Chapter 5
“It can’t be,” someone whispers. “Firebirds don’t come this far north.”
He’s right. They don’t. And they usually don’t venture into the midlands, either. It’s been years since I’ve spotted one near Caer Draen. Osian often jokes they were smart enough to finally abandon this dreary, war-torn continent for warmer climes.
I find myself crossing the floor and stepping into the biting cold, gazing in the direction of the fire. It’s far too dark now, and the howling wind drowns out any sounds of a fight. For a long moment, I stand there frozen, uncertain what to do—if there’s anything I even can do.
It’s not like I would fare any better against a firebird than those three would, and yet I can’t shake the feeling I should do something.
If Osian were here, he would.
A screech echoes from somewhere nearby.
Run, my body urges. But my mind screams at me to stay still. The last thing I want is to catch the attention of a firebird. All I have is a dagger—Seren and Lowri refused to let me bring a sword. Not that I would ever use either against these creatures. They’re sacred.
The wind scrapes against me, and I shudder. Another plume of fire ripples across the distant hill. This time, there’s no sign of the cloaked man or the couple. Have they gotten away?
A sudden wall of heat slams into my back, the acrid scent of fire enveloping me. A feral growl rumbles only steps behind.
My body goes rigid. I can’t breathe. Or even think. My gaze snaps to the open door. Only a few small steps, and I can be back inside the inn, where it’s safe. Our stone buildings were built to withstand nearly anything, even a firebird’s flames.
Another hot breath caresses my neck.
Swallowing, I slowly turn toward the creature. Nearly as tall as the tower, she takes up my entire field of vision. Her orange feathers shimmer, even in the darkness.
Gleaming black eyes stare down at me. Saliva drips from her mouth and sizzles where it hits the ground. Slowly—so slowly I’m not certain what I’m doing at first—I lower to one knee and bow. Blasphemy. Treason. Betrayal to our king.
The firebird hums. The sound rises and falls like a melody, cascading all around me. I shudder, overwhelmed as raw emotion swells in my chest. It almost sounds like…like a song.
I breathe it in. It’s been so long since I’ve heard music that wasn’t approved by the Order.
“Get away from her!” The roar comes from behind the firebird.
The song cuts off, and the creature whips toward the trembling, white-faced couple behind her. They both holds swords, waving the blades at the creature.
For a moment, a tense silence grips the air.
Then the firebird widens her maw and emits a sound that feels like a saw cutting through the very fabric of the world.
The smaller of the two elves swings her sword. It arcs through the air, coming perilously close to slashing the bird’s gut.
“Stop!” I cry out. “You can’t harm her!”
But it’s too late.
The firebird sees them for the threat they are. The creature slashes her talons at the woman, and the sharp tip punches through her chest. The woman screams. Blood sprays from the gaping wound. She collapses, her head hitting the ground with a nauseating crunch.
Still trembling, the man shouts wordlessly and drives forward at the beast.
His blade slices the firebird’s leg, spraying dark blood into the air. He pulls his sword to his chest, then lunges.
The world around me seems to slow. I reach out, desperate to stop him, but all I can do is watch in horror.
He stabs the creature’s gut. A horrible crunch follows.
The firebird screams—a terrible, mournful wail, like her earlier song has been twisted into pain. She beats her powerful wings once, then twice, and then she’s gone, hurtling into the blackness of the sky.
“Get inside!” The shout comes from the hills behind me.
I whirl toward the sound, heart hammering. The cloaked stranger rushes down the hill, three firebirds in blazing pursuit. Each one is at least twice as large as the first, their golden plumes so bright it feels like staring into the sun.
“Inside!” the stranger shouts again.
Flames fill the air.
The inn’s door bursts open. Someone grabs my arm and yanks me inside. The stranger and the trembling man stumble in just behind me, barely ahead of the creatures. With a heavy slam, the door shuts, cutting off the heat of the firebird’s flames.
Silence crashes over the room. The innkeeper grips the counter, knuckles white, eyes wide with fear.
A scorched scent hangs in the air. I catch a glimpse at the trembling man’s face—ashen, eyes locked on his boots, where the firebird’s dark blood stains the leather.
“You…you killed one?” the innkeeper whispers.
The man flinches. His voice is rough, ragged. “Efa’s dead. And you care more about the damn firebirds?”
The innkeeper looks down at the counter, silent. Our firebirds are sacred. Their blood is never to be spilled.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” the stranger growls at the man. Then, with a brusque shake of his head, he throws up his hands and stalks up the stairs, leaving the rest of us frozen in shock.
The cry of gulls pierces my dreamless sleep. I burrow deeper beneath the covers, reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth. Then a hundred different aches lance through me, jolting me awake. My breath fogs the cold air. Above, mildew crawls over an unfamiliar ceiling of pale gray stone.
This is not home.
My blood runs cold as the reality of my situation comes into focus.
After the firebird attack last night, I went straight to bed, barely touching the rest of my dinner. I found I didn’t have much of an appetite after seeing a woman’s chest ripped open.
I am only one day into my assignment, and already I’ve stared into the face of death. I shudder to imagine what today might bring.
A sigh escapes between my lips, but I force myself to move. Fresh aches flare through my body as I climb out from beneath the heavy blanket and look around the room. I didn’t pay much attention to it when I crawled into bed last night.
The curved interior holds only a few key pieces. The small bed takes up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a weathered armoire and a faded armchair beside the window, positioned to face the view.
I pad across the thin carpet, curiosity tugging me forward.
The edge of the ridge is only a few feet from the base of the tower.
Beyond it, verdant hills roll toward a wash of endless blue, capped with white peaks that seem to dance to the beat of the sea’s drum.
