skulking where they shouldn’t, and was about to hear their explanation for it,” Bedivere said.

Olwen drew in a deep sigh. “I’ll take care of this, then. Thank you, Sir Bedivere.”

“My dear—” he said in protest.

She held up a hand. “It’s all right. They mean no harm, and I’m sure you’re missed on watch.”

The old knight wavered, but eventually nodded and turned back the way Olwen had just come. The priestess waited for the sound of his steps to fade before speaking.

“Now,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “What in the Great Mother’s name do you think you’re doing?”

In the end, we told her everything.

I hadn’t meant to, and I didn’t think Emrys had either. But the longer the look of betrayal remained on Olwen’s face, the more desperate we became to find the right detail to erase it.

“So I’m to believe,” she said, “that the two of you suspected someone—possibly Caitriona—created the Children of the Night, and neither of you thought to tell a soul about it?”

“We told Neve and Cabell,” I offered weakly.

Olwen shook her head and pulled a torch off the wall behind her. “Come with me, you jobbernowls.”

She led us down the tunnel path. The roots that had covered the ground pulled back at her disapproving tsk of the tongue, retreating like scolded puppies.

“That,” she said, gesturing back toward the tangle of roots, “was Merlin you were speaking to.”

“Merlin?” I echoed, wondering why I was so shocked. “But I thought ... wasn’t he a druid? Why wasn’t he killed with the others during the Forsaking?”

“Oh, they certainly tried,” Olwen said, picking up her pace. “He was once the most powerful of that lot, always with the most pressing prophecies and wisdom, generously shared. He dueled with Morgan, and before she could kill him, he joined his body to the Mother tree to ensure his survival, knowing she would never cause it harm.”

“He seemed ...” Emrys searched for the right word.

“The magic has gone somewhat feral in the years since he became one with the tree,” Olwen said. “And most of what he speaks now is mindless babble. Don’t let it trouble you.”

“But he said there were three like him,” I pressed. “Three who sleep. I think he was referring to himself, and then there’s King Arthur suspended between life and death, but who’s the third?”

“We would know if there was another enchanted sleeper on the isle,” Olwen said. “As I said, the thinking part of him vanished centuries ago. He stirs restless dreams into nonsense. Chains of death are a recurring theme, and the story changes with each telling.”

I drew in a deep breath, looking to Emrys. He seemed satisfied with Olwen’s explanation, but I wasn’t.

“He rambled on about a she trying to master death but becoming its servant instead,” I said. “Couldn’t that be the person behind the curse on Avalon? Why are you so sure it isn’t Caitriona?”

“Oh, you wee fools,” Olwen said, shaking her head. “Follow me.”

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