Chapter 11
Taliesin hoists me onto his shoulder, the chains rattling like thunder.
And then he runs.
I clutch his back, peering through the hair plastered to my face, to see the post I was just holding snapped in half, like a bolt of lightning struck it.
Rope threads break free, unravelling. In moments, the whole thing is going down.
And us along with it. I dig my fingers into Taliesin’s back, shaking.
Sensing my fear, Taliesin leaps the remaining distance, landing heavily on the stone entryway.
The impact jolts me, snapping my teeth together and sending a ringing through my skull.
Behind us, the last rope snaps. The bridge collapses and plunges into the froth below, planks vanishing like they never existed.
Taliesin sets me down gently. I expect to find him frowning at the gaping hole, having come to the same understanding I have. That was the only way to and from this tower. We’re trapped here until we can build another bridge.
But he doesn’t look back. Instead, his focus is on the tower. His body hums, muscles taut with tension. The tower door creaks as it swings in the wind, then violently slams against the frame. Muddy footprints stain the floor just inside.
Ominous. But as far as I can tell, no one’s near.
Ignoring his hesitation, I step over the threshold to get out of the rain. The instant my skin touches the calm, dry air, relief unspools in my chest. Stars be damned, that wind nearly drove me mad. I loose a ragged sigh, letting the stillness wash over me.
Taliesin makes no move to follow. He stands in the downpour, droplets tracing wet lines down his face.
“Careful,” he warns. “Looks like the rogues checked here first. Or some are still waiting.”
“I can see that.” I hold up my wrists. Again. “I can’t fight them chained. And besides, it’s not like I can escape now.”
“They know what I’ve been doing,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.
Despite my sheer exhaustion, curiosity pricks the back of my mind.
“Who knows what you’ve been doing? The rogues?”
His eyes slide to mine. “Someone does.”
A tremor goes through me, whether it’s from fear or anticipation or something else entirely, I don’t know. I’m not sure what he’s implying. Does he think I know his secrets? Or that I sent someone else ahead of me to uncover them while I kept him distracted?
Hmm, that wouldn’t have been a terrible idea, actually.
Wind screams past the tower, strong enough to force Taliesin to step inside, barely avoiding a broken tree limb as it plummets from the sky.
It crashes onto the entryway, blocking the open door and spraying a plume dirt and water-logged leaves toward us.
Coughing, I shield my face, but it doesn’t stop the dread from pooling in my gut.
We were already stuck because of the bridge, but now we’re really trapped.
“Well, fuck,” Taliesin sighs.
Another crash sounds from deeper in the tower. I grab his arm and freeze, staring into the cloying darkness. The sudden silence feels suffocating, like the tower has sucked all the sound from the world, leaving only my thundering heartbeat.
It must be more of those rogues…
Taliesin glances up at the ceiling, his thoughts clearly mirroring mine. This would be a much better place to trap him. Hang the net above, wait for him to step into place, and drop it before he suspects a thing. He lowers his gaze to mine and shakes his head. There’s nothing there.
He draws the sword and motions me behind him. I frown but let him take the lead, falling into place a step back. My gaze drifts to the sodden tunic clinging to his defined shoulders, his sculpted back. An unwelcome flare of heat warms my chest.
I shouldn’t be noticing things like that. What would Osian think?
At the thought of him, a wave of helplessness rolls over me, threatening to pull me under.
How will I ever get back to his side? What will happen to him if I do?
Even if I make it back to Caer Draen alive, it won’t be with another successful mission notched to my name.
There must be another way, but what is it?
All I know is the High Swynwragedd are determined to pick him apart until they know exactly how my magic works. They will never stop.
Not unless I kill Taliesin Wynn.
I stare at his back as we inch down the shadowed corridor. I could do it now. He wouldn’t understand what was happening until it was already too late, and maybe not even then. Death at my hand is quick. Merciful.
