Chapter 26
Isleep like the dead.
When I finally wake, the sun seeps through the gloom of heavy cloud already halfway across the sky.
I’ve slept until midday, at least, my body and mind drained to near nothing.
From the tower window, the ruins sprawl across the land, the poisonous sea shimmering off the cliffs.
Several tall, rectangular stones stand alone, while another half-formed tower tilts in the distance, its jagged walls thick with moss and lichen.
A small group has gathered near a cluster of stones, watching two figures spar with wooden swords.
They duck and dodge and weave through the ruins, their faces shining with sweat.
The clatter of their swords and the occasional cheer drifts toward me.
I hug my arms to my chest and watch for a while, letting the normalcy of it all wash over me.
This feels like the training yard back home. I used to watch Osian train for hours.
Home. I loose a sigh. Caer Draen and the Order’s glittering castle, with its portrait-lined halls and feasts steeped in luxury, no longer feels like home. Seren and Lowri no longer feel like family. They don’t even feel like friends.
The heavy weight of loneliness settles on my shoulders like an ill-fitting cloak. I’m on my own now. What’s more, I always have been. I can see that so clearly now.
A soft knock sounds on my door. I cross the room and pull it open to find Arianell hovering in the corridor with a bowl of porridge that steams in the cool air.
Her hair is braided as it was yesterday, but this morning she’s woven the strands into a neat crown on her head, though frizzy tendrils spring free.
My stomach emits an eager rumble at the scent of oats and milk, shot through with…is that honey?
“Morning,” she greets with a warm smile. “Though it might be more fitting to say ‘afternoon.’”
“Morning and afternoon,” I tell her. “I’m not imagining it, am I? That porridge smells like honey.”
Her grin widens as she passes me the bowl. “You’ve got a good sense of smell.”
“I thought you didn’t get honey all the way out here,” I say. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Well, that was before the king’s army was passing through.”
My brow arches skyward. “You got this from the king’s army? I think I’ve missed a step or two. How long was I asleep?”
She laughs softly, but something in it feels strained. The smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just the one night. Gwenydd works fast. She stole some supplies.”
Gwenydd. Of course. “She’s your scout, right?”
“One of them.” She sighs. “You best eat that while it’s still warm. Rhian asked for you to meet her and the others in the main tent when you’re finished. There’s been…a development.”
The back of my neck prickles in alarm. “Dare I ask?”
“Nothing to do with you, don’t worry.” She backs away, wiping her hands on her flour-dusted tunic. “Just be quick. Rhian doesn’t like waiting.”
After closing the door behind her and wolfing down the food, I wash my face in the water basin and change into a plain green linen dress I found on the side table when I got in last night, then cinch it with a leather belt.
On the way down the stairs, I check Taliesin’s room.
It’s empty, his bedsheets tucked neatly around the mattress, pillows plumped and squared just so against the headboard.
Someone could have come and tidied the room for him, but I’m certain it was him.
He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who likes to leave behind a mess.
The main tent is crowded when I finally walk inside.
Rhian and Gethin bicker over the strategy table, Meurig and Brioc pace the floor, Gwenydd hovers nearby with her arms crossed, while Taliesin leans back in a chair, one leg propped over his knee.
His face is completely unreadable, or it is at first glance.
There’s a small twitch near his jaw that says he’s either irritated or amused. Maybe both.
Then Rhian catches sight of me. She instantly straightens, then beckons me to the table.
Reluctantly, I trail closer. There’s something in the air I don’t like.
A scent I don’t understand but recognize.
I try to pinpoint what it is I move toward the strategy table, and when I’m only a few feet away, I get a better whiff of it.
It’s Order magic, but it’s mixed with the thick, nauseating stench of rot.
I press a fisted hand to my mouth.
Rhian frowns. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling all right?”
“Can’t you smell that?” I ask around the lump in my throat.
“Order magic? Sure. It’s coming from our prisoner. He’s just in the tent through there.” She inclines her head toward the tent’s rear flap, rippling in the breeze.
I slow.
“I’m sorry, did you say prisoner?” I ask.
Gethin scowls. “See? Angharad doesn’t like it, either.”
“Of course she doesn’t.” Gwenydd clicks her tongue as she moves closer, her eyes scanning up and down the length of me. “She’s still half-loyal to the Order. At least.”
I narrow my eyes. “If I was half-loyal to the Order, I wouldn’t have come back last night.
I would have just walked up to the High Swynwraig with the king’s army and asked to go home.
Then I would have pointed them your way.
” I hold her gaze. “Giving them intel on a rebel camp as big as this would have earned me a lot of esteem. A lot of gifts, too.”
She laughs sharply. “Right. Your little Order gifts. I heard they give you all baskets of cheese. Imagine selling your soul for that.”
