Page 90 of Silver in the Bone

“I’m going to flush all of your instant coffee when we get home,” he said through his clench-jawed smile.

For all the confidence and ease my brother had navigating our world, it was strange to watch him tentatively join the others like a nervous kid trying to make friends on the playground.

“Good lad!” I heard Bedivere cheer. “Everyone, this is my friend Cabell.”

There was a soft pressure at the pocket of my jacket. I reached down just in time to snatch the small hand before it could slip back out.

“Better,” I said, turning. Flea’s bottom lip jutted out as she handed the carved bird over. “It’s usually best to try for flat or smooth objects until you get quicker with it.”

The girl pretended to ignore my advice as she leaned against the fencing. “Is that yer brother over there? The one looking like a fop-doodle who’s got himself into too much o’ the mead?”

“I’m the only one allowed to call him a fopdoodle,” I said, taking an educated guess on what the word meant. “Besides, he’s not that bad ...”

Both of our gazes drifted back toward the group. Cabell just wasn’t as practiced as the others. And the uncertainty meant he always hung back, staying one step behind so he could follow their lead.

“If ye says so,” Flea said, tugging her knit cap down over her ears.

With her dirt-smudged face, wavy white-blond hair, and bad attitude, I had to admit I felt a certain kinship with Flea.

“Shouldn’t you be out there with them?” I asked, nodding to the other priestesses.

“Cait says I’m still too young,” Flea answered sullenly, then, with another impressive imitation of the elder priestess, added, “You have to learn with your eyes before your hands, she says.”

“Oh, that’s a load of”—I caught myself—“dung. The best way to learn is hands-on.”

Flea nodded vigorously. “That’s what I always says!”

“Have you talked to Bedivere about it?” I asked, sensing an opportunity. “What’s his story, anyway?”

“Sir Beddy?” Flea glanced back over her shoulder, considering him. “He’s fine when he’s not tootin’ his trumpet about servin’ that old arse-faced corpse in glorious battles and snot.”

I let out a shocked laugh. “Is that story true?” Realizing she might not know the mortal world’s versions of the tales, I explained, “About King Arthur being brought here as he lay dying, and kept suspended in enchanted sleep?”

All so he could one day return in England’s time of need.

She nodded, biting at her already well-bitten nails. “Got a fancy tomb in the forest and all. Don’t know about him coming back, though. He looks right rotten to me. Surprised he didn’t turn with the rest of the dead, but there’s some magic protecting him and keeping him just alive enough, says Olwen.”

“How is Bedivere still alive?” I asked.

“Some spell,” Flea said, waving a hand. “He’ll stay living as long as the king needs him, see.”

I did see. “Has Bedivere always lived here at the tower?”

She swiped her sleeve against her nose. “No. He lived himself alone in some little house near to the tomb for hundreds of years and only came two years past.”

For the first time, Flea looked like the child she was. Her bottom lip trembled as her fingers reached out to grip the fence rail.

“When the Children first appeared,” I clarified.

Flea sniffed. “When the Children first rose hungry, they came for the people in the orchards and villages that used to be. And ... the school.”

There was once a school. The thought crept up on me, weaving through the horror of the words like a thread of ice. I hadn’t been completely conscious of it until she’d said it.

Flea was the only child left at the tower.

There could be a nursery tucked away in one of the tower’s many buildings, but I hadn’t seen a baby or heard its squalls. There were no toddlers toddling about, either. Not in all the time we’d been here.

I hoped like hell I was wrong because the thought was almost too much to bear. I might have had a hard heart, but it was still beating. It made sense to me that no one had dared to welcome another child into this world. Not as it was.

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