Chapter 15
We could turn around and go back, but the tower would offer no escape.
Or we could press on and tempt fate with the firebirds, who would sooner claw our eyes out than let us near their hatchlings.
At least according to legend. I’ve never met anyone brave—or foolish—enough to seek out one of their nests.
“I’m assuming there’s no other way off this ridge,” I say in a tight voice.
Taliesin chuckles darkly and gestures downward. The poisonous sea whips itself into a frenzy, waves smashing at the base of the cliffs far below. And if the firebirds decide we’re a threat, that’s exactly where we’ll end up.
“Just stay behind me,” he says. “I’ll try to make it clear we mean no harm.”
“Right,” I mutter, glancing at the shivering pine marten perched on his shoulder, “because you’re somehow the animal whisperer.”
“Bryn and I have been together a long time,” he says, leaving it at that.
We edge forward. Taliesin keeps one hand on the pommel of his sword, though I know he wouldn’t raise it against a firebird. These creatures were once the companions of the gods, flown into battle to obliterate ancient enemies, their flames consuming entire war camps.
They’re all that remains of the world that once thrived—a land that sang with magic. And they’re considered untouchable now. Except by that man at the inn.
We move slowly along the narrow ridge. The path slopes down from the summit and dips into a sheltered recess, where the wind can’t quite reach.
There, the nest is cradled against salt-worn stone.
Woven from long strands of branches and countless twigs, it spans nearly the entire width of the path.
Broken eggs, pale with the glow of burnished gold, litter its interior, but it’s otherwise empty.
Except for one. A single firebird curls up against the nest’s side, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Blood streaks her feathers, and a wound in her flank oozes a pale, yellowish ichor.
A gasp rips out of me, and I reach for Taliesin’s arm without thinking. “It’s the firebird from the inn.”
He stiffens under my touch and glances over his shoulder. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something that makes my breath catch.
“What are the odds?” he murmurs. And somehow, I know he’s speaking about more than just the firebird. But for the life of me, I can’t understand what. Me? Those dreams? And what could any of that possibly have to do with this?
“I want to help her,” I say.
Before he can respond, I push past him and ease closer to the nest, my eyes locked on the wounded firebird. Up close, her breathing is anything but steady. Each inhalation is a wheeze that sounds like a death rattle. My chest tightens. If she’s left like this, she will die.
I haul myself over the lip of the nest and land on the brittle twigs with a crunch. She doesn’t stir. If anything, her body slumps lower, like death has already taken hold, dragging her into its shadowed realm.
I reach out, my hands trembling, and fear I’m too late.
“This is an extraordinarily bad idea,” Taliesin says from behind me. “If another comes while you’re in the nest, they will rip you to shreds. Not even my ice will stop them.”
His words barely reach me. Something deeper than thought pulls me forward. I reach out, fingers trembling, and brush them against the firebird’s flank. They’re softer than I expect, and warm, despite the mountain air.
And that’s when it hits me, like a hammer against the chest. Something dark and unseen is hovering nearby, crawling its fingers over the firebird, already trying to claim what remains of her.
I recoil, gasping. I’ve touched nearly fifty bodies in my time with the Order, and none have ever felt like this.
They were already gone, so I never felt death’s hunger.
Nausea burns in the back of my throat. It feels wrong.
“Swynwraig?” Taliesin asks from behind me, his voice troubled.
“She’s dying. I have to do something.” All I can manage is a whisper as I hold out my wrist. “Remove my chains.”
He does as I ask, to my surprise. He gently lifts my unbound wrist and slides a key into the manacle. A moment later, the iron falls away, and the cool touch of wind brushes soothingly across my skin. The relief is nearly disorienting.
“Careful,” he warns.
But it’s as if my hands have a mind of their own.
They press more tightly against the firebird’s flank, and there, beneath my palms, I can feel the unsteady thud of her heartbeat beneath her ribs.
Something calls to the magic inside me—something I’ve never felt before—and burns so brightly I gasp.
And suddenly, I know what to do, even though it feels like madness.
“Ewch ymaith,” I whisper. “Buddugoliaeth dros farwolaeth.”
Victory over death.
