Page 116 of The Mirror of Beasts

Where had they ended up?

With my pick of the mounds, I stayed in this one, where it didn’t feel like I was about to be swallowed by decay. A bundle of dried lavender in the corner still carried enough fragrance to soothe my nerves.

After trudging back outside to remove the stone covering the chimney, I set about making a fire. The room flushed with heat as it finally caught. I held my stinging hands over it, coughing from the smoke, but also clearing the last of the cold from my lungs.

When the color returned to my hands, I dug into my bag for the dried fruit and jerky the Bonecutter had provided. The water in my canteen had frozen solid; I set it near the hearth to melt, then went out and gathered snow in the small cauldron that had been left hanging from a hook on the wall. My arms, neck, and face still felt sticky from Cath Palug’s blood, and while there’d be no hope of removing the stain from my clothes, I could perhaps rid them of the heavy metallic odor.

While waiting for the snow to melt and boil in the cauldron, I took another, closer look around the room. The Fair Folk who had lived here were child-sized, judging by the low ceiling and miniature everything. Elfins, maybe?

With food in my belly, and my mind no longer focused solely on survival, I came alive to the small details I’d missed before. Pails of shriveled berries. A little toy cat, carved from some pale wood. Four figures etched into the mud-packed walls.

The longer I sat there, the more the heat thawed me, the deeper my guilt became.

The others were still out there, somewhere—hopefully together, in some shelter of their own. There had to be more villages scattered around this Otherland. Homes built by humans. Caitriona had her spear and Neve her magic, however unpredictable it could be. They were strong. They would survive this, until we found each other again.

I sipped at my warmed water, then stripped off my coat and blood-caked sweater. My black T-shirt had been spared the worst of it and hid the now dry, stiff splatters. I kept it on. After refilling my canteen, I plunged my outer layers into the hot water and scrubbed at the stains. Hanging them to drip-dry near the fire, I set about unlacing my boots.

Only for my hands to still.

Outside, footsteps crunched through the snow. Labored breathing followed as if the creature had run the length of the world to arrive on the mound’s doorstep. The door opened. Inwardly, I swore—I’d drawn the curtain back over the doorway to keep the snow out, but it also blocked the sight of whatever was out there. All I saw was a shaggy outline of fur.

Reaching back, I gripped Dyrnwyn and had started to draw it out of its hilt when the curtain was shoved aside and the beast gasped at the heat that assaulted it, shaking out its dark fur.

I rose onto my knees, the hilt in one hand, the sheath in the other, bracing myself.

Human, my mind noted.

Bent at the waist to avoid the rough scrape of the rocks and branches supporting the ceiling. Bundled up in a fur coat, a scarf wrapped around their face and neck, leaving only their eyes visible.

One gray, one green.

Emrys, my heart sang.

He stilled, looking from the sword clutched in my hands to my face.

“Well,” he rasped out. “Fancy meeting you here.”

It was a moment before the words came unstuck in my throat.

“What are you doing here?” Alive. Whole. In Lyonesse.

Just then, though, he only had eyes for the flames dancing in the hearth. “Oh, thank the gods you got a fire started.”

He pulled off his snowy coat and stamped the clinging ice and mud from his boots. Kneeling, he tugged off his soaking boots and socks to reveal distinctly blue-tinged toes.

“This is my sheltering spot,” I said. “There are a dozen other fairy mounds, get your own.”

“But I like this one,” Emrys said. He let out a sigh of pleasure as he pulled off his gloves and set them beside his socks on the hearthstones. Warming his hands and wind-burned face, he shut his eyes, his expression relaxing into one of pure bliss.

“This is the best damn hovel I’ve ever inhabited,” he declared. “Truly, the greatest ever in any world.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never laid eyes on an actual hovel,” I said, indignant on its past occupants’ behalf. “This is a perfectly nice home.”

I finally released my grip on Dyrnwyn and sat back on my heels, crossing my arms over my chest. Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold crept over my bare arms, spreading under my thin T-shirt, over my whole body.

The initial wave of disbelief gave way to a slow-growing elation that I was quick to stamp out. As my mind quieted, a single question rose like a trail of candle smoke.

How?

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