I only planned to abandon the mission because I thought we would go our separate ways, like the vision insisted we should. But if he refuses to accept that—if he chains me to his side—what choice do I have?
He said I would be the undoing of both of us. Maybe this is what the vision meant. I kill him, raise him, and deliver him to the Order. It will destroy a piece of my soul to do it. Until now, I’ve only ever used that part of my magic to protect myself.
But maybe this is protecting myself. I don’t know what he plans to do with me here…
But no, I can’t. It’s still too early yet. I don’t know enough about him for the resurrection to stick.
We reach the end of the corridor where another door hangs open. Taliesin pushes against it, the creak of the hinges echoing through the silence. He braces himself, sword at the ready. I hold my breath and wait. The moments stretch on, but neither of us relaxes.
It isn’t until a boom of distant thunder that the tension breaks. Taliesin exhales, lowering the sword and stepping inside the room. A light flares to life a heartbeat later, and after an uncertain glance over my shoulder, I follow.
Pale yellow light spills across a spacious living area, divided into three sections by tapestries hanging from the ceiling.
I walk closer to the nearest, my eyes roving over the woven scene while Taliesin moves toward a wooden chest tucked in the back corner.
Threads of gold, deep reds, and endless blues bring the world to life.
It’s the coast in all its splendor, a brilliant sunset lighting up the sky behind it, a spiral of starlings soaring beyond the cliffs.
My chest constricts. It’s so achingly beautiful I don’t know what to do with myself, and a strange tickling goes through the back of my mind…
The Order has banned art like this. They believe it binds us to lies.
The world does not truly look like this tapestry.
It reflects it, but it isn’t the truth, like the like warped image of yourself in a rippling pond.
Close, but…wrong in ways that matter. The Order claims it’s too dangerous to get attached to such things.
If we confuse truth with art, our magic will suffer.
And we can hardly wield magic as it is, at least compared to what elves once did.
Taliesin moves to my side. “Queen Eiriol wove this tapestry herself. Or at least that’s what the merchant claimed when he sold this to me.”
I glance at him sharply. “A merchant sold you this? How?”
“The wards broke several years ago.” He smiles at my widening eyes. “As I told you, I’ve visited the Twin Talons Inn many times. There’s usually a merchant or two passing through. I’ve got trunks full of gold, so they love to trade with me, even if they suspect there’s something off about me.”
“So you’ve never told anyone who you are?”
A wistful smile crosses his face. “Only one.”
I turn back to the tapestry and try to focus on the craftsmanship. Whoever did this—if it truly was Queen Eiriol—captured the froth curling over the cresting waves. The white bleeds almost seamlessly into the blue. The starlings look like a cloud dancing in tune with the rhythm of the sea.
“So lifelike.” I brush my fingertips across the textured surface, and the chain rattles.
That sound sends the Order’s warnings flashing through my mind.
Art is wrong. Swallowing, I drop my hand to my side.
I shouldn’t take so much pleasure in this, but I’ve always struggled to see the danger in beautiful things.
I glance at the man beside me. His gaze is locked on me, the candlelight illuminating the strong curve of his jaw.
“And illegal,” I add.
“Does that truly bother you?”
“Yes.” It should, anyway.
“Hmm.”
Heat prickles beneath my skin, my breath catching just enough to annoy me. I should be mapping the angles of his throat and the distance between us, so I can put an end to this before he even sees it coming.
But…the rogues. They could still be here, and the easiest way to survive them is to let the exile turn this place into a graveyard of frozen bones.
“Should we check the rest of the tower?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves closer—close enough that I feel the shift of air between us.
I try to retreat, but the tapestry rustles against me, trapping me in place.
A part of me wants to bolt around it. Another part wants to reach out and wrap my fingers around his throat.
Both parts scream so loud that I do neither.
I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We should check for the rogues.”
“No need,” he murmurs.
A soft thud sounds above us.
I freeze, every sense sharpening. A quiet scrape echoes through the room, like claws raking across wood, and—
Something drops from the rafters.