Page 31 of The Mirror of Beasts

“It doesn’t work that way with the Sistren, though I wish it did,” Hemlock said. “I meant what I said before, about my body. You live as long as I have, and you’ll find it best not to leave anything unspoken.”

“Please,” Neve tried again.

Hemlock stood in the doorway. Cold wind swept in around her, but the goose bumps on my skin had nothing to do with its icy kiss. “Have heart, sweet sorceress, but say your goodbyes while you have the chance.”

It occurred to me as I stood at the window and watched Hemlock’s shadowed form hurry down the path that Emrys still hadn’t come upstairs.

As the minutes passed and we couldn’t hear a word of whatever they were speaking about, I became even more suspicious. He could be getting answers to questions we didn’t yet know to ask. He could be bartering for information, and we wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Leaving Neve, Caitriona, and Olwen to find wherever Griflet was hiding and debate about where we’d stay that night, I took the opportunity to bring Hemlock’s payment back down into the workshop.

I kept my footsteps light, the way Nash had once taught us, hoping to catch snippets of their conversation, but the last step announced my arrival with a squeal. The Bonecutter didn’t look up from her work at the table, but Emrys did, his gaze skimming over me. He stirred the contents of the small cauldron beside her, careful to alternate clockwise and counterclockwise strokes.

In addition to the lamp, the Bonecutter had placed a large magnifying glass on a stand hovering over the remaining skull fragments. Using forceps and a remarkably steady hand, she picked up a needle-thin piece of bone and carefully placed it in one of the remaining holes of her puzzle. The jaw and the curve of the skull were starting to take shape.

When she finally looked at me, it was through the purple lenses of her glasses. I held out the bundle of herbs by the twine holding them together. “How come she gets to pay you in weeds?”

“Perhaps I like her better than you,” the Bonecutter said. “All right, Dye, I’ve finished with you. Take the others upstairs to the flat—if you must sleep here, I’ll not have you mucking about in my pub. And tell them if they want food, they’d best leave the money for it on the counter.”

Emrys released the shard of bone he’d been holding, lowering the instrument onto the table slowly, as if waiting to make sure the piece would stay in place.

I stepped forward at the exact wrong moment as he passed by, and a flutter of warmth moved down my arm as it brushed his.

He stopped, drawing in a deep breath. “Agrimony, comfrey, and … violet.”

“Show-off,” I grumbled.

He left with a ghost of a smile.

“You can set the herbs down over there.” The Bonecutter gestured behind her, and it took me more than a few moments to spot the table beneath a massive pile of rolled carpets, drapes, and tapestries.

I circled the workshop toward her, eyeing the way she dipped the edges of a bone shard into a black pot of something. She paid me no mind as I leaned over her shoulder to investigate it. The ground seemed to vault up beneath my feet. I drew back.

Silver.

The liquid was a glistening, molten silver. Exactly like the cauldron I’d found in the tower of Avalon.

“That’s …,” I began, my mouth dry. “That’s death magic.”

“Of course,” the Bonecutter said, looking at me like I was the child. “Vessels are created using it, and they must be repaired with it. What did you think I would use?”

It felt like there was a hive of bees in my chest. Like my tongue had swollen and turned to stone. The Bonecutter set her delicate instruments down, and her stool creaked as she turned toward me.

I saw my frightened face in the lenses of her glasses. My stomach knotted.

“Are you quite all right?” the Bonecutter asked. “Please sit before you crack your skull open and spill your brains onto the floor. I’ve only the patience to fix this one.”

I shook my head, trying to catch my breath. “You work with him—you worship Lord Death—”

“And you,” she answered, with an edge of irritation, “are being quite ridiculous.”

She pulled a small, sweet-smelling sachet out of a drawer under the worktable and shoved it into my hand. “Take a deep breath, will you? Have a few, even.”

I hesitated, but even without bringing it close to my face, the earthy scent was dulling the jagged edges of my fear and slowing the dizzying march of my thoughts. When I was sure I wasn’t being poisoned, I inhaled deeply, letting its scent cool the fires that burned in my lungs.

“Better?” she asked.

I felt humiliated that she’d seen me react this way. I was still shaking like a damn mouse beneath a cat’s paw.

---