Chapter 9
The wind howls through the cliffs. I grip the rock until my knuckles ache, and then I close my eyes. Hatred for Taliesin Wynn burns at the back of my throat. He’s making me count the Order members below, marking how many he needs to kill. They could be my friends. My confidantes.
Except all of them hate you, a voice hisses in the back of my mind.
Shivering from the cold, I press my fingers into the talisman embedded in the back of my neck. “Trefnydd.”
Magic wends through me, as soft and sweet as a lullaby.
Unlike my necromancy, the Order’s magic takes nothing from me.
It brushes against my skin like a feather, or warms me like a bowl of soup after hours in the borderlands.
It dances at my fingertips, and I reach out, calling to it.
The magic is linked to every talisman in service to the Order. Any others nearby will answer.
But nothing happens.
I frown and reach out again. Still nothing. The absence of magic is deafening. This is one of the first spells the Order teaches new Swynwragedd. One of the simplest. Our talismans are part of us. They’re all linked. Which means…
I open my eyes to find Taliesin watching me with a furious intensity.
His brow is drawn tight, his body is tense.
It’s almost like he…fears what I’m doing.
But that’s ridiculous. His magic far exceeds mine, at least the spells granted by the Order.
And he’s not bound by any constraints, like we are.
“There are no Order members here.” I keep my voice low, in case someone is listening.
The crease between his brow deepens. “I saw movement below. Someone’s here.”
I shake my head. “Not someone from the Order.”
Wariness flickers across his face as my thoughts begin to race. What was it the dead man said? He insisted someone planned to trap the exile on the M?rfaen Cliffs, but he never said who. In fact, he warned me not to come here…
Of course. It must be the rebels.
My heart pounds. The rebels won’t care who I am. They’ll take me captive, too—or worse. I thrust my wrists toward Taliesin, wincing as the chain rattles far too loudly. I won’t be used as bait. Not for them.
“Release me,” I say in a low voice. “Before they realize we’re here.”
“We don’t even know who it is yet. Or how many. I—”
“Release me, or I will scream.”
His eyes flash. “Scream, and I will toss you into the sea.”
“You wouldn’t,” I hiss.
A wicked smile curves his lips. “Try me.”
“You cannot seriously mean to keep me chained when rebels are about to ambush us,” I snap, shoving my hands into his chest. “Get me out of these fucking things.”
He mutters something beneath his breath, too low for me to catch, then surprises me by pulling a key from his cloak. With another quiet curse, he unlocks the chains. The metal drops away, and with it, my panic. Cool sea air brushes over my reddened skin, and for a moment, I can breathe.
Then the chain rolls across the path and slides over the cliff’s edge.
I go still. Taliesin’s jaw tightens. The metal strikes the rock, echoing all around us.
“Well, fuck,” Taliesin mutters.
A shout erupts below. Boots thunder on stone. Some come from ahead, some from behind. The sound builds until it feels like the cliffs are closing in around us.
Cursing, Taliesin shoves me behind him, pinning me between his body and the rock face. My hands tremble as I draw my dagger. He glances over my shoulder, catching sight of it.
“Do you know how to use that?” he asks.
“In the most basic sense, yes.”
“Give it to me.”
I pull it closer instead, pressing into the rock. The shouts are nearer now. Any moment, we’ll be surrounded.
“Give it to me,” he repeats, checking the path over his shoulder. “And I swear I won’t let them take you.”
“What about your magic? And your sword?”
His jaw hardens. “Just give me the fucking dagger, Swynwraig.”
I don’t know what possesses me to obey. Maybe it’s the four cloaked figures rushing down the path behind him. Maybe it’s the burn rising in my throat. Or maybe it’s the look in his eyes. There’s something about it that makes me believe he’ll protect me, at least from this.
I pass him the dagger. Our fingers brush. A shiver sweeps across me, startling me, and I jerk back my hand. Whatever I thought I saw in his expression vanishes. Anger flashes in his eyes, and he turns away again, drawing his sword and squaring his body toward the path.
The cloaked figures slow as they approach.
The Order’s star emblem clasp rests in the hollows of their throat.
Their tunics are woven from fine linens, their leather armor burnished smooth.
I sniff the air, and the sweet scent of magic floods my senses.
They look like the Order. They smell like the Order.
And yet…my talisman didn’t recognize theirs.
Impossible.
Two Rhyfelwyr step ahead of the others, their swords drawn. They assess Taliesin carefully, keeping just beyond his reach. Tense silence stretches between us, and after a moment, they lean toward each other and whisper.
The exile’s body seems to hum with barely contained power.
“What do you make of this?” he murmurs over his shoulder.
“Rogues,” I say under my breath. “I thought they were a myth.”
Rebels are civilians who turn on the kingdom. They choose the brutality of the wilds over the Order’s protection, all to plot and scheme its destruction. No Swynwragedd have ever joined them. No Rhyfelwyr, either.
But there are stories of those who turn rogue. They carve their talismans from their bodies and run from their duties, disappearing into underground caverns and living under the feet of the Order they abandoned.
Some say the magic burns them out. Others claim it’s the weight of what they’ve done in the Order’s name.
It haunts them, eats them up inside. And others insist they’re building an army.
One day, they will rise up. And the people who once protected the kingdom will be the ones to bring it to its knees.
More rogues appear on our right flank. At least a dozen now surrounds us, too many for any one fighter. Even Osian would struggle against this many.
