Chapter 53
Isca
The sword came down, and for a second, I wished I’d made the decision to strike first instead of trusting the flicker of uncertainty I’d seen on Anwen’s face.
Too trusting. Stupid, silly Isca.
Anwen grasped my forearm to steady me. Rope snapped.
Once. Twice. Then again. I stared, breath stuck somewhere between a gasp and deranged laugh as her thumb brushed the inside of my wrist where the rope had bitten.
A comforting heat sparked there for a fleeting moment before she quickly removed her hands.
My bindings fell away, wrists stinging as circulation rushed back, and the ache of my bruises intensified.
“You’re braver than I expected,” Anwen said, sliding her sword home with a casual flick. “Or more foolish.”
I flexed my ankles, wincing as I fought the urge to soothe the burn of the rope’s bite. “It’s easy to be both when you don’t have a choice.” I smiled thinly, hoping she’d hear more of the humor in it than the weariness.
There was another flicker in her stoney face, a slight upturn at the corner of her mouth. “True.”
She got to her feet and gestured to the table. The apples gleamed in their bowl like beacons of temptation, a silent dare to taste their secrets, promising either knowledge or poison.
I was mortified at how long it took me to get up from the hated carpet. My body didn’t want to bear my weight after whatever the druid and that draught had done to me. I wobbled slightly, but I made it to the chair with my dignity intact and sat. My stomach grumbled traitorously again.
Anwen rested her arms lightly on the table.
Then she reached inside her cloak and withdrew something.
A small, unassuming ring that hadn’t been there before appeared on her finger.
It was silver but streaked with obsidian glass that looked like veins running through metal skin—and it had runes etched into its surface.
Magic hummed off it in steady pulses like a slow heartbeat. I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening. It had the same ancient feeling as the cavern Emrys and I had fallen into. A million questions swirled in my mind, desperate to be asked.
But Anwen caught the look and gave a tight shake of her head as she adjusted its fit. Don’t ask, that look told me.
Then she pointed surreptitiously to one ear, acting like she was adjusting a stray strand of hair. A second later, the pressure shifted into silence. It was exactly like one of Emrys’s wards of silence blossoming around us.
“We needed some privacy,” she said. Her voice came out strangely flat, as though the sound had to push through velvet to reach me.
I nodded once.
She leaned back in her chair, gaze narrowing slightly. “Your magic,” she said slowly, “it’s empathy-based, correct?”
“Yes…” I reached toward the apples, testing to see what she’d do. She didn’t even flinch. So I took one.
Her eyes didn’t leave mine. “Then tell me what you’ve learned.”
“You’re hiding it well. But you’re like me.”
“I’m nothing like you.” Her voice cracked like a whip cutting through the artificial hush created by the ward.
I tilted my head deliberately, taking a slow bite of the apple. The crunch echoed strangely in the spell-silenced air. “If they knew,” I said softly, avoiding eye contact so she wouldn’t think it a threat, “what would they do?”
She hissed, “Don’t pretend this gives you power over me, lady.”
I gave into the urge to roll my eyes and took another bite. “Everyone who matters knows I’m a peasant from Caervorn. You clearly know everything about me. So drop the sneering unless you really are the stereotype of a pretentious princess.”
My hunger, my pain, my fear had come together to loosen my tongue. I feared for a long second that I’d pushed her too far.
But then a sharper smile crept across her face. “So you have fire too.”
“I bet you already knew that as well,” I said flatly, chewing.
She shrugged.
“They’d burn me,” Anwen finally answered, voice falsely light but laced with bitterness. “Or marry me off. Rid the world of my taint or put me under a man’s thumb—whichever is more advantageous to them.”
That wasn’t the answer I’d expected, but it rang with honesty even without my magic doing its work. “And your cousin?”
Her jaw worked, muscles tensing. “Maelric would inherit everything. Then burn every magic user he could get his hands on.”
The only thing that broke the silence that fell between us was the pulsing of her magic ring.
“Why tell me all this?” I asked.
“I didn’t,” she said. “You guessed. But you also said you wanted to help me.” Anwen leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice as hard as cold iron. “But if you breathe a word of this to anyone—ally or enemy—I will kill you myself.”