My magic surges through me, pouring from my fingers into the bird. It roars in my ears like the wind through the ridge, like the world itself is splintering apart. I grit my teeth and lean into it, forcing my hands to remain steady on the creature.
Somewhere deep inside me, another memory shatters.
The pain of its loss cuts into my soul like a blade.
Pain detonates behind my eyes, like someone is running a sword through my skull. My legs tremble. My knees buckle into the carpet of twigs. And still, beneath it all, I understand. I’ve stopped the darkness from taking the firebird, and it’s furious. The pain, this horrible loss, is a punishment.
There’s no way to fight it. No training for what happens when magic demands payment from flesh and soul.
Somewhere nearby, Bryn hisses, a high keening sound caught in her throat.
Taliesin’s arms come around me from behind, and he pulls me into his chest, like he can shield me against death itself.
He holds me as though he’s done it before in another life, and my body leans into him like it remembers something I do not. The world stills around us.
And then suddenly, the pain vanishes. Like the darkness has given up.
I sag against Taliesin, spent. It doesn’t matter that he’s my enemy, or that the Order sent me here to end him. Whatever Taliesin Wynn is, he is nothing compared to that shadowed thing that hunts for souls. A thing I have now angered.
Trembling, I pull back and look up into his face. Concern tightens his mouth, but there’s no shock in it.
“You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?” I ask shakily.
He exhales, like the question costs him something. “Yes.”
I frown. “Tell me what you aren’t saying.”
He only draws me closer, resting his chin on the top of my head, like that is answer enough.
The scent of him, of rowan blossom, envelopes me, and it’s so achingly familiar it makes my heart feel like it’s split in half.
My first instinct is to push him away, but my body refuses to obey.
I close my eyes instead, surrendering for a long moment, breathing around the tightness in my throat.
And for the first time, I allow myself to wonder. ..
There are many things I don’t remember. Could he be one of them?
Maybe I really did visit his dreams.
Impossible. The thought is an immediate shout in my mind, so loud I can’t ignore it.
I clench my teeth and pull away from him, the chain in his hand rattling and reminding me of what he’s done.
Judging by the way he stills, it reminds him, too.
His gaze dips to my unbound wrist. A muscle feathers in his jaw.
He is not my friend. He is nothing to me.
I push to my feet on unsteady legs, but I rise all the same. “I need to know everything you’re not telling me.”
His jaw tightens again. He looks away, only to give in a moment later.
“I don’t know how you came to me,” he says quietly, “but you did. More than once. At first, it was only to warn me. But then...we talked. You told me stories. One was about a firebird you saved. Just like this.” He turns back, his eyes locking on my face with an intensity that steals my breath.
“She was important to you, that bird. You would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect her. Tell me you don’t remember.
Tell me that wasn’t you. Because when I look at you now, I see recognition.
Somewhere inside of you, you know. It has to be there. ”
Tears slip down my face, and a hollow ache takes shape around my heart. When I speak, it’s all I can do to force the words out. “I don’t remember a fucking thing.”
He steps closer, catching one of my tears on his finger and holding it up for me to see. “This says otherwise.”
“So where is my firebird, then? If I have one, like you claim, where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”
“I can feel her. Her presence, like she’s a part of me.” I press a hand to my chest. “But I don’t know how. Nothing’s there. I have no memory of any of this.”
“And what you did just now? It must have taken even more.” His gaze moves past me to the firebird, whose steady breathing is a song to my wounded soul.
“I don’t care,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I had to save her.”
“I know.” His voice softens. “Because you are you, even if you don’t remember it. I see that now.”
“And who are you, Taliesin Wynn?” I fire back. “Because there’s more to you than what you’re saying. More than just an exile the Order cast out. You’re hiding something.”
A strange smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m the person who’s going to fix our sky.”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m going to make it whole again. That’s what I’ve been hiding, though I suspect the Order found out. That’s why they sent you after me. They’ll want to stop me.”
I shake my head, nearly too stunned to speak. “The Order wants the sky restored. That’s the goal once the war ends.”
“That’s the second lie they’ve taught you, Swynwraig. When the sky is full of stars again, magic will flow freely, and the Order will no longer be able to control it. That’s the last thing they want.”