Page 151 of The Mirror of Beasts

A moment later, I felt it. A cold heaviness had followed us through the cemetery, but it was nothing compared to the feeling that came over me now. The way it seemed to reach into my chest and grip my heart.

“Please,” Nash said quietly. “Go, Tamsin.”

But I had already seen it—the subtle shiver of the air behind me in the hall. The slight distortion of the lines of the stone walls, inexplicably curved.

My breath caught, and this time, I let Nash draw me behind him.

A laugh of disbelief rumbled through the room, as cold as it was scornful. With a faint rustle of fabric, Lord Death pushed Arthur’s mantle and its hood back, fully revealing himself. His black armor. His hateful smirk. A dead king’s face.

“Hello, brother,” he said.

And from high above us, rolling through the sky like thunder, the horn of the Wild Hunt sounded.

A bitterly cold wind hissed as it tore through the hall, shoving me toward Nash’s back, blowing out the magic flames of the lanterns on the wall. The shouts that rose in response were swift and fierce above us. No sooner had the thundering of hoofbeats and the gleeful whoops of the riders filled the air than a chain of explosions was set off. The whole building shook with the force of each blast. Screams, human and monstrous, rained down through the floors.

In the cellar, however, it was terrifyingly still. Silent.

“Do you not recognize your own brother, Erden?” Lord Death asked, amused. “I admit, I am surprised to find you alive. Your reckless manner should have seen you dead a thousand times over.”

Erden. I looked to Nash, watching his reaction. The weight that settled over my body made it feel as though I were sinking into the floor. Brother.

The three fair-haired brothers on the tapestries.

It’s true, I thought. It’s all true.

The only sign of Nash’s distress was the way his jaw tightened as he chose his words.

“I see the face of Arthur Pendragon, long lost to us,” he said, finally. “Stolen by one I no longer recognize as the brother I loved.”

The smirk slid from Lord Death’s face. I wondered then, distantly, what his original features had looked like—if they’d been similar enough to Nash’s that seeing him was like looking into a mirror of his past self.

“You turned your back on me before,” Lord Death said. “And now you choose to do it again, at your own peril. I will not protect you from my riders.”

“I wouldn’t expect that,” Nash said. He inclined his head toward the door. “Seems your standards have fallen a bit over the centuries. Then again, those men have always been lapdogs who believed they were wolves.”

As Lord Death moved toward us, stalking forward slowly, we moved too. I lingered a step behind Nash, gripping the back of his leather jacket like a child afraid of becoming lost, as he eased us toward the stairs.

“Where is the girl?” Lord Death asked.

Nash assumed a fighter’s stance. One hand drifted behind him, but there was no blade there. The sorceresses had confiscated everything, even the one hidden in the toe of his boot. My heart jumped to my throat.

He’s talking about Neve, I thought. But how could he know about her?

Lord Death reached for the sword hilt at his side. The movement shifted a long silver chain out from under the collar of his tunic. A crimson gemstone hung upon it, so dark it was nearly black. Threads of silver death magic writhed and churned inside.

After the merging, in the ruins, he’d claimed he was carrying the souls of Avalon’s dead with him—was this how?

Lord Death’s blade sang as he unsheathed it, relishing the crackling magic that danced along its razor edge.

“For the blood we once shared, I’ll give you this last chance to step aside, Erden, or I’ll kill that petulant girl you seem to believe is worth protecting.”

“She is a stranger to me, Gwyn,” Nash said. The formality of his tone was grating. It was as if he’d become a different person in a matter of moments. “Allow her to go, and you and I will settle this, as we should have all those years ago. I was always the better swordsman, but you’ve had centuries to improve, haven’t you?”

But Lord Death did not move to strike. His blade was still in his hand, its magic roiling the air between us.

“How frightened you are,” Nash said, his tone turned mocking. “You call yourself Death, and yet it haunts you most of all.”

“My power is reward enough,” Lord Death said. “It is endless. Eternal.”

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