Chapter 13
The door clicks softly when Taliesin pulls it shut behind him.
I cross the room, the cold stone biting at my bare feet, and secure the latch.
I stumble back and glare at the wood. All my life, I’ve felt a twisted sense of comfort, knowing that an enemy’s death was only a whispered word away.
My magic was always a last resort, but at least it was mine.
But now Taliesin has stolen it from me. If I want to defend myself against whoever’s out there, I can’t.
The clash of steel drifts through the door, and a curse claws its way out of me. Why isn’t the bastard using his power? Does he want to get us both killed? There’s no need for blades, not when you can consume an enemy with frost, turning their skin to shattered glass. Not unless…
If iron dulls my magic as it does his, are our powers more alike than I ever imagined? Does he lose a piece of himself every time he calls upon his ice? He must. That’s why he’s so hesitant to use it. Which means…I might be able to use this information. I just don’t know how yet.
First, I’ll need to survive this attack…
I glance around the room for weapons. Stone walls, dust-coated corners…
and a fireplace poker leaning against the hearth.
I grab it and test its weight. It’s no sword, but it’ll do.
My eyes catch on the chairs beside the hearth.
I drag one in front of the doorway as a barricade.
It won’t stop anyone, but it might buy me a moment.
Poker in hand, I move behind the tapestry, watching the shadows stretch across the stone walls.
A draft rattles the windowpanes, sending a loose candlestick skittering across the floor.
The clash of steel follows a moment later.
It’s closer this time, the rhythm of a fight playing just beyond the door.
I press myself tighter against the tapestry, trying not to breathe too loud. The sounds of clashing steel, grunts, and occasional curses echo through the tower. My knuckles whiten around the poker.
The door shudders under a heavy blow, then crashes inward.
The chair hurls across the room. Splinters spray through the air.
Heart hammering, I throw the tapestry aside and swing the poker.
The iron collides hard with flesh. A grunt of surprise escapes my attacker, and the impact drives him back a step.
Eyes black and vacant. Order robes hanging on his gaunt form.
I don’t wait to see if he recovers. I pivot, using the momentum to swing the poker again and keep him off balance.
But he throws up a hand and catches the poker just before it reaches his neck.
The iron shudders under his grip, and for the first time I see how unnervingly strong he is.
My momentum stalls, and a spike of fear shoots through me.
“The exile must die,” he hisses the words, sweat dripping down his face, each word ragged as if speaking is a struggle. His nostrils flare as he scents the air. “And so must you.”
I tighten my grip on the poker, forcing myself to breathe. “Why? Who are you? What do you want?”
He lifts his gaze to the ceiling. “You carry what remains, and it must be destroyed before it awakens.”
“I carry what remains? You mean...magic?”
I can’t fathom why he would want it destroyed.
Everyone—even our greatest enemies—wants magic to return.
The stars, our dead gods, all of it. The Order was thrilled when they discovered me, a young child carrying a fragment of what we all once had.
I’ve never heard anyone say it should be destroyed, not even those who fear me.
The rogue’s eyes suddenly gleam. “When we condemn darkness to the grave, light will be reborn.”
Quick as lightning, he shoves the poker aside and presses a cool blade to my neck. I grab his throat just as fast, the chains rattling like thunder. His eyes go wide.
“Marwolaeth,” I spit.
But of course, nothing happens. These fucking iron chains have caged the wild animal inside me. An animal that now paces and snarls, anger building into a fire that rages beneath my skin. It wants out.
The shock on his face vanishes, and a smile twists his lips. “Iron forged in the lands of men shall be the undoing of the cursed.” His eyes flick to his blade. “Guess where my dagger came from.”
Does he mean the human lands? If so, how did the Order get their hands on that iron net? Elves and men have never worked together. I’ve never even heard of one setting foot on our continent, let alone walking the streets of Caer Draen with goods to trade.
I don’t get the chance to ask. Taliesin is suddenly there behind him. The tip of his sword punches through the rogue’s skull, spraying my face with blood. His throat slips from my hands as he falls.
For a moment, I don’t feel his absence. My fingers remain curled, like they’re still wrapped around him.
Then he hits the stone. I stare as the blood seeps from his skull, spreading across the floor like an encroaching army.
His eyes look no different now. They’re still vacant and wide, as dark as any night.
And I’m still here. Still breathing.
“You’re hurt,” Taliesin says roughly, pressing a cloth against my neck.
I look up at him. He’s so close I can smell the woodsmoke clinging to his clothes. “What?”
“His blade nicked you.” His eyes rake across my face before settling on my eyes. “Are you all right? What was he saying to you?”
I swallow. And that’s when I feel the bite of pain in my throat. The rogue’s dagger must have cut me when Taliesin struck, but I didn’t notice it. I was too distracted by his ominous words and what they could possibly mean. Maybe nothing. Maybe it was only the nonsensical ramblings of a fanatic.
