Page 172 of The Mirror of Beasts

No, I thought. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t Excalibur’s magic—if the text we’d seen was correct, it only destroyed the souls of the wicked.

I pulled at my restraints again. “He’s lying, Cait! Don’t listen to him!”

Olwen shouted something behind me I couldn’t make out. I wondered if Caitriona could even hear us over the blood that had to be pounding in her head.

Her hands tightened around Excalibur’s hilt, the shadows on her face lengthening with despair. As powerful as her first strike had been, as fierce as the storm of her rage, it all abandoned her now.

She didn’t lower the sword—she was too well trained for that. But her hesitation spoke where she wouldn’t. For the first time, she wore the torment of the last few weeks openly, and the raw agony of it stole my breath away.

My gaze slid to my right, to where the hound—Cabell—stood guard beside me. His hackles rose, and as his long body tensed, awaiting command, the ridge of his spine seemed chiseled from stone.

“Do something,” I begged him. I knew he’d heard my rasping words, even if he didn’t acknowledge them. His ears twitched, and the low growl in his throat deepened.

“I know you can hear me,” I squeezed out. “I know who you are.”

It might only have been my desperate mind playing tricks on me, but the rumbling in his throat seemed to soften. Every memory of the life we’d shared seemed to rise at once. The swell of grief was as unbearable as it was true.

“You can still come back,” I began, my tears too hot on my frozen cheeks. “All of those innocent beings died, and you did nothing to stop it. Do something now. Do anything. Please, Cab.”

My hope was snuffed out as he surged toward me with an angry bark, his teeth snapping together in warning. He might as well have torn my throat out.

But when he looked at me, his eyes weren’t glowing like fire. They were dark—so dark, they were nearly black.

“Have you made your decision yet?” Lord Death taunted. He allowed Caitriona to circle around him, as if the sword in her hand were merely a wooden practice tool and they were back in the tower’s sparring ring, eager student and devoted mentor.

“Cait, don’t!” Olwen cried. “Don’t listen to him! Focus!”

“Shall I make it simple for you?” he said. “Perhaps you can begin with … strong, noble Betrys, who was first to fall at the gates of the tower? Or maybe young Flea—?”

Caitriona screamed, bringing Excalibur slashing down over her head. Cabell’s dark coat shone with moonlight as he raced forward, his teeth bared.

If I had looked away again, if I’d dared to so much as blink, I would have missed it—the sudden shift in the hound’s path.

Excalibur’s arc through the air cut short as Caitriona feinted and kicked at Lord Death’s center.

The hound’s jaws locked around the soft flesh and muscle of his master’s calf. Lord Death screamed in rage and pain, using the full might of his power to fling Cabell off him. Strings of bloodied flesh still hung from the hound’s teeth as he hit the trunk of a tree and fell to the ground, limp.

“Cab!” I gasped out.

Lord Death looked over at the sound of my weak voice, and it was all the opportunity Caitriona needed. Her boot slammed into her former mentor’s breastplate, knocking him to the forest floor hard enough to rattle his armor—and, it seemed, his focus.

The spiraling shield of priestesses’ souls escaped his grip, exploding out into the forest. Silken mist glowed wherever they hovered; all silent witnesses to whatever came next.

The momentary distraction had cost Lord Death his concentration, and the roots around me suddenly released with a hissing snap. I gasped for breath as I surged forward without a moment’s hesitation, fighting for balance over the rolling mounds of boulders as I ran for my brother.

My body was stiff with terror as I dropped to my knees beside him and placed a hand on his side. Every one of his ribs protruded, but he was breathing. Shallowly, but still breathing.

The metallic smell of blood overpowered even that of the damp earth; his muzzle was stained with it.

“Cab?” I whispered.

He’d—he had tried to help, hadn’t he?

The hound’s eyes remained closed. His coat was matted with blood and flakes of bark.

The remaining Children descended on us, clawing up through the tangled branches of the trees. They tore at each other’s sagging gray skin and limbs to get to Cabell first, shrieking until my eardrums rang and threatened to burst.

It was a gamble, and a stupid one, but I threw my body over his. My hands fisted in his fur as the Children circled around us, snapping their teeth.

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