An angry sky churns above them in swirls of black and gray.
In the distance, far from where I stand, a bolt of lightning tears through the clouds.
The world brightens, then sinks back into shadow.
My breath hitches. It’s a stunning portrait. The kind of sight I imagine elves of old painted on their canvases or wrote songs about. My fingers itch, like they always do when I’m struck by something beautiful.
The urge to draw suddenly overwhelms me. I’m so far from the all-seeing eyes of the Order. No one would ever know.
I exhale and clench my hands into fists. No. It’s not safe. Someone might have alerted the Order to the firebird attack last night. They could already be on their way to assess the situation. I can’t risk the wrong person arriving, bursting through the door, and catching me in the act.
I change into a fresh pair of trousers and warm socks, then head down the stairwell. As I descend, the scent of cooked meat drifts up to meet me. A pang of hunger twists through my stomach, and only then do I realize how little I’ve eaten since leaving Caer Draen.
The taproom is empty—for the most part. Only the cloaked stranger has ventured downstairs for breakfast this morning. He sits at one of the long tables, his plate overflowing with sausage and eggs. When he notices me hovering by the door, he waves for me to join him.
Eyeing him, I walk to the other side of the table and ease onto the bench.
Pale sunlight slants through the nearby window, illuminating the silver tones of his hair.
He’s striking. The kind of person everyone stares at when he enters a room.
Many would love to command that kind of attention, but I’ve never much liked the idea of being so perceived.
The innkeeper must hear my footsteps, because she bustles through a door with a platter of food. She gives us a wary look before hurrying out of sight again. I frown after her. Surely she doesn’t blame last night’s events on me.
The smell of warm bread draws my attention. My plate holds several slices, along with a measure of eggs, a few slabs of sausage, and a generous helping of golden butter. I choose a slice and make quick work of buttering it. The first bite practically melts in my mouth.
A long moment passes where the only sounds are the scrape of my knife against the bread and the howl of the wind outside. I notice the stranger is watching me, a little too closely. My pulse skips. There’s something distinctly off about him.
After I’ve eaten enough to quiet the worst of the hunger, I brave the question I’ve been dying to ask.
“So,” I say, meeting the stranger’s icy gaze, “why did you run straight into danger last night? You seemed awfully eager to fight whoever was out there. Or warn them.”
“You want to know if I’m a rebel.” He glances at the plain clasp at my neck. “You know that doesn’t fool anyone. The scent of magic clings to you, Swynwraig.”
“Just because I’m a Swynwraig doesn’t mean I’m with the Order,” I say quickly.
“Hmm. Except you can only become a Swynwraig if you’ve joined. They don’t let anyone else have access to magic.”
I pick at my sausage, the fragmented pieces of my childhood haunting the back of my mind.
My magic likes to destroy those memories the most, so it’s difficult to remember how and when and why I came to join the Order.
Mostly, I know I had my magic before they called on me, but only my necromancy.
Everything else came later, just as it does for everyone else.
“You’re right. I was once a member. But now I’m not.” I clear my throat. “You didn’t answer my question. If you’d run into rebels instead of firebirds, would you have fought them…or helped them?”
He arches a silver brow, and the corner of his mouth quirks. “If you’re not from the Order, I’m not sure why it matters.”
“Call it curiosity.” I shrug, taking another bite of my bread.
He studies me for a long moment. Too long. My stomach knots.
“I’m not one of them,” he eventually says.
I arch a brow. “I find that hard to believe.”
“They’re too chaotic for their own good. Usually, I stay out of it, but lately, they’ve been making things difficult around here. And killing horses? That would be a new low, one that might suggest they planned to attack the inn. That’s why I went outside last night.”
“And you have the training to fight them?”
His lips curve into a dangerous smile. “It didn’t escape my notice that you also went outside, Swynwraig.”
And it doesn’t escape my notice that he didn’t answer my question.
“Yes, well, that was after I saw the firebirds.”
“So you thought you might help,” he murmurs, leaning just slightly closer. “Tell me, how exactly what that work? You left the Order. Surely they took your talisman.” His gaze flicks over me. “Which means you can’t wield their magic anymore.”
He knows about the talismans. Interesting. Most people don’t. How would he…?
I fight the urge to reach behind my hair and brush my fingertips across the metal talisman embedded there. If I lie, he can easily learn the truth. Just a glimpse of the back of my neck would reveal it.
I glance at the kitchen door. The innkeeper is nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t listening through the thin wood. I lower my voice, meeting his gaze again.
“I ran, all right? I wanted to get away from the Order.”
He meets my gaze across the table, weighing my words against everything he knows. If I ran, the Order would send Rhyfelwyr after me, which means that door could burst open at any moment, or he could earn a fortune for returning me.
Unease ripples through me. I shouldn’t have said all this.
Heart pounding, I grip the table and stand. “Well…it was nice meeting you, I suppose. Enjoy the rest of your meal. Try to stay out of the path of more firebirds.”
I turn toward the stairs. If I want to reach the exile’s tower by nightfall, I need to leave soon, assuming nothing stands in my way. Like this unsettling stranger. Hopefully, he’ll forget all about me once I’m gone.
“Wait,” he calls out.
I clench my teeth and pause, though I don’t immediately turn. I should ignore him. Maybe when I return to the taproom with my pack, he’ll be gone. Or maybe he’ll still be sitting there, waiting. I exhale and glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me intently.
“Yes?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“The Order will never stop looking for you,” he says. “But I know somewhere you’ll be safe.”
My heart flutters beneath my ribs. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I know where I’m going.”
He rises, and his eyes never leave mine. “It’s dangerous out there. Far too dangerous for someone to travel alone.” His voice goes hard. “I insist.”