Chapter 12
Alithe creature lands between us, no bigger than a cat. Her rich chestnut coat gleams in the candlelight, broken only by a red crescent at her throat. Her eyes catch the light as they narrow on me. She pauses, her tail flicking, like she’s deciding whether I belong.
Without warning, she swipes a paw at my boot, and her claws scrape the leather. I start, stepping back instinctively. With a satisfied growl, she circles Taliesin’s legs once before settling at his side, though her unblinking gaze never leaves me.
“A pine marten,” Taliesin says, like that explains everything. “She knocked her water basin off the table. That’s what made all that noise earlier.”
“A pine marten,” I repeat. “And she’s your…pet?”
“Bryn lives here with me, but I think she’d take offense to being called a pet.” He chuckles, and the unexpected sound sends my pulse racing.
Ignoring it, I say, “She didn’t make those footprints, though.”
“If someone were still here, Bryn would already have her claws in them.” He gestures at my scraped boots.
“Point taken.” I scan the room, uneasy. “What do you think they were after?”
“They wanted what I keep hidden in my chest.”
My gaze flicks to the corner. The chest is marred by deep gouges around its seams, but three heavy locks remain unbroken.
Dark droplets stain the floor around it, like something stopped the intruder before they got their hands on whatever lies within.
Something with claws. The pine marten purrs, vibrating with satisfaction.
Taliesin kneels and scratches Bryn beneath the chin. He whispers something to her, something that sounds an awful lot like, “What a good girl you are.”
I stare, flummoxed. The man who shatters flesh and bone with a single flick of his wrist…has a heart of tree sap for a pine marten, of all creatures.
Old tales claim pine martens guard the secrets of the borderlands, fleeing from anyone who carries a sword.
They bite when offended, claw viciously when threatened, but would go to the ends of the earth for those they favor.
Seeing Taliesin kneeling here, cooing over Bryn…
that alone reveals a softness no one would expect. Certainly not me.
But then I remember how I got here. He can be as kind as he wants to his pet, but that doesn’t change the fact he dragged me into his cursed tower in chains.
“What do you have in your trunk?” I ask in a flat voice.
He tenses, glancing up at me. “That’s not something I’m willing to share with a stranger.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “So, you’ve decided to abandon that whole story about me visiting you in your dreams for years, have you?”
“The woman in my dreams would never let the Order control her. And she’d certainly never look at a tapestry like it’s an abomination.” He stands, his hands hanging heavily by his side. “The woman in my dreams has a mind of her own. So perhaps you were right. She’s not you.”
A rush of irritation prickles my skin. “Don’t you dare insinuate I’m some kind of puppet. You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
He flinches, jaw tight, like I’ve struck him with my words. “I—”
“You think I follow blindly? That I bend to the Order without question?” I take a step closer, letting my sudden fury fill the space between us. “Do you have any idea how many things I’ve done, the choices I’ve made, just to survive?”
He looks at me then—really looks—and the tension in his shoulders softens, just a fraction. “If you don’t follow them blindly, then why are you here?”
I laugh bitterly. “Here? I’m here because they gave me no other choice.
Because they want to control me. Because they threatened the only person in the world who cares I exist.” My hands clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms. “So tell me, does that make me a puppet, or just… a person trying to survive in a world that doesn’t give her a choice? ”
The words spill out of me before I even realize it. They’ve been trapped behind my ribs for so long it feels like my chest might break. Taliesin doesn’t look away. His icy, impenetrable gaze focuses on me, chiselling at the walls I’ve built around my truth.
“I…I can’t stand their rules,” I whisper, continuing despite the horror I feel at my confession. “I hate that they make me use my magic, even though it takes a piece of me every time I do.”
There. I’ve said too much. Squeezing my hands into fists, I pace to the small window. Rain lashes the glass, the frame rattling loud enough to drown out the erratic pounding of my heart. I’ve never felt so lost in my life—so torn over what I should be doing. Why am I even saying all this?
The Order keeps the world safe. I fully believe in their cause.
And I owe them everything. They took me in when I had nothing, gifting me with their magic.
It doesn’t eat away my soul like my own does.
They keep me fed, clothed, and Seren even brought me into their inner circle when most others look at me with open disgust. But it’s true they control me.