But deep down…I know there must be some truth to it.
“He said we must die because we carry what remains. And that killing us means the light will return.” I laugh bitterly. “I’m assuming he meant the stars.”
I expect shock or dismay or even skepticism. Instead, he looks ready to tear down the sky. “Two others tried to distract me while he got in here. Someone must have told the rogues about you.”
I frown. “All right, but didn’t you hear what I said? These people believe the stars will return if they kill us.”
“I heard you. I just didn’t think it warranted a response.
” He rakes his fingers through his hair, still damp from the storm.
“I think I know how they got inside. There’s a lower section of the cliff that connects to the mainland through a tunnel in a roundabout way.
I didn’t think anyone knew about it. Or that they’d use it if they did. ”
“Why not?” I ask warily.
“It floods. Sometimes.”
A knot of dread coils in my chest. “Right. And when you said we’d assess our options in the morning…”
“I had the tunnel in mind if the bridge is completely gone,” he says.
I rub my eyes as a wave of weariness rolls through me. I feel like I should be afraid, or at least alarmed, but a strange numbness has settled over me, muting every emotion. I don’t even flinch when Taliesin gently steers me to the hearth and eases me into the chair I didn’t use as a barricade.
“Rest here for now. Bryn will keep you company.”
A soft, warm weight lands on my lap. Absentmindedly, I stroke her fur with my unbound hand and stare into the flames. It isn’t long before the exhaustion claims me, dragging at my eyelids and seeping into my bones. I find myself drifting away, and this time, I don’t resist.
I wake with every muscle as stiff as timber, my neck bent at a painful angle. When I pry open my swollen eyes and take in the cold hearth, it takes me a moment to remember where I am and why someone else’s gray woollen socks are on my feet.
Then it all comes rushing back. I groan, thunking my head against the back of the chair. I didn’t leave the nightmare behind in sleep. It followed me here.
The socks, however, remain a mystery. They aren’t mine. I fought the rogue barefoot last night. I can still see the way his blood crept across the floor toward my toes. Did Taliesin put them on me while I slept?
A flicker of warmth heats my chest, but I quickly smother it. Even if he covered my feet, he’s kept me chained. Frowning, I follow the line of the links to where they’ve been fastened to the chair, tethering me in place…so he wouldn’t have to watch me. And if he isn’t watching me, is he sleeping?
Is he still?
My heart pounds. If he’s dead to the world, maybe I can escape, even chained.
I hold my breath and lean sideways, peering around the edge of the chair.
The tapestry blocks my view of the bed, but there’s nowhere else he could be.
I search the room for Bryn but see no other sign of life.
If she’s here, she’s with Taliesin, but hopefully she’s out hunting for mice, or whatever it is pine martens eat.
I eye the chain fastened to the chair. He’s only looped it once in a crude knot that’s more of a hindrance than a real trap. A note of hope sings in my chest. Maybe escape isn’t impossible after all.
My fingers tremble as I ease the chain loose, inch by inch, careful to keep the links from clinking. Each tiny shift sounds deafening in my ears, though the room remains mercifully still. It falls free at last, pooling in my hands until I clutch it to my chest like something sacred.
I pause, scarcely daring to breathe, listening.
Nothing.
Slowly, I stand, my eyes locked on the tapestry. Still no movement.
I don’t dare wait any longer. Time to get out of here.
I’m halfway to the door when a voice of warning screams in the back of my mind.
Delivering an undead Taliesin to the Order is the only way to free Osian, and this might be my only chance to wrap my hands around his throat and deliver my spell.
But the chains have to go first. My magic won’t work otherwise.
I could steal back my dagger, sneak to another floor where he won’t hear, break the chain, and come back before he wakes…
It’s madness. Absolute madness. It will never work. I don’t know Taliesin well enough for the resurrection to last. He might survive a week, if that. Maybe long enough for me to get Osian away from the Order…and then what?
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as a furious fear pounds through me.
I don’t know what I’m doing. It all feels impossible.
Two days ago—or has it been three?—I understood the world and my place in it.
It wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is. But it made sense.
Now it feels as if I’ve been dropped into a world that isn’t mine, where the rules are the opposite of all I know.
And a part of me—a part I try to smother as best I can—does not want to return to Caer Draen.
A part that fears Taliesin might be right.
That the moment I walk through the gates, the Order will surround me and drag me away.
That I’ll never see Osian again, much less free him.
No matter if I give them everything they want.
My grip tightens on the chains. No. I’ve let the exile get into my head, that’s all.
I force the thought away and take a slow step toward the tapestry. Taliesin would keep the weapons close, maybe even on the bed beside him.
I edge around the tapestry, and my eyes go straight to the bed. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. The covers are undisturbed; there’s no tangle of silver hair on the pillows.
The realization slams into me a second later.
He’s gone.