She followed his gaze. Before, she would have gone there at once. Visited her mother’s grave mound, checked the others. But the dead would keep now—and the living needed her more.
She dug into her pocket and withdrew two halves of a wooden love spoon. Gareth drew in a sharp breath.
“Later,” she said. “I need to tell you something first.”
Ellis went to see Eynon the following day.
The fine home was a mess. The windows were broken and the garden uprooted.
Ellis walked into Eynon’s study and found the older man sitting at his desk. His eyes were sunken and his hair tangled. He looked as if he had not slept in several days. “You,” he said. “What are you doing still here? I thought you’d gone back to the prince.”
“Oh, right,” said Ellis. “I’m a spy. Forgot about that.”
Eynon frowned at him.
Ellis was not afraid of him. Not of the man’s disapproval nor of his power. And if word got back to Caer Aberhen of this encounter… well. He wasn’t too worried about that, either. His smile was sharp edged and his fingers rapped the oaken desk. “You,” Ellis said, “are going to forgive Aderyn’s family’s debts.”
Eynon let out a derisive laugh. “Am I?”
“Oh yes,” said Ellis. “You are.”
“I don’t see—”
“For all that you’re a greedy, grasping bastard,” said Ellis, “you’re not very canny. If you were, you never would have threatened me.” He leaned in a little closer. “You accused me of being the prince’s spy. And then you threatened me. I must say, if your aim was to appease the prince, that’s the wrong way to go about it.” He straightened and walked a circle around the office. He surveyed the scattered papers, the broken wine bottle, and the fallen books.
Eynon became the color of a sickly mushroom.
“I—I never,” he sputtered.
Ellis’s smile widened. “Of course you did. And that’s precisely what I’ll tell the prince in my letters to him. He’s rather fond of me, you see.”
Eynon’s breathing sped up; he looked as though he might faint—or throw something at Ellis’s head.
“What,” he said, “do you want?”
Ellis turned to face Eynon. “What I want is this: You’re going to forgive Ryn’s debts. Oh, and the mine. You should reopen it.”
A moment of disconcerted silence, and then Eynon said, “Th-th-the mine. Can’t be done—the people we’ve lost there—”
“The dead will no longer be a problem,” said Ellis. “We made sure of that. That was the problem, after all? The one you never mentioned to the prince. You said it was the collapsed tunnel, but really it was the dead that came after. You couldn’t tell him that, though, without sounding a bit mad. Well, the dead are gone. And the remaining tunnels are stable. I went in there myself.”
The smallest flicker of greed appeared in Eynon’s face before he made an effort to stifle it.
“This isn’t for you,” said Ellis. “Don’t think this was ever for you. The mine reopening will make Colbren a center of trade again. There will be jobs and coin—and the villagers will see most of it.” His voice lowered. “No more taking from the villagers what should stay with them.”
“And if I do not do as you say?” asked Eynon.
“Then,” said Ellis, still smiling, “I am going to return to Caer Aberhen with a rather fascinating story about a lordling who endangered his village by not reporting a curse, by removing the iron that protected it, and who has been lining his pockets with coin that belongs in the royal coffers.” He nodded at Eynon. “Are we in agreement?”
Eynon’s gaze jerked from side to side, as if he were searching for a way out.
There wasn’t one, of course.
Eynon’s jaw worked, and Ellis heard the creak of muscle and bone. “Fine,” the older man ground out.
“Don’t act like this is a hardship,” said Ellis. “The mine will keep you a wealthy man. And as for the rest of the village… they’ll be more comfortable as well.”
He turned to leave, but Eynon called after him.
“You never did tell me what your surname is,” said Eynon.
Ellis glanced over his shoulder.
The answer came to his lips easily—and for once, painlessly.
“I don’t know,” said Ellis. “And it does not matter.”
Ellis stayed with Ryn’s family for a week.
He helped in the house; he swept floors, assisted Ceri with the cooking, and offered to help Gareth with the washing up. Ryn caught him in quiet moments, when he thought no one was looking. He would touch the fringe of his hair, pushing it back behind his ear, the way the bone house had touched him. There was a distance to him that had not been there before—but also a surety.
They ate meals together. They walked the rounds of the graveyard together, and he listened as she pointed out the mounds where her grandfather and grandmother had been buried. He listened, his fingers twined with hers, as they walked the edges of the forest.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked. “I know our cots aren’t that comfortable.”
He gave her a small smile. “It hurts. As always. But pain is something I’ve come to live with.” He drew in a long breath. “I used some of my coin to purchase willow bark, but you’ll have your payment.”
“Payment?” she said, confused.
“For guiding me into the mountains.” He nodded toward the forest. “We did agree that I’d pay you, after all.”
She bumped his good shoulder with her own. “Oh, stop.”
“You did say something about looting my body should I die on the quest.”
“And yet, we both came out alive.” She gave him a small smile. “I think we’re settled on the matter of payment.” Her smile dropped away. “What brought this on?”
