Page 28 of The Mirror of Beasts

The Bonecutter lifted a brow. “Forgot to mention that to her, did you?”

Neve sent me an accusatory look.

“How do you think the Hollowers get into sorceress vaults?” I asked her. “The Veins are sealed with skeleton knobs. You need the bone and blood of someone in that family—if not the sorceress herself—to feed into the lock.”

“You can see a sample of that work in the case on the far left,” the Bonecutter said with a grim flourish of the hand. Always the consummate businesswoman.

“I think I’ll pass,” Neve muttered, eyeing both Emrys and me with outright disgust. “And for the record, I just thought Hollowers were talented at breaking whatever curses locked up vaults and tombs.”

I shifted my weight, hugging my arms to my center. Cabell was the only person I knew with an innate talent for breaking curses.

The Bonecutter studied me, as if she’d had the same thought.

“Then you have greatly overestimated the capabilities of most Hollowers, including myself,” Emrys said. “Half the time survival’s a matter of luck and remembering to look down before you take your next step.”

“Well, you’ve found yourself a bit of luck today,” the Bonecutter said, leaning back and removing her glasses. “As it happens, I do know something of vessel-making and believe—after some consultation of a few books and journals—I will be able to fix it.”

I drew in a sharp breath, moving toward the table.

“But again, I return to the same question,” the Bonecutter finished. “Are you willing to pay the price?”

A weight built in my chest, dragging my heart into the pit of my stomach. “What do you want?”

The Bonecutter had been prepared for this moment—the ask was already poised on the tip of her tongue. “I would like your Hand of Glory, little Lark.”

Panic fluttered through me. The lie was instinctive, born of a life with few possessions, and fewer true valuables. “I don’t have it anymore.”

The Bonecutter looked utterly bored. She jutted the small point of her chin toward the workbag at my side. “Yes, you do. I can scent it.”

“Great.” I grimaced. “Now I just feel bad that you’ve had to smell him this whole time.”

“You should,” the Bonecutter said. “He reeks of burned hair and fatty meat. Do we have a deal?”

I didn’t move. My thoughts raced, trying to outrun my heart.

“That fetid thing crawled out of a dark pit,” Caitriona said. “Get rid of it.”

Defensiveness prickled my every nerve. “He’s not that bad—”

Emrys let out a laugh of disbelief.

“No one asked for your opinion.” I turned and glared at him.

He held up his hands. “Please, continue debating. We have all the time in the world to stand here while you attempt to process human emotions for the first time.”

We’d bickered and fought countless times, and I’d certainly launched some magnificent insults his way in the past. But … the casual cruelty of his words stung like the kiss of a knife to my throat, and for a moment I couldn’t speak. I stared at him, at his perfect, beautiful face, and felt a new cold gather on my skin.

His haughty expression dimmed, his eyes softening even before Olwen moved to slap him upside the head. I almost let myself believe he regretted it.

Neve grabbed my hand between hers, drawing my focus back to her face. The understanding only made me feel worse.

“Far be it from me to speak ill of your creepy little friend,” she said, “but weren’t you convinced he was trying to escape your bag to smother you the other night?”

“Okay, fine, he’s horrible and may be some sort of cosmic punishment Fate has inflicted on me for wrongdoings in a past life,” I said. “But he’s still useful. He can unlock any door, remember?”

“You travel with a sorceress,” the Bonecutter said. “Can she not unlock doors? Could the priestesses not be of assistance?”

“I have relinquished my magic,” Caitriona said.

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