Page 118 of The Mirror of Beasts

“This,” I said, unable to check the ache in that word. “Why are you doing this? This—game you keep playing, where you act like nothing happened one minute, then you turn around and cut me the next like I’m nothing and no one. If you won’t tell me what’s going on with you, then just … stop.”

I didn’t care anymore if he saw me upset. I could admit he’d won, because this was killing me more than the betrayal ever had.

His gaze lowered with his voice. “All right. I hear you.”

The wind was stirring again outside, wheezing and whistling as it moved past the fairy mounds. With the darkness of night now firmly in place, it would be hours before it was safe to go out and look for the others.

“What the hell is that, anyway?” I asked, pointing to his enormous fur coat.

“That was the last coat the Bonecutter had available for purchase,” Emrys said, scratching the back of his neck. “At least, that’s what she claimed. I mostly just think she wanted me to look like the idiot I am.”

“And you’re …” I gestured toward his chest, where the jagged wounds were hidden beneath layers of cloth.

“Healed?” he finished. “Mostly. Bran’s a jack-of-all-trades. Bird, bartender, stalker of enemies, occasional healer.” He stretched an arm across his chest, only to wince. “Force-fed me some concoction that gave me the weirdest dreams about sailing on a leaf over the ocean, but the wounds are already starting to scar. Still not quite back up to full steam, though.”

I picked at a hangnail, trying not to look relieved. He didn’t deserve that.

“What happened while I was out?” he said, brows drawing down as he watched me. “I didn’t have enough to trade the Bonecutter for the information.”

“Mayhem, hungry primordial deities, your father and the others burning the library—it was a veritable bonanza of terror,” I said.

“They burned the library?” Emrys stilled, horror sweeping over him. “What about Librarian?”

I said nothing. I didn’t have to.

He swore. “I’m sorry, Tamsin. What else happened while I was down for the count?”

“Wyrm took Olwen,” I whispered.

“What?” Emrys turned his back to the fire and faced me fully. “Why?”

I could only shrug. “We don’t know. We don’t know where she is, or if she’s gotten away, or if she’s—”

“Don’t say it,” Emrys interrupted. “She’s not.”

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“I do, because it wouldn’t make sense,” Emrys said. “Even if Wyrm brought her to Lord Death, he has other uses for her. She knows our plans.”

I looked up at him, aghast. “Is the idea of him torturing her supposed to make me feel better?”

“No—yes—I mean—” Emrys breathed in deeply, finally collecting his thoughts. “I just mean that Olwen is extremely clever, and she’ll find a way to stay alive until we can help her.”

“We,” I repeated. “There’s that word again.”

“Yes, we,” he said firmly. “Please. Let me help you.”

My frustration crested and broke over me.

“Why?” I asked. “Why? You’ve given us information. You saved my life at Rivenoak. Why can’t you be done? What was the point of you following us here, still pale as a ghost—you said yourself you’re not back up to full strength! So why?”

“Because,” he said, with an almost fatalistic laugh. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I would follow you anywhere.”

“Don’t,” I warned, my breath hitching, “say that.”

Don’t give me hope and take it away again.

Emrys let his head fall back against the wall beside the hearth. He drew his knees up, resting his arms over them, watching me through a heavy-lidded gaze.

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