This isn’t the Order. It isn’t even the rebels, people I can understand. We have no idea what these rogues want from us. What do they eat, buried in their caverns? What do they become? What if…what if the worst stories are true about them?
I swallow, my heart pounding. Focus. If I could lure one close enough, I could kill him with my touch. But that would still leave eleven more.
A hooded Rhyfelwr steps closer.
Taliesin snarls, raising the sword and dagger in unison. “Stay back.”
The Rhyfelwr ignores him, inching closer. There’s a hollowness in his eyes that unnerves me. My hands clench as I glance toward the others on our right. While I was focused on him, they’ve drawn closer, and their eyes…are vacant and black.
A shudder wracks through me.
Thunder splits the sky. Rain slashes down in icy sheets. Taliesin whirls toward me, an arm locking around my waist.
“Hold on,” he shouts.
I clutch at his neck, driven by pure instinct. Then the ground vanishes. We’re hurled into the storm, through rain and wind and open air, toward the churning sea below. I open my mouth to scream, but my panic traps the sound in my throat. Only a broken whimper scrapes free.
The moment seems to last an age.
I look down. We’re plummeting closer to the sea with every heartbeat. The waves seem to yawn beneath us like a dark, waiting mouth.
I’m going to die.
Then stone cuts into view.
My boots slam into a narrow ledge. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, pain shuddering through me.
I crumple beneath the onslaught of rain and wind, but Taliesin’s grip stays firm around me, like he’s refusing to let me fall.
I look up, meet his gaze, and recognize the grim resignation in his expression.
My heart pounds. He knew this ledge was here. He saved me, though it would have been the perfect opportunity to get rid of me. He knows I was sent to kill him. Leaving me with those rogues, no matter what they might have done, would have been safest for him. And he saved me, anyway.
I want to ask why, but there’s no time. The rogues are on the move.
Several more rush up from below. Taliesin releases me, spinning toward the first attacker. He strikes the sword into the rogue’s heart before she can swing. When he pulls it free, her body tumbles over the cliff’s edge.
Two more advance, but he dispatches them easily—dagger against one, sword against the other—while a fourth turns and flees.
It’s clear they’re no match for him without a coordinated attack.
I glance up at the ledge above, frowning.
Why haven’t the others followed? We only jumped a short way down, bypassing a small section of the path.
A heavy net of iron plummets toward us. I scream and stumble back as it crashes onto Taliesin. He roars, body buckling, knees slamming into the ledge. The metal coils around him like a snake and pins him in place. Panic crushes my chest, and I open my mouth in a wordless cry.
I know what this is. The Order used this trap before, long enough to send him into exile. The iron net is the only thing capable of numbing his powers. Powers he wasn’t even using against the rogues, so they must intend it for something else.
If the net can suppress his control over ice, surely it can suppress his god-like ability to heal.
My stomach churns. They mean to kill him.
He curves over the ground with his palms pressed against the stone, shuddering.
Mouth dry, I kneel beside him and examine the net.
Tiny links are woven together, like a warrior’s chainmail.
I grab a fistful and pull with all my strength, but the mesh doesn’t give.
If I’m going to break it, I’m going to need more than my bare hands.
I shake my head. I don’t have time to figure this out. Taliesin strains against the net, trying to leverage his weight, but the chain slides around him, slick with rain. From further up the cliff, a shout echoes, followed by the scrape of boots on stone. They’re coming.
“How do I get you out of here?” I shout over the roar of the storm.
He meets my gaze through the net, and the haunted look in his eyes makes me tremble. My mind races. Pry? Cut? I have nothing for that.
Think, Angharad.
I grab the iron and yank and twist and strain against its strength. Taliesin does nothing but watch me struggle, like he’s already given up. Sweat beads on my brow, despite the storm’s bitter chill. Breath heaving, I try again, but it’s no use. The iron is unbreakable.
I stumble back, rain plastering my hair to my face. The sound of boots grows louder. They’ll catch up any moment now, and Taliesin will be hopelessly trapped.
A glint of metal catches my eye. The sword.
It’s at the edge of the path, next to the fallen chains, teetering halfway toward falling off.
It must have slipped from Taliesin’s hands when the net fell.
My fingers close around it, and I slam it down on the edge of the mesh.
The impact rattles through my bones, sparks flying into the gloom of the storm.
Taliesin finally moves, pushing against the chains again. His fingers tense, and the scent of magic soaks the air before fading. His rain-slick body shivers with effort, but he can’t use his power—the only thing that would truly help.
Again. And again. I hack at the net, breath ragged.
The sound of the storm and the shouts behind me blur into a single, chaotic roar.
My focus narrows on the mesh. Nothing exists but this fight, this desperate need to free him.
I don’t even know why. He is my enemy in every meaning of the word.
But something deep inside me drives to break him free.
A section finally gives, just barely. Gritting my teeth, I haul back the sword and strike with every ounce of strength. The chain snaps.
Taliesin bursts free.
And it’s as if he’s transformed. His shoulders go rigid, and a shadow falls across his face.
He vibrates with anger, his narrowed eyes locked on the path where the rogues have arrived.
Heat drains from the air so quickly my lungs seize on the next breath.
As he steps toward the enemy, the ground beneath his feet crackles.
Frost races outward in wicked veins. The rain slows…
then stops, the droplets suspended between air and earth like shards of glass.
I can feel the blood in my veins begin to slow.
For a heartbeat, it feels like nothing will survive this moment unless he allows it. Including me.
He growls a single word. “Run.”