Chapter 14
Idon’t move. My chest burns, my fingers clutching the chain like it’s my tether to reality. For a single, impossible moment, I feel the crushing weight of disappointment. Taliesin is gone, which means I’m free, but…at what cost?
Then the air shifts, and a shadow lands on the bed from behind me. I spin, heart lurching, and there he is. Taliesin casually leans against the doorframe past the tapestry with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. His pine marten weaves between his legs, barely making a sound.
“You thought I’d let you get away that easily?” he murmurs.
I drop the chain, my hands balling into fists. I should say something—anything—but nothing comes.
He arches a brow. “What were you hoping to do if you found me sleeping, Swynwraig? Choke me with your chain?”
“It’s not my fucking chain, is it?” I snap back.
He lets out an amused sigh, shaking his head. “You really thought I wouldn’t be ready for you to try something? Or that I’d sleep while rogues are hunting us? Someone had to keep watch.”
“Fuck you.” I lift my chained wrist, shaking it at him. “Just let me go. I’ll go back to Caer Draen, and you can run off to the Kingdom of Gelyn and be rid of me. Or jump into the poisonous sea for all I care.”
“I don’t trust you not to use your death magic on me if I let you go. Now get moving, or we’ll both be dead before breakfast.” When I don’t immediately answer, he sighs. “We’re leaving. Now.”
I narrow my eyes. “You can’t honestly expect me to go anywhere with you.”
“You know what? Stay if you like.” He folds his arms, still leaning against the doorframe like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“But you won’t find your way out of this tower without my help, and I don’t fancy your chances alone and unarmed against a pack of feral rogues.
” He holds up my pack, from where he had it stashed outside the door.
“And I imagine you’ll want this back. You can have it if you come with me. ”
“You’re a bastard. Has anyone ever told you that?” I growl, fists tightening by my sides.
Taliesin blinks once, then smiles, like my fury is the entertainment he craves. “More times than I can count,” he says. “And I’ve learned to live with it.”
“Good,” I grit out. “I won’t let you forget it.”
He pushes off the doorframe, that infuriating smile stretching wider. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
I glare at him, knowing there’s nothing left to do.
Either I wither in this tower until the next wave of rogues arrives…
or I follow the Order’s greatest enemy. And as furious as I am, I can’t deny the temptation staring me in the face.
The longer I stay with him, the more I can learn.
And the easier it will be to complete my mission.
Why haven’t I give up? I don’t know. I should. Anyone with even a shred of self-preservation would have by now.
But I only need to put up with him long enough to escape this place. Then I can run or fight. Or I can continue on, prying his secrets from his mind.
And so I stride up to him, wrench my pack from his hands, and lock my eyes with his, summoning as much defiance as I can.
“You may have me trapped now,” I say, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins, “but one day you won’t. I hope you’re brave enough for face me when I wield my full magic. Lead the way.”
The torch casts tortured shadows as we descend into the gut of the earth.
Water drips along the slick walls, leaving trails of poison in its wake.
We’ve been spiralling downward for what feels like an age.
Hours, maybe more. After twenty flights, Taliesin warned me it was time to hug the center of the stairwell, to avoid brushing the stone.
We’re far enough down now that the sea is creeping in, hungry to strip us to bone and marrow.
At last, we reach the bottom. The torch’s yellow light splashes over the mouth of a low tunnel. Fear lodges in my throat, but I swallow it and duck after Taliesin—and Bryn on his shoulder—into darkness. Our boots ring against the stone, and the trickle of water grows louder.
The walls seem to close around us, pressing tighter with every step, as if the tunnel itself wishes to crush us between its ribs—or drag us into the earth, folding us into it.
Dramatic, I know, but the thought of being trapped has always made me feel like my skin is too tight for my body.
The worst end I can imagine has always been…
well, this. Surrounded on all sides, unable to move or breathe or speak.
Chained, like a monster.
Memories of the dead suddenly claw to the surface of my mind, usually trapped in the darkest corners where I can ignore them.
