Chapter 8 #2
And if he can, why does he need me to distract the Order?
I imagine a wall of frost would be distraction enough.
He could even shatter every Rhyfelwr and Swynwraig waiting for him.
But if he hasn’t come to that realization himself, I won’t help him to it.
The Order…they’re my family. It’s the only one I have.
Taliesin lifts me from the saddle and sets me on the ground, drawing the chain taut between us before I can dart away. It pulls me closer. Instinctively, my hands rise and my fingers splay across his chest.
His breath hitches.
The sound is so slight I’m not certain it’s what I heard, but the harsh edge to his expression softens. Beneath my palms, his heartbeat pounds.
Heat climbs up my neck. I push him away, but it’s less forceful than I intend, so all it does is put a hand’s breadth between us. It’s enough. The softness in his eyes vanishes, snatched away by the roaring wind. Lightening forks through the sky, illuminating the looming cliffs up ahead.
“Come on,” he says gruffly. “A storm’s coming. We don’t want to be out here when it hits.”
“The Order won’t have shelter.”
“Their problem. Not mine.” He tugs at the chain, and I have no choice but to follow.
I glare at his back. “Except you’re leaving me here with them. I won’t have shelter, either.”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? You came here to kill me, Swynwraig.”
I open my mouth, then snap it shut. Fucking stars.
He must have heard it from the dream version of me.
But how? And more importantly, who has actually been visiting him?
Someone from the Order? No, to have that kind of magic, it would have to be someone old.
Someone who was born before the stars died, carried magic inside them, and managed to survive the Culling.
There are only a handful of elves who did. None are members of the Order, not as far as I know. They keep to themselves, ears clipped at the tips, dressed in black, as if in mourning for the world they once knew.
And whoever it is, they want to stop me. They want to stop the Order from bringing back the gods.
Who would benefit from that?
I stop short. The Kingdom of Gelyn.
Taliesin frowns over his shoulder. “Why have you stopped?”
“Can’t we talk about this for a moment?” I hold up my hands, the chains clinking. “None of this adds up. Your dreams. The two of us just happening to be at the same inn on the same night. A random Order member dead at the edge of nowhere…”
He nods. “Trust me, I’ve thought the same. It’s all too much of a coincidence. But whoever put this in motion didn’t account for you resurrecting that dead man. The trap up ahead…they won’t know we’ve seen it coming.”
I frown. “That still doesn’t explain the dreams.”
“No, it doesn’t.” His gaze rakes over me. “You’re certain you have no recollection of any of this?”
My stomach twists at his choice of words.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something I can’t remember.
Every time I use my power, it takes a piece of me with it.
But most of my lost memories are from so long ago, it hardly matters.
I don’t need to recall the toys I loved as a child or the angry voice of a drunken father who never wanted me.
Everything from the past fifteen years is still fixed in my mind. Those are the memories that matter.
“How long ago was this?” I ask.
“It started about ten years ago,” he says quietly. “And ended only a few months back.”
The wind whistles between us, and another flash of lightning scores the darkening sky.
“Then I’m sure,” I say. “It wasn’t me.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. Without another word, Taliesin turns and strides toward the narrow path carved into the cliffside, dragging me along behind him. I don’t protest, if only because I’m too tired to try.
We start down, pebbles sliding beneath our boots.
To the left, the world falls away into open air.
I press a hand to the rock face on my right and peer down at the sea below, its spray painting the stones an even darker gray.
Despite the biting cold, sweat dampens the back of my neck.
Every new gust of wind threatens my balance.
One wrong step, and I’m dead.
Suddenly, Taliesin drops to one knee behind a jagged outcropping of rock. I duck down beside him, a cold unease slithering through me. Have we already been seen?
He presses a finger to his lips, then points. Down. At the sea.
I shake my head. I’m not going down there. Is he mad?
He leans closer—so close that his rich scent washes over me. His lips graze my ear. I shiver involuntarily, cursing my body for betraying me. But he doesn’t seem to notice.
Instead, he murmurs, “Use your magic and tell me how many there are, Swynwraig.”
I jerk away. “Why, so you can decide if you can kill them all? How many can you freeze with one burst of power? Dozens, I heard.” Or more.
“Tell me how many.” He tucks a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head so I’m forced to meet his narrowed gaze. “Or I will toss you into the sea.”