Page 133 of Silver in the Bone

I undid the latches on my workbag and retrieved Ignatius inside his silk wrappings. I unwound the strips around the handle and thrust it out for them to see.

But the iron was as black as it had ever been.

“I don’t ...” The words drifted away with my certainty. “I don’t understand ... I dipped this into the cauldron. It came away silver.” I looked between the others, feeling strangely desperate for them to believe me. “It was silver.”

Emrys gripped my wrist, drawing my eyes to his. The belief in them gave me something to anchor myself to. “I know what we saw.”

“You are welcome to join me tomorrow so I can convince you otherwise,” Caitriona said.

“Then I’ll go too,” Neve said. “Neither Tamsin nor Emrys would lie about something as important as this.”

Caitriona bowed her head. “If you wish.”

“That’s what we were doing here,” I said, turning back to Neve. “Now, why were you waiting for Olwen?”

“Because I had a question of my own,” Neve said, retrieving the book she’d left on the table. “Why haven’t you attempted a ritual cleansing of the isle?”

Caitriona’s lips parted, but she was interrupted by a shuffling sound outside the infirmary door. Olwen quickly bundled the vessel away into its basket, and when it was out of sight, Caitriona opened the door.

Bedivere stood a short distance away, scratching at his gray beard. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked indecisive.

“Sir Bedivere,” Caitriona said. “What’s amiss?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, I let my worry get the best of me,” he said. “I only wondered if the interlopers needed escorting back to their rooms to put an end to the evening’s wanderings.”

Caitriona gave a faint smile. “You are too kind, but we have the situation in hand.”

“Come in,” Olwen urged him. “This conversation affects you as well, and we’ve need of your wisdom.”

My grip on the table tightened, just a little bit, as the old knight entered. Emrys strayed closer to me, his hand warm and soothing as it moved over my shoulder and ghosted down the ridge of my spine.

“Neve was just asking why we haven’t tried a ritual cleansing of the isle,” Olwen supplied.

The knight made a slow lap around the room as she spoke, stopping abruptly when she mentioned the ritual. I couldn’t see his face but could feel the burn of his eyes behind me.

“Yes,” Caitriona said, staring at Olwen. “And what a remarkable coincidence that the book describing the ritual found its way back to the library, where anyone might have stumbled upon it.”

“Indeed,” Olwen said serenely. “Truly remarkable are the workings of the Goddess.”

“And the scheming of Olwen,” Caitriona muttered.

“What does the ritual do?” Emrys asked.

Neve opened the heavy book to a page marked with ribbon. “When dark power stains the land and hope retreats from shadow—sounds like a place we’re all acquainted with, doesn’t it?”

“It’s painting a familiar picture, yes,” I said.

“The isle must be restored through the invocation of the maiden, young and blooming, waking that greater power which ever slumbers in the mists,” Neve read. “Only Her renewal shall drive out all that is cursed and ailing within the soil and those who walk upon it, for there is no power greater than rebirth.”

My pulse stammered in my veins.

“Is that saying what I think it is?” I croaked out.

“Yes.” Neve met my gaze, determination blazing in her eyes. “This ritual wouldn’t just heal the land—it would break every curse within it.”

Every curse.

Not just the one upon the land and the Children of the Night. Every curse.

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