“I’ve been thinking. Of what comes after.”
She looked at him. “After death?”
“No, after the next few days,” he replied with a brief smile. “I mean, we accomplished the impossible. I’m not sure what comes after.”
Ryn considered it. “I think… if all goes well, it means Ceridwen grows up. I get to keep digging graves. We keep our house. Gareth works on the ledgers. As for yourself…” She slid him a look. “That’s up to you.”
“I have to return to Caer Aberhen,” said Ellis with a small sigh. “The account of what happened here—I’ll need to tell them. The prince will want to know that the mine could be reopened, and I’ll tell him of the curse. Not all the details. I think my having come back from the dead would be a little too much.”
“Ah. So you’ll go home.” She stopped walking, and her fingers tugged on his. He halted beside her, his gaze searching her face. She tried to hide her disappointment, but he seemed to understand.
“Caer Aberhen will always be dear to me,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s home. No more than Castell Sidi is—not anymore.” He gave her hand the smallest squeeze. “It still bothers me.”
“What?”
“The map that brought me to Colbren,” he said. “The paths were badly sketched, and the measurements were off. Other people could get lost if they use that map. And they can’t always depend on a dashing rescue from a lovely gravedigger.”
“True,” she agreed, and her heart beat a little faster.
“I should redraw those maps,” he said. “That way Colbren might actually have some trade again. Without the bone houses—and with a proper way to find the village.”
She inhaled. Just a sharp little breath. “How long… does it take to make a map like that?”
He shrugged. “It could be a while. Weeks, even months. I’ll have to find a place of my own to stay here. And maybe someone to guide me about the forests. A person who knows this land better than anyone.”
She wanted to laugh. Rising up onto the balls of her feet, she took hold of his shirt and drew him close.
When she kissed him, the corners of her mouth were crooked in a smile.
/> This—this was what came after. Living.
She would carry the dead with her, but now she wouldn’t be burdened by them. They were a weight that would lessen with every step; not because the memories would fade, but because she’d be stronger for bearing them.
And perhaps this was the truth about the dead.
You went on.
They’d want you to.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Hello, dear reader. We meet again.
We have reached the end of the book. So—first of all—thank you for reading it. I truly appreciate your support. Books take quite a few people to create, and readers are a vital part of the process.
Secondly, I have to give a shout-out to Lloyd Alexander. When I was pretty young, I was given the second book in his Chronicles of Prydain series, thus starting a lifelong habit of (a) reading series out of order and (b) a love for fantasy. When I was older, I considered writing to Mr. Alexander to tell him what his work meant to me, but he had already passed away. This novel is my nod to him.
Thank you, Mr. Alexander. I hope you would have liked this book.
This book would never have existed if not for my wonderful publishing team at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. To my lovely editor, Pam Gruber, who heard my pitch of “gravedigger versus medieval zombies” and understood my vision for this book even before I did. To Hannah Milton, for all her tireless work and energy. And a big thank-you to Marcie Lawrence, Marisa Finkelstein, Chandra Wohleber, Clare Perret, Erika Breglia, Stefanie Hoffman, Natali Cavanagh, Valerie Wong, Katharine McAnarney, Victoria Stapleton, Alvina Ling, Jackie Engel, Megan Tingley, and the wonderful Sales team. If I ever had to pick people to survive a zombie uprising with, it’d be all of you.
To the Adams Literary family, thanks for being in my corner.
Another big shout-out must be given to the traveling companions that traipsed through Wales with me: my mother and Brittney. Thank you for accompanying me through abandoned copper mines and old castles.
To all the booksellers who gave their early support to this book: Kalie Young, Sami Thomason, Alena Deerwater, Anna Bright, Zoe Arthur, Jane Oros, and so many others. Thank you so much.
To the Tillabook crew—Alexa, Rosiee, Kat, Mary Elizabeth, Lainey, and G’Norm the Gnome. We had some great writing times.
To s.e. smith, for being the person who would discuss both plot and rotting bodies with me.
To the lovely people at OwlCrate. I didn’t get to thank you in the acknowledgments of my last book, so I’m doing it here.
To all of the bloggers, BookTubers, Instagrammers, and Booklrs—you are an awesome part of the book community and I appreciate you so much.
To my family. Mom, Dad, and Diana—sending you all hugs.
And lastly, to Josh of the Conwy Tourist Information Centre—without whom I could not have written this book because I’d still be trying to figure out the Welsh public transit system.
Diolch yn fawr.
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© Tammie Gilchrist
EMILY LLOYD-JONES grew up on a vineyard in rural Oregon, where she played in evergreen forests and learned to fear sheep. After graduating from Western Oregon University with an English degree, she enrolled in the publishing program at Rosemont College just outside Philadelphia. She currently resides in Northern California with a temperamental cat and an ever-increasing book collection. She is the author of Illusive, Deceptive, The Hearts We Sold, and the historical fantasy horror novel The Bone Houses.
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