Page 72 of The Mirror of Beasts

“It splinters—” Emrys began, but she was already gone. “Never mind. She’ll figure it out.”

I followed, narrowly avoiding the body splayed in front of the door, his face torn away to reveal bone. Static rose in my ears, until the crackle of it burned away all the sound in the room, save for my own galloping heart.

Somehow it was worse than my dark mind had imagined.

The hall was almost unrecognizable. The windows had been blown in, leaving gleaming spikes of glass scattered over the floor like deadly ice. Several of the Hollowers had tried to rush toward the library, only to fall, smearing blood across the stone as they’d tried to crawl to safety. Their chests gaped open, as if skewered.

The long feast table was on fire. One of the burners beneath the trays had been knocked over, and now gorged itself on the once-pristine tablecloths. Emrys came to stand just behind me. He’d picked up someone’s axe and now spun the handle in his grip, surveying the slaughter with a hard expression.

Neve wandered out through the bodies, a hand pressed to her mouth in horror. I would have gone to her, if I hadn’t caught sight of a smudge of darkness moving at the edge of my vision.

The lanky figure strode around the long drive, the shape of him black against the heavy snowfall. Something glimmered in his hands—the shimmering fabric of Arthur’s mantle.

I couldn’t make sense of the sight of him here. Alone. The exact opportunity I’d been too afraid to hope for.

His shape grew smaller and smaller as he headed down the drive, his long strides eating up the distance.

No, I thought. I’m not letting you walk away again.

Not when he was within reach. Not while he was away from the distorting magic of Lord Death’s influence.

“Stay here!” I shouted to the others, ignoring their own cries as I ran for the cold air and drifts of snow blowing in through the broken windows.

Smoke clogged my mouth and nose, heat burned against my face, but everything else—the fighting, the screaming—it all fell away as I vaulted over the remains of the elaborate window frames and gave chase.

“Cabell!”

Somehow, through the wind and relentless snow, my brother heard me. He turned just enough for me to see the silhouette of his profile, but he didn’t stop. His strides only lengthened. Quickened.

So did mine.

I wove through the maze of cars still parked on the circular driveway, barely conscious of their cracked windshields and smashed roofs. One SUV had managed to make it halfway down the long drive and was still rolling forward despite the lack of driver and passengers. The broken, blood-streaked windows told the full story.

The torches had gone out, leaving only the moon to illuminate the snowy landscape. The snow flurries danced with the ash drifting from the house.

With his dark hair and even darker clothing, my brother seemed to drift in and out of the fabric of the night—until, I realized, he’d drawn Arthur’s mantle over his shoulders and disappeared entirely. But while the relic hid him from even those with the One Vision, it didn’t disguise his footprints in the dirt and snow or stop his breath from blooming white in the air.

His steps slowed as we came to the end of the drive and the empty road intersecting it. Clusters of trees swayed with the wind, their bare branches shivering in the silence.

I lifted my eyes from the last of his visible tracks, staring into the dark air where he ought to have been. There was a whisper of fabric against fabric, and for a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of his profile again, as pale and thin as a crescent moon.

“Cab,” I said, my own chest burning for breath. I fumbled for the right words—the ones that might cast the spell to keep him here, if only for a little longer. “Can we talk? Even when we fought, we were always able to hear each other out.”

He said nothing, but I felt the anger radiating from him like a wraith hovering between us. It seemed Lord Death had fed it, nurtured it, in those days since I last saw him.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Has he … has he hurt you?”

“No.”

The word was colder than the snow gathering in my hair. It iced my veins.

But at least he was talking. That was something. If I had been bigger, or stronger, or had even an ounce of magic, I would have knocked him out and dragged him away from all this death and darkness. Even still, I wasn’t convinced it would do any good. Distance alone wouldn’t be enough to break the hold Lord Death had over him, not when Cabell refused to fight it.

“No, you’re not okay, or no, he hasn’t hurt you?” I clarified. “I’m just trying to understand—what did he do to get you to turn your back on us? Did he promise you something?”

The silence was back, festering. I bit the inside of my cheek, my mind racing. The last few days had conspired to rip every last shred of pride I’d had away from me, to tear at my sense of self. When we were children, I’d fought to hide my tears from him, to be the strong one. I couldn’t do it anymore. The pressure built behind my eyes.

“I know …” It felt like I was ripping the words out of my chest. Tears burned down my frozen cheeks. “I know I wasn’t there for you. Not the way you needed. Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to fix us, and I’ll do it, Cab. I’ll do anything.”

---