I didn’t flinch. But I also didn’t promise. “Understood.”
She studied me for a long moment. Then said, “The Assembly is helping Maelric. For the life of me, I don’t know why. But I have proof.”
My breath stopped cold in my throat. The Assembly was helping the faction that hated magic? It made no sense. Not unless…
The raids on border settlements. It has always been a question if they were official or done by civilian groups. The same was happening to Larethia. Both mage-led kingdoms.
If the Assembly wanted to crush an anti-magic kingdom while appearing apolitical, what better way than to split it open from within? Weaken the leadership through infighting. Unite their enemies against them by creating friction. And then sweep in to further their own aims.
This changed everything.
“The Assembly wants to weaken Gelida,” I murmured, “to tighten their hold on the island. But they don’t know about you…do they?”
“I suspected the same thing,” Anwen said, expression unreadable once again. “And, no. No one does.”
I studied her more closely then, seeing her not just as my captor, but as a cornered fox who’d used her cunning and charm to escape the hunter’s blade. “I asked what I could do to help you because Darreth doesn’t want war. If you’re on the throne, I think we can prevent it.”
This was it. This was how I’d give the Assembly the exact opposite of their wishes. A surge of excitement coursed through me, making my heart pound. That, or the magic Anwen had warned me about was finally wearing off.
Her brows rose, faint amusement stirring in her eyes. “Do you think backing me will save your skin?”
“I think your cousin has set Emrys on a path of destruction. I’ve seen him rip a hole in the side of a mountain without sweating. I don’t want people to die for me.”
“Such a soft heart.”
“Yes,” I said, tired of hiding it. “Frankly, I don’t care about your opinion on the matter. Now,” I pushed the apple core to the edge of the table, “your druid was correct. I need the chamber pot, and it is quite painful. So please leave.”
Anwen threw her head back and laughed, a full, open sound that echoed in the quiet space, coloring her cheeks a bright pink as she struggled to breathe.
“I will leave,” she said, pale blue eyes dancing with mischief.
“We are nothing alike, but I think I already like you, Lady Isca.” For once, she said my borrowed title without a sneer.
“I’m moving you to my rooms. Safer. I have food and a bath waiting for you there.
We’ll talk again after I put on a show at dinner. ”
She let out a growl of disapproval not softened at all by her gender. As she stood, she covertly removed the ring from her finger. Its pulse vanished the moment it disappeared into a hidden pocket.
“Recover. Your prince will be here by tomorrow morning at the latest. I’ll have your dress cleaned and pressed. You’ll wear something of mine in the meantime.”
Your prince. When Owain had first suggested it, I’d denied any claim he had on me outright. But now it was impossible to deny. I wanted him to be my prince. The question was whether he would want that after I told him the truth of why I’d been sent to Darreth.
“Tomorrow?” I asked Anwen.
Emrys had likely already been on his way back from the meeting when I was taken from the tent. Why such a long delay?
“I said Maelric’s men would be an issue. My watchers reported that your prince has already been attacked.”
“Is Emrys okay?”
“…He is.” Her hesitation made my stomach drop like a stone.
“Then why did you say it that way?” I winced, hearing the harshness in my words. Anwen was showing me kindness in the face of everything.
“He’s leaving none alive.” Anwen delivered the line casually, as though it was of little consequence. I didn’t have to be an empath to realize she was hiding behind a mask of indifference.
“My father is Gelidian. My brothers serve a lord in Larethia. My allegiance is only to my family. So…I’m sorry about your countrymen… I don’t want your people, any people, to die because of me.”
“It’s too late for that now,” she said curtly.
After a glare, and then a sigh, her tone softened. “You’re not to blame. Maelric and the damned Assembly are.” She was already leaving.
I reached out, allowing a tiny sliver of magic to reach her as she walked toward the door. The moment my gratitude hit her, she almost lost her balance before quickly righting herself.
The door closed behind her with a soft click of the lock sliding back into place. I hoped all this meant that Anwen was closer to friend than foe.
Still, I was left shaking my head in the quiet with the taste of apple on my tongue and the first inklings of how big the thing I’d just started might become.