Chapter 7
Did he see me talking to the corpse?
I’m not sure how I’d explain it if he did. Normal people don’t go around chatting with the dead. He’d suspect what I am. And then he will know I’m no ordinary Swynwraig and certainly no ordinary fugitive fleeing the Order.
Heart thudding against my ribs, I kneel and search the dead man’s cloak. The pockets are bare. I even check the back of his neck, finding only the rough hollow where his talisman should be. The attackers were thorough.
The stranger’s boots crunch on the scattered rocks as he rounds the tree.
I don’t look up, focusing on the man’s trouser pockets.
Heat blooms on my cheeks, and sweat dampens my forehead, betraying the turmoil I fight to hide.
Even the wind seems to conspire against me by lifting the scent of my magic into the air.
“Are you stealing from the dead?” he asks in a low voice. Somewhere above, the gulls cry.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m looking for his mission document.”
A long moment passes in silence, the cool wind whispering across my skin. I check the final pocket before standing and brushing imaginary dust from my knees. Anything to keep my hands from trembling.
“What did you think you would find?”
“Something about me?” I brace, turning to face him. That ancient, terrible glint has vanished from his eyes, but the distrust—or anger—remains. “I don’t think the Order would guess I came this way, but you can never be too careful.”
He flashes me a smile that’s all teeth. “I heard your voice. I can smell your magic. What were you doing, Swynwraig?”
My stomach twists.
“Nothing,” I say, scrambling for an explanation.
“I mean, I tried to do something, but it didn’t work very well.
I thought I could use my magic to get an echo of what happened here.
But it didn’t work. All I heard was voices talking about the M?rfaen Cliffs.
” I give him a timid smile. “My magic has never been very good. That’s why I don’t think the Order will be quick to send someone after me.
They probably don’t even care I ran. I’m that useless. ”
Stars, what an unconvincing story. That kind of magic isn’t available anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t know that.
“The M?rfaen Cliffs.” The stranger lifts his gaze to the horizon, his expression thoughtful.
“That’s right,” I say.” So, we should probably avoid them. I didn’t intend to get that close the wards, anyway. Especially with the exile there.”
I watch him carefully for a reaction. If he’s the exile, surely some shift in his expression will give him away. A clench of his jaw. A flicker of recognition. Anything. But as he stares toward the coast, his face is made of stone.
“You found no mission document,” he says, “so we can’t be sure they’re not here for you.”
I frown. “I suppose that’s true. Another reason we should avoid the cliffs.”
I mentioned them hoping to warn him away. If he is the exile and the Order has set a trap there…well, I can’t let them catch him. If I did, they’d earn a reward for his capture while Osian remained trapped in the examination rooms. I’m the one that has to do it.
The High Swynwragedd are cunning. They’ll say I failed. I can already hear their voices echoing in my mind, condemning my oldest friend to a lifetime of mindless captivity. All because I can’t bear to lose him.
After too long, the stranger nods, sending a shiver of relief through me. “Of course. You wanted to head east toward the borderlands, anyway. The road forks in another mile or so. I’ll point you in the right direction.”
I blink. “You’ll what?”
“Point you in the right direction,” he repeats. “We’re out of the dangerous hills now. You won’t run into any rebels along the coast. Is that not what you want?”
My heart pounds. This isn’t what I expected. He’s simply accompanying me through the dangerous lands and then letting me go, like he promised. I glance at his neck, despite myself. His skin is as smooth as ice. No traitor mark in sight.
Maybe he really isn’t the exile. Maybe my paranoia has gotten the better of me.
“Where will you go?” I ask, though I suspect I already know his answer.
“I am no rebel, but I’m no friend to the Order, either.” His icy gaze meets mine, and a shiver runs down my spine. “If they’re on those cliffs, it’s for nothing good.”
My mouth goes dry. “I thought you said they might be here for me.”
“Maybe so. If they are, someone needs to stop them. And if it’s for another reason?
It won’t be good for those of us who live out here, Swynwraig.
” He steps closer, the wind tugging at his cloak.
“I’m sure you’ve spent most of your life in Caer Draen.
Things are different out here in the hills. We have to look out for ourselves.”
I tip back my head to gaze up at him, my heart hammering a painful beat. “I don’t think you should go.”
He chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me. You don’t even know my name.”
“What is it, then?” I counter. “Tell me who you are.”
