Page 93 of Silver in the Bone

“Some say ‘giving them nightmares,’” I replied. “Others say ‘building character.’”

“Yeah, you’re a real architect when it comes to that,” Neve said.

I glowered. “Sarcasm is my thing. You get access to ancient magic, and I get stinging ironies.”

Flea looked between us, thoughts whirring behind her eyes. “What’s the matter with the two of ye?”

I looked right at Neve as I said, “Neve wasn’t told the truth about something and she’s angry at me.”

“Tamsin,” she said, staring right back, “doesn’t quite know how to apologize yet and needs to learn to trust and open up to others.”

“And Flea,” the little girl said, “thinks both of ye are batty.”

“Flea!”

The girl straightened at Olwen’s sharp voice as the other priestess came around the tower. She would have bolted if I hadn’t gripped the back of her tunic and held her, squirming, in place.

“Ye traitor!” she snarled, still trying to fight her way free.

“Ye shouldn’t have taken my coin,” I told her.

“You are an hour late to your lesson,” Olwen said, arms crossed.

“I don’t need lessons,” Flea said. “Not your kind, anyway.”

“Oh?” Olwen said. “You don’t need to learn how to call your magic or perform our rites?”

Flea’s lower lip jutted out.

“I’d like to learn how you do those things,” Neve said. “I’m sure it’s different than the way I learned.”

The priestess smiled. “Of course, Neve. You’re always welcome.”

“I’m so behind in my studies,” Neve began, “it would be helpful to have a second, equally knowledgeable priestess to help me ...”

“Ah,” Olwen said, not missing the way Flea’s head lifted at Neve’s words. “My sisters are all at work or training, and so I do not know where we might find such help ...”

Flea made an och noise at the back of her throat. “Well then, it’ll be me that ’elps.”

“Really?” Neve asked. “You’d do that for me?”

The girl gave her a look. “Don’t make a fuss ’bout it. It’s only ’cause yer so pitiable.”

“Flea!” Olwen admonished. “Apologize to Neve.”

“It’s all right.” Neve’s gaze slid over to me. “At least she’s honest.”

The girl lifted her shoulder. “We going or not?”

I watched them until they had disappeared into the tower, delaying my next task as long as I could. The little carved bird in my pocket seemed to grow heavier as the lessons continued behind me.

I found Emrys in the walled garden next to the infirmary. He was on his knees, working something into the dark soil there. His hair was tousled, and there was a streak of dirt across his cheek. As he leaned forward, the open neck of his tunic gaped, revealing a hint of the muscle there, but also the gnarled ropes of scarring. Absently, he shooed away a few of the sprites swarming around his head.

A small smile touched my lips as I leaned over the stone wall, trying to get a better look at what had him so wholly absorbed.

Soil sniffer, greenthumbie, leafkisser. There were so many contemptuous names among Hollowers for Emrys’s Talent. Greenworkers were believed to be largely worthless in our line of work, and most were thought to be eccentrics who tottered around greenhouses cooing at flowers. The way Emrys used his power was much more considered—meditative, almost.

Emrys set about replanting the unrecognizable shriveled greens around him. Every now and then, he’d stop, holding their thin white roots in his palm—nodding to himself, or to them, I wasn’t sure. Next he added something to the soil, or dipped the plants into a small pail of water, before returning them to the ground.

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