Page 105 of The Mirror of Beasts

Caitriona drew in a soft breath, then went completely still. She kept her face forward, her eyes fixed solely on the fire, with the kind of discipline I could only dream of. I leaned closer to make sure she was still breathing.

Her cheeks had been burned red by the cold, but now the rest of her face went pink; a glimmer of feeling seemed to move behind her eyes, there and then quickly stamped out—the only signs she hadn’t become an ice sculpture.

I stretched my legs out, knocking Dyrnwyn into the dirt. I stared at it, at the pitiful wrappings serving as the legendary sword’s scabbard, but was too cold to move to retrieve it.

Neve sorted through the rattling items in her pack before pulling out a small glass vial.

“What do you suppose is in this?” Neve gave the offering the Bonecutter had provided another shake, bringing it close to her ear to listen to the faint rattling. I tried not to think about the dark liquid sloshing around inside and chose to believe that the round objects nestled at the bottom of it were small pieces of moonstone and not, in fact, human teeth.

“I’d pull out the cork and give you a guess, if I weren’t so worried it might bring on the hallucinations,” I said. “But I am tempted …”

“Don’t you dare,” Caitriona told me.

“We could have figured this out on our own, you know,” Neve said. I could tell exactly how tired and frustrated she was by the unusual sourness bleeding into her tone. “This is how we got to Avalon. We would have made the connection.”

“I know,” I told her. I’d been beating myself up over it since the Bonecutter handed us the offering. “It saved us some time, though.” Time we need to save you, I didn’t add.

“So, while we hopefully do not freeze to death,” Neve began, “what can we expect from Lyonesse? Has either of you read anything about it?”

Unfortunately, she was asking two of the least romantic storytellers in all the many worlds.

“It once rivaled Camelot for agricultural output,” Caitriona said. “They had very nice groves and a steady supply of fish. And their craftsmen made excellent wagons.”

Neve drew in a breath, closing her eyes as she regathered her patience. “Anything that might be immediately useful while we look for Excalibur? I know the Bonecutter thinks it may be hidden in the castle with some other valuables, but what else?”

“We’d better hope it’s in the castle, otherwise I have no idea where to start looking,” I said. “All right … let me see if I can tell it the way Nash used to—leaving out the parts that I’m pretty sure he just completely made up …”

Neve’s eager face was lit by the fire as she waited for me to continue. She’d be disappointed. I wasn’t born to tell stories, not the way Nash was.

“Lyonesse was once a great kingdom—like Camelot’s younger, less handsome sister, but still a marvel in its own right,” I began.

Or, as Nash had put it: a land of kings, of star-crossed lovers, and servant to the sea that surrounded it.

“Shortly after the death of Arthur, a darkness fell upon it—a monster, still known only as the Beast of Land’s End, plagued the city,” I continued, remembering the fear Nash’s words had brought when he’d told us this story one summer night. I hadn’t liked it then, and I didn’t like it now.

Tamsin’s never liked a scary story. Tell me one of those.

I pushed Cabell’s voice out of my mind and continued.

“It was said to devour anyone who tried to pass through the city’s walls. It killed so many people, in fact, legend had it that blood flowed through the streets like waves. Very few escaped.”

“Oh, wicked,” Neve breathed out.

“It’s going to be significantly less cool if that monster eats us, too,” I told her.

“Do you really believe it’s still alive?” Caitriona asked. “It’s been centuries.”

“If you believe the worst of the rumors, the thing has had a steady diet in that time,” I said. “I’ve read that sorceresses have a way in, and they’re fond of dumping the monsters they can’t kill there.”

Caitriona let out a huff and stood, slipping out from under both the blanket and Neve’s arm. She began pacing, doing laps around our small camp. “Go on.”

“With King Arthur and his best knights dead, the so-called age of heroes was at an end,” I said. “And no one was brave—or foolish—enough to hunt the beast again.”

“The priestesses of Avalon were the ones who splintered Lyonesse from the mortal world, using high magic,” Caitriona said. “It was one of their final acts before the druid uprising.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Then, later, the sorceresses encouraged the tales of the city succumbing to a wave sent by some wrathful deity, repeating again and again that the kingdom had been dragged beneath the icy sea, until the story became legend.”

With the story at its end, we settled back into tense silence.

---