Slowly, he takes my hand in his. A sudden heat coils in my chest. His eyes never leave mine as he lifts my fingers to his neck, brushing my knuckles against the smooth, unmarked skin at the base of his throat.
“Anghel.” His voice vibrates against my skin, something in him thudding against me like a heartbeat.
Black lines crawl across his neck, like an unseen hand is inking them right before me. A circle forms, soon filled by two black lines. The traitor mark. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
Alarm doesn’t come, even if I don’t understand this strange, impossible magic that’s hidden his mark.
If anything, there’s only grim resignation.
I’ve known who he is all along. My excuses and denials were flimsy at best. And now that he’s revealed himself to me, he either trusts me… or wants me dead.
“You don’t look surprised,” he says, still pressing my hand against his throat. I could kill him with a single word, whispered into the small space between us. My fingers twitch around his, and a knot of fear and anticipation tightens in my chest.
“I’d be a fool not to suspect it,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.
“True. I saw it in your eyes when you walked into the inn last night. The dead man confirmed it for you, though.”
I swallow. My throat is dry, but the tingling in my skin makes me feel impossibly alive. As much danger as I’ve faced before, nothing compares to this: staring into the eyes of the most dangerous man in the realm. I could end him with a word, but he could do the same to me.
“I know what you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen you in my darkest dreams.”
My lungs freeze, and the world narrows to him. Taliesin Wynn—the unstable, violent exile—leans closer and tucks a windswept strand of hair behind my ear while my hands remain locked around his throat.
“Necromancer,” he breathes. “Commander of the dead.”
I dig my fingers into the hollow of his throat. “Call me that again, and I will kill you where you stand.”
“Do it, then,” he dares. “Say the word with your perfect little mouth.”
Then his earlier confession strikes me like a coastal storm. He’s dreamt of me. But that doesn’t make sense. We’ve never met.
He nods, like he’s reading the realization in my eyes. “Oh yes, I’ve dreamt of you, Angharad Morgan. More than once. But…” His head tilts. “You looked different then.”
I flinch back and wrench my hand free, nearly stumbling over the rocks. The traitor mark fades into nothing.
“How do you know my name?” I ask, my pulse hammering.
“You told me. In my dreams. I know it sounds mad, but—”
“I don’t believe you.” I narrow my eyes. “Why are you doing this? Is it some kind of sick joke?”
“I wish it were,” he muses. “She warned me to stay away from you, to avoid Caer Draen, the borderlands, and the Order, so we would never come into contact. She—you—said us meeting will be the undoing of both of us. And yet here you are. It seems you can’t escape fate, no matter how far you run.”
His words echo in my ears. None of this makes sense—it sounds absurd—and yet…a strange sense of knowing runs through my veins, like my soul recognizes the truth in what he’s said. Something terrible will happen because we’ve met.
“I need to sit down,” I say, my voice thin.
My knees tremble beneath me. Taliesin grips my arm, steadying me. I look up into his eyes, searching for reassurance, but he looks almost as lost as I feel.
This dream magic…it isn’t new. Before the stars vanished, some could wield it, but since then, no one has. I certainly can’t. So if a vision of me has reached him, I don’t know how. All I know is a power that great should never be ignored. It will turn on you the moment it is.
He should have left the inn the moment he saw me.
“Why did you speak to me?” I ask roughly. “Why insist on travelling together? You could have just let me go.”
“After dreaming of you for a decade, I couldn’t bear to walk away.
” He smiles grimly. “And I thought you might try to kill me last night. When you didn’t…
I wanted to see what you would do next. You seemed to know who I am but then acted like you wanted to get away.
I don’t know, Swynwraig. You’ve scrambled my mind. ”
“Your mind is scrambled?” I laugh bitterly. “How do you think I feel? I knew nothing about any of this.”
He nods. “Clearly this is the start of something. I just don’t know what.”
“Or it’s the end,” I say, taking a step away from him. “We go our separate ways at the fork in the road, like the vision told you to do.”
Silence flows between us. Above, the sky has darkened, and the wind’s touch has grown bitterly cold. Up the hill, the horses bray, sensing the turn in weather. We’ve spent too long dwelling on a dead man and parsing dreams and portents. A brief pause has stretched into an hour—or more.
“We should go,” I say again. “And take the separate paths.”
“I just have one question for you, Swynwraig.” His gaze pins me. “Why are you here? I know you’re not running from the Order.”