I see the pain in their eyes, and hear the fear in their voices when they realize I’ve forced them back from Otherworld, pulled them into screaming daylight, and dragged their truths from them for the Order’s advantage…
I try to shove the memories down, but they rise anyway, a sea of faces flashing through my mind like a parade of ghosts I’ve damned.
Each glare, each silent accusation, hits harder than the last. The question I’ve long carried swells like an angry wave.
What becomes of them when they die a second time?
The Order says they return to Otherworld.
But how can they know? How could anyone know?
A hand gently brushes my elbow, and the storm inside my head shatters. I’ve stopped without realizing it, and my breath tears raggedly through my lungs.
“Are you all right?” Taliesin’s voice echoes down the tunnel. When I don’t immediately answer, he drops to one knee but somehow remains tall enough to meet my eyes. “Swynwraig?”
A shudder crawls down my spine, cutting through the panic. “Stop calling me that.”
Taliesin’s gaze darkens, but there is something in it that makes my heart twist rather than harden. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”
“You mean it like a curse.” I take a step back, shaking my head. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
He watches me for a long moment, and in the silence, the tunnel feels otherworldly, like we’re suspended between the living and the dead, between what is real and what is lost forever. A ringing builds in my ears as my lungs drag in air too fast. Darkness creeps into the corners of my vision.
Concern gathers in his eyes. “Breathe. You’re all right.”
But his words—those of a stranger who bound me in chains—mean nothing. Panic closes a fist around my throat and drives me under, consuming everything until there is nothing left but black.
The hiss of waves cuts through the darkness, dragging me back to the surface of my mind. I gasp and bolt upright, still clutched in panic’s grip. Wind lashes my skin as the world comes into focus. Grass beneath me, a cloudless cerulean sky above. The terror of the deep is gone. I’m above ground.
Relief shudders through me. I haven’t felt that kind of panic in so long, I almost convinced myself I’d conquered it.
But no, it still haunts me like the specters of all those I’ve condemned.
Hands trembling, I press my palms to my eyes and force the tears back down.
I don’t get to fall apart. Not here, not with him.
Not ever.
“Feeling any better?” The voice comes from behind me.
I start, though I knew he was there. He wouldn’t have left me alone on this hillside, if only because he refuses to let me out of his sight.
“It depends on what you mean by ‘better,’” I say, not turning.
He moves to my side and settles onto the ground beside me, forearms resting on his bent knees, wind ruffling his silver hair. “You want to talk about what that was back there?”
“Not particularly.”
He nods, like he expected that answer. “You seem to have an aversion to feeling trapped.”
I frown. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Of course. Just perhaps not to this extent.”
Irritation slices through me, driving me to change the subject to something else. “I’m assuming you had to carry me all the way here. Didn’t fancy leaving your assassin to drown in the tunnel floods?”
“It was tempting,” he says sardonically.
I roll my eyes. “I would thank you for saving my life—”
“Again,” he cuts in.
“Right. Again.” My mind flickers back to the rogue who nearly killed me in the tower. “But something tells me you’re not doing this out of kindness. You want something from me. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.”
“Hmm.” He cocks his head. “What could I possibly want from you, Swynwraig?”
“What most people want.” I shrug. “For me to use my magic and get you something. What is that something, Taliesin Wynn?”
With a grunt, he abruptly stands. “What I want is for us to get moving. We need to reach the road heading inland by dusk, or we’re in for an unpleasant night.”
Only then do I truly take in our surroundings.
We stand on a clifftop, one not anchored to land. Wind grabs at my clothes, salt stinging my lips. Far behind us, across a ribbon of sea, green slopes gleam beneath the sunlight. We’re not on the mainland.
I turn slowly, my stomach tightening. To my left, the dark mouth of the tunnel yawns. To my right, a narrow ridge snakes across the water. It runs alone for miles, a crooked causeway battered by waves, before finally curving back toward the mainland far down the coast.
My heart pounds. It’s narrow. And treacherous. It will be hard going.
“I thought you said the tunnel connected your tower to the mainland,” I whisper.
“It does. In a roundabout way.” He flashes me a wicked grin. “This is the roundabout part.”
