Page 75 of The Mirror of Beasts

“Tell them what this means,” Emrys demanded. When the other Hollower struggled to find the words to speak, Emrys threw the pin at him, hard enough for Wyrm to whimper like the mewling child he was. “Tell them!”

“But you know—you know, don’t you?” Wyrm insisted, wilting under Emrys’s gaze. “Your father was the one who started it all back up again.”

“Tell them,” Emrys said through gritted teeth, more furious than I’d ever seen him. The others looked on in shock.

“It’s …” Wyrm tried to regain his composure, smoothing a hand over the last wisps of his hair. “It’s the Order of the Silver Bough.”

“Why do I already hate the sound of this?” Neve asked.

Of course. I pressed a cold hand to my face.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t put the meaning of the symbol together before. A silver apple branch symbolized an invitation to journey to an Otherland.

“And the ‘Order’ is what, exactly?” I pressed. “A little fraternity of power-hungry toads?”

Wyrm bristled. I wondered when had been the last time a woman had spoken to him like that—given the sputtering indignation, probably not in the last three decades. “The Order has been around for hundreds of years. For as long as there have been sorceresses in this world.”

“Ah,” Neve said darkly, cracking her knuckles one by one. “That would be why.”

“The Order is meant to uphold the knightly virtues of Arthur and his court—to protect the world from the destructive magic of sorceresses and their hellish nature,” Wyrm continued.

“Hellish nature, huh?” Neve said. I threw out an arm to block her path.

“We need to ask him a few more questions before you tie his tongue in knots,” I told her.

Wyrm whimpered.

Neve feigned a reluctant sigh. “Oh, all right. I suppose I can wait a few more minutes.”

“She’s … one of them?” Wyrm whispered in horror. He dragged himself across the floor, making as if to escape. Emrys planted a foot on his chest, kicking him back down.

“You’re working with a sorceress?” Wyrm cried. “What hold does she have on you, my boy?”

“I’m not your boy.” Emrys leaned down, bringing his face in line with Wyrm’s. “And you’ll be lucky if a hold is all she puts on you.”

Wyrm’s plum-red face blanched as he looked between the two of them. Neve’s smile made the hair on my arms rise.

“What business does this Order have with Lord Death?” Caitriona asked, swinging her spear back around toward him.

Wyrm held up his hands, as if he had a face worth protecting. “Many of us are descended from the druids. We only desired to renew our worship of him—to summon him back into our world to defeat our enemies.”

I leaned down, resisting the urge to spit in his face. “You wanted death magic.”

“Well … yes,” Wyrm said. “Is that really so wrong? Why should the sorceresses be the only ones with true power?”

I shook my head in disgust. Wyrm and so many of the dead around me were Cunningfolk. They had magic, abilities no mere mortal had. Just not enough, clearly.

“You really expect us to believe you didn’t know what would happen tonight?” I asked.

Wyrm sent one last desperate look Emrys’s way. “Your father wrote to me that I should host the celebration, to offer our allegiance. I didn’t know what had become of him—what had become of all of them …” He trailed off, twisting around to survey the hall. “D-Do you hear that?”

A moment later, I did.

The crackling felt eerily familiar, enough that it set my teeth on edge as I looked up toward the ceiling, expecting to find the plaster splitting. But it was a wet sound, like footsteps in a marsh, a gurgle—

Neve sucked in a sharp gasp. I spun, following her gaze until it landed on the bodies near her feet. Something moved beneath their skin, slithering.

Caitriona bumped into me from behind, trying to escape the remains that were twitching, the limbs slapping against the floor, their teeth chattering.

---