Page 66 of The Mirror of Beasts

“And why not?” the creature sputtered, asking for the both of us.

“That’s Rosydd, Hag of the Bogs,” he said.

Caitriona, Olwen, and I all turned back toward the mirror, at the creature sputtering with outrage. Somehow the fact that we were speaking with a primordial monster was the least surprising part of this turn of events.

“Hag of the Moors,” the creature growled. “Moors!”

It didn’t seem like the opportune moment—or the right audience—to point out that bogs were just wet moorlands.

“How do you know that?” Olwen asked Emrys.

“One of the Hollowers told us—well, bragged is probably the more accurate description,” Neve said, rolling her eyes. “They’re all drunk as skunks up there.”

“Sounds delicious,” the creature noted to herself. “They’ve marinated their meat.”

“You can’t let the hag out,” Emrys said, a new edge to his tone. One that sounded suspiciously like fear. “She’ll devour all of us.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I told him.

“What?” the hag roared. “You swore it! You made a blood vow!”

I looked back over my shoulder. Almost a decade of bargaining with sorceresses had taught me a thing or two about slippery language. “Yes, I did promise to release you. But you never asked me to specify when.”

Emrys’s brows rose. “Not bad, Lark. Did you even know that a hag can’t break a sworn vow, or were you rolling the dice on that one?”

I glared at him. “Of course I knew that.” Just now, after he told me.

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

The hag drew near to the glass, electrifying the protective layer of magic. “You think yourself cunning, little fox, but there are bigger teeth in the forest.”

“Good thing we’re nowhere near a forest, then,” I said.

“As much as I’m enjoying this face-off, we need to get out of here,” Emrys said. “Right now, and I think we should leave the mirror and come back for it another day. There’s supposedly an exit out of here hidden behind one of the cases.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Caitriona said. “We’re here, aren’t we? We just need to carry the accursed thing out.”

Neve looked torn. “Yes, but Emrys is right, there isn’t time.”

Emrys reached into the inner pocket of his jacket for something. “This isn’t just a celebration of the season, or a party to show off the mantle.”

When he opened his fist, a small silver object glowed in the dim light.

The pin. The hand holding the branch.

Sweat broke out along my neck and back. The hair on my arms rose, pricking with the sensation of a growing electrical charge in the air.

And above us, the deep blare of a horn sounded.

An explosion of shattering glass rained down inside the manor house, shrill enough to be heard through the heavy layers of stone. Laughter rose like wind, the hooting and whooping drowning out even the terrified screams. At the wild drumbeat of horse hooves, I bit the inside of my mouth hard enough to taste blood.

I gripped Emrys’s arm, drawing his focus back to me. “You said there was a way out of here?”

“I don’t know where it is—” He spun around, searching. “It opens to the Avon River—where they used to bring the relics in—the river’s east of here—”

“Where’s east?” I asked.

Caitriona pivoted, trying to orient herself. “I think … that way?”

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