They’ve sent me on mission after mission, never accepting refusal.
They know how indebted I am, and they use it.
Then there’s Osian. I close my eyes.
He needs me.
“There is a way out, Swynwraig,” Taliesin says from behind me.
I sigh, and that familiar ache returns to my chest, the one that feels like I’m walling off my truth so no one can ever reach it, not even me. “There’s no way out. It’s not just about me.”
A long pause follows. “Is it your partner, Osian? Have they done something to him?”
Shocked, I turn.
While I’ve been staring out the window, Taliesin has stoked the hearth to life. Firelight dances across the planes of his bare chest, illuminating a network of scars. Some are so faded they must be years old, but a few are angry and raw, like they were etched into his skin only yesterday.
My words die in my throat. I hate myself for staring, but I can’t seem to stop.
He drops his tunic into a damp heap at his feet. The pine marten pounces immediately, like it’s a wondrous new toy. A soft purr vibrates through her.
“Well?” he asks.
My cheeks warm. “How do you know who Osian is?”
“You told me about him.”
He pulls a dry tunic from an open wardrobe before tugging it over his sculpted chest, his marked skin vanishing beneath the fabric. Then he throws two more garments my way—a tunic and a pair of trousers so soft they feel like feathers against my damp hands.
“Thought you might want to change,” he says. “You look cold.”
Cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. My skin has taken on a bluish tint, and I’ve lost most of the feeling in my feet. The chill has sunk deep, needling my bones. It’s like it’s taken root inside me.
My hands clench around the dry garments. “How am I going to do this chained?”
“I’ve only chained one wrist. You’ll manage.”
He nods, then vanishes out the door with Bryn on his heels, leaving me to my privacy.
Behind the tapestry, I shed my drenched cloak and tunic, each layer peeling away the fatigue of the road.
As I pull on the dry clothes, warmth slowly spreads through my limbs in soothing relief.
I sigh and close my eyes. For the first time in hours, I feel a little more human. Less…haunted.
And horrified by my earlier confession. Of course I don’t hate the Order. I just hate what they make me do sometimes. What’s worse, my words could be considered treasonous. I could certainly never say any of this to someone in Caer Draen. Not even Osian.
I have no idea what came over me.
Alone now, I find myself drawn to the tapestry again and its vivid sunset. I wish I could capture an image as perfectly as this, but even in the few times I’ve allowed myself to draw, my hand only creates nonsensical scratchings.
One day, I think, but then I immediately correct myself. It can’t be one day. I shudder to imagine what the Order would do if they discovered I’ve drawn just once.
And that makes too many traitorous thoughts for one day.
I emerge from behind the tapestry and my gaze shifts to the trunk in the corner. The one he was so keen to protect. I hesitate, then edge closer. The chains clink with each step.
It’s locked. Of course it is.
I crouch anyway, testing the lid, like it will yield to my bound hands more easily than whatever gouged its surface. It doesn’t. With a sigh, I sit back on my heels, irritation prickling beneath my skin. Whatever he’s hiding, he guards it well.
I leave the trunk and ease into the chair by the hearth, stretching my bare toes toward the flames.
The storm still hammers against the glass, the wind snarling like a horde of wild beasts.
It feels never-ending, and my skin itches from the sensation of being trapped.
Even when the gusts die down, there’s no way out.
I pull my knees to my chest and long for the stars’ guidance.
Taliesin soon returns with Bryn loping by his side. He takes the other chair, his gaze briefly flicking to me—to the chains—before the room settles into a charged quiet, only broken by the occasional rattle of the windowpanes.
“What happens now?” I eventually ask.
“We wait out the night,” he says firmly, “and then we survey the damage in the morning.”
“I don’t need daylight to tell you that bridge is now a permanent part of the Northern Sea.”
“We’ll assess our options.” He leans back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. “Staying here isn’t an option. The Order will come looking for us both eventually, and this will be the first place they search.”
“Maybe I don’t mind that.”
“I don’t think it will be a good thing if they find you. Something’s not right.”
I bite back a sigh, eyes on the dark windows. “And if they don’t wait until morning?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.”
“Helpful,” I mutter.