I sigh and close my eyes. “Fuck.”
“We’ll be fine. Just take your time and watch where you step.” He leans past me, pointing to a shifting shadow farther down the ridge. “See? Bryn is doing just fine.”
“Bryn is a pine marten,” I say flatly. “She’s built for this.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “And you’re not?”
I give him a look. “Do I look like I scamper over knife-edges for fun?”
“Not yet,” he says lightly.
A sudden gust hits us, throwing me off balance. My left boot slides across the grass and nearly pitches me forward. Taliesin’s hand snaps around my arm, anchoring me. My stomach lurches, but I grit my teeth and wrench free, following the distant shadow of Bryn.
It’s slow going. As I told Taliesin, I’m not built for this.
I’m made for magic and spellwork, for hearing the voices of the dead and untangling what they mean to say, even when they don’t understand it themselves.
I’ve trained with Osian—all Swynwragedd must—but training is not the same as this.
I’ve never asked so much of my body before.
My legs are screaming before we’ve even made it an hour.
After a particularly harrowing crawl over a mound of damp rocks, I collapse into the grass, my heart racing from the effort. The cool wind is welcome for once, a soothing touch on my sweat-kissed skin.
For a moment, I curl in on myself with my arms wrapped tight around my knees. The manacle on my wrist digs into my leg, an ever-present reminder that I am not in control. I focus on breathing. In, out…
I hate that this is what breaks me. Not battle. Not magic. Just a windswept ridge and the humiliating fact that my body refuses to be anything but fragile.
My eyes scan the path ahead. The ridge stretching back to the mainland doesn’t look any closer. We’ve made no progress at all. Stars, all I want is to fold in on myself, to stay here and stop.
Taliesin steps into my periphery and holds out a hand. “We need to keep moving.”
Weariness presses down on me, yet Taliesin stands tall and unshaken, his breath steady like this is nothing. It irritates me, and the thought of him having the upper hand has me pushing against the grass. As I do, my fingers brush something strange. A charred feather.
I frown and lean closer. What remains glows a luminous orange, the color of the setting sun. I lift it and angle it toward the light. A firebird feather. Heart pounding, I sweep my gaze over the rocky terrain. Firebirds are the last thing we need right now.
Taliesin gently takes the feather from me. He studies it, brow furrowed in thought.
“The wind probably blew it from somewhere else,” I suggest, though my voice lacks conviction.
I know that can’t be true. A bird passed through, but when? Days ago? No, last night’s storm would have carried the feather far from here.
“I’ll take the lead.” Taliesin passes the feather back to me, like he expects me to do something with it.
Strangely, I do feel compelled keep it, though I don’t understand why.
It’s like an odd impulse rising from the farthest reaches of my mind.
Have I done this before? Is it one of my memories I’ve forgotten?
My chest burns at the thought. I’ve come to terms with the cost of my magic and the way it carves away pieces of me. Usually, the lost memories don’t matter. I move through life with the gaps in my mind like empty rooms in crumbling house I was glad to leave, and I think nothing of them.
But this…this stings. I have the haunting sense that this feather—or another feather like it—matters to me. And I hate that I can’t remember why.
To Taliesin, I merely say, “Thank you,” before tucking the feather in my pack.
We continue down the path, our conversation muted.
I’m too focused on not tumbling to my death to bother with small talk, and Taliesin seems too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice me.
It’s ironic, really, how this would be the perfect moment to break free of him, if only it weren’t for the sheer cliffs on either side of us.
Then, suddenly, Bryn comes scampering back, her chestnut fur spraying behind her. She barrels past me and scrambles up Taliesin’s leg before pressing her trembling body against his neck.
And in an instant, he transforms from the commanding man I know into someone unrecognizable.
“Bryn, what’s wrong?” he coos, rubbing the fur beneath her chin.
She chatters urgently, and somehow, he understands. His gaze sweeps across the path ahead, like he’s searching for something, and then his expression hardens. The hair on the back of my neck prickles in alarm.
“Careful,” he murmurs, barely audible. “There’s a nest of firebirds up ahead.”