He lifts a single eyebrow. “You know, you’re a lot more optimistic in your dreams.”
Bryn purrs, like she’s voicing her agreement.
I frown. “Yes, it’s very optimistic to tell someone you’re going to be their undoing if you meet.”
He chuckles. “Touché.” Then his smile fades. “Do you know what else you told me?”
A shiver of unease trails down my spine. “You keep saying it was me, but we both know it wasn’t. I don’t even know how it could be anyone. That magic doesn’t exist anymore.”
“That’s the first lie the Order teaches you. Magic isn’t dead. Rare, yes, but not dead.”
I shift uneasily on the chair. I know better than anyone how true that is.
Magic like mine was far more common in the time before the Culling.
Magic like his, too. The Order claims I gained my power only because I almost died as a newborn.
I looked into the face of death, and death spat me back into the land of the living with a gift.
But that doesn’t explain Taliesin’s magic, or whatever is happening in his dreams.
“Fine. What did this person tell you?” I ask.
“That if you kill someone and then resurrect him, your commands will control him. He’ll become your revenant.”
I press my lips together. Fucking stars. If he knows everything…there’s nothing stopping him from killing me first.
“That’s what the chains are for,” he says, nodding at my bound wrist. “Iron dampens your power. You can’t use your death spell against me while it’s on.”
My lips part. I glance down at the chains, realization creeping over me.
The Order once trapped Taliesin with an iron net, and the rogues attempted to replicate it tonight.
Because iron is the only thing that can stop his magic.
It never occurred to me that it would do the same to mine.
Order magic has never been affected by anything, other than the limits of the talismans.
But my necromancy never came from the Order. It came from death.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
All this time I’ve been considering if it was too soon for me to strike, but now I know it wouldn’t have worked. Not while these chains hold me. My heart pounds. I’m far more trapped than I thought.
My hands clench in my lap. “What are you planning to do with me?”
“We’ll do what you pretended you wanted. Get you across the border to the Kingdom of Gelyn, far from the Order’s reach. Then…I have something I need to do.”
I let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “That’s the worst place I could go. They’ll know who I am and either kill me on the spot or use me as a bargaining chip.”
“I know someone in a little hamlet just past the southernmost border. The fighting hasn’t reached it. You’ll be safe there.”
“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”
“Distrust me all you like, Swynwraig. The feeling is mutual.” He rises, holding out a hand. “But despite all that, you should get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
I ignore his offered hand. “There’s only one bed that I can see, and I’m not sharing it with the man who chained me.”
His lips twist into a sneer. “And I have no desire to share it with the woman who intends to kill me. You’ll take it first while I keep watch. We’ll switch at midnight.”
“Fine,” I bite out.
I follow him past the tapestry to the section of the room he’s carved out for the bed.
The mattress sits low on a rough-hewn wooden frame, draped in a thick woollen blanket with a small stack of pillows at the headboard.
A piece of parchment is pinned above it, curling at the corners.
A few words I don’t recognize are written on it.
The stone walls are otherwise bare, but the floor is covered with a worn rug.
I ease onto the mattress, careful not to let the chains rattle too loudly.
Taliesin doesn’t move away. Instead, he adjusts the blanket so it drapes across my shoulders. His fingers brush my arm accidentally, enough to make my pulse jump.
“Sleep,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
I clench my jaw and stare at the ceiling, the candlelight throwing dancing shadows across the room. Every instinct screams to run, but there’s nowhere I could go and nothing I can do chained as I am. He moves past the tapestry, and a moment later, the chair creaks as he settles into it.
Minutes go by slowly, and the quiet is ruptured only by the distant howl of the wind and the soft crackle of the hearthfire. I twist onto my side. The chains dig into my arm, so I flop onto my back, restless. As exhausted as I am, my limbs seem to thrum, and sleep feels impossibly far away.
A sudden crack outside the window makes me tense. A breath later, Taliesin pushes through the tapestry, sword in hand, Bryn chattering angrily on his shoulder.
“Stay here,” he murmurs. “And lock the door as soon as I leave.”
I push up from the bed, my heart hammering. “I thought you said the tower was clear. That whoever broke inside was long gone.”
“They were. But someone else is here now.” He points the tip of his sword at me. “Don’t move.”