“Enough, Gwenydd.” Rhian moves between us.
“We’re all here for the same reason. To stop the Order from gaining full control of the stars’ magic.
” She turns to me. “Gwenydd took a few of our scouts into the forest last night to get a better look at the king’s camp.
They couldn’t see much, so they brought back this prisoner for questioning. ”
I rub the back of my neck. It’s not a terrible strategy, but…
“They’re trained to resist in situations like this,” I say.
I was trained in it, too. Just not to the same extent. Seren insisted on a gentler approach with me. She was worried my power would react unpredictably if they pushed me too far, if they recreated what might happen if I got captured by the enemy. What someone might do to pry information out of me.
“Well, we’ve got to try,” Rhian says with a shrug. “Otherwise, we can’t know what that army is doing out there.”
“And we’re hoping he can tell us far more than that,” Gwenydd adds.
Rhian nods. “Why the Order took the god, where they’ve got the harp, and even what else was in that tomb. Until we know, we’re in the dark. We’ve got no idea what our next move should be.”
“We thought we could threaten him with the exile,” Gwenydd says, her eyes flicking toward Taliesin in the corner. “If he doesn’t talk, we’ll turn him to ice.”
“This is such a terrible idea,” Gethin mutters. He grips the edge of the table and leans over it, his eyes squeezed shut.
Across the room, I meet Taliesin’s gaze. He arches a brow, as if to say, can you believe this? Only yesterday morning, the rebels had his forehead encased in iron, and now they want to use his power as a threat to convince the prisoner to talk. I wonder if they can see the irony in that.
I give him a half-smile, then turn back to Rhian. “And why did you need me here?”
Her lips flatten. “We took a vote. It’s three against three. We need you to break the tie.”
“On whether to..?”
“Threaten the prisoner with the exile’s power,” Gwenydd answers. “We’ll have to show him we’re not bluffing, have him use his frost a little. It might be unpleasant.” Her eyes flick to Gethin. “Some of us think too unpleasant.”
My hands clench. “I see. Which way did Taliesin vote?”
“I voted to do it,” he says, his voice steady and calm.
It’s what I expected him to say, but I still feel my gaze drawn to him again, like I need to see the confirmation in his eyes.
One end of his mouth tips upward, and the muscle in his jaw ticks again.
No, that isn’t irritation or amusement I see in him.
It’s anger. But at whom? Surely not at the rebels. At the prisoner?
I frown, asking him the silent question with my eyes, but he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He doesn’t want to explain, not in front of the others.
Everyone else has gone still, their attention fixed on me.
I look from one face to the other. Gethin’s features sag with despair and Gwenydd watches me with an eager glint in her eye while Rhian only looks tired.
I’m going to anger or disappoint at least half the people here, and I’m not even certain I’m right. I can only go with my gut.
“No,” I say.
A long, ragged sigh spills from Gethin in a full body shudder, like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
“What?” Gwenydd snaps.
“I vote no,” I repeat, meeting her gaze. “Question him the normal way. If you break him, it should be because there were other options, not because you were impatient.”
She scoffs. “I should have known you wouldn’t have the stomach for this.”
Everything within me tenses. Stars, I’m sick of people underestimating me.
“Then you’ve forgotten who I am and what I can do,” I say, my voice hardening. “If anyone has the stomach for darkness, it’s me.”
She goes still, her face paling. The room falls utterly silent. Not even a breath can be heard. They all know what I mean.
And instantly, I almost regret saying it. Almost.
Rhian clears her throat. “Right, we best get started then. I’ll try questioning him first."
The others busy themselves with the map or their blades. Gwenydd leaves the tent entirely. I can’t say I’m surprised. Back home, people always found reasons to leave me anytime I so much as mentioned my magic. It only confirms what I already know.
I am alone.
I start back toward the tower. There’s nothing left for me to do here—not until Rhian’s questioning fails. Behind me, Taliesin pushes out of the tent and jogs to catch up. He falls into step beside me, his hands in his pockets, his stride steady, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
Compared to yesterday, I suppose it hasn’t.
“That was an interesting comment. Did you mean it?” he asks.
Straight to it, then. “And did you mean what you said when you agreed to torture a prisoner?”
“Every fucking word,” he says darkly. “But I’ve heard stories about this bastard. Him and some of his soldier friends. I’m guessing you haven’t.”
I slow. “You want to tell me what he did?”
“It’s a dark story that you won’t like, but I’ll tell you if you want to hear it.” He comes to a stop, gently taking my arm to hold me back with him. “There’s something I want to show you first. I think it might cheer you up.”
I press my lips together. “There’s something I need to tell you, too. And I don’t think it should wait any longer.”
“It sounds serious,” he says, his brow lifting.
“You might not want to cheer me up after you hear it.”
He watches me a beat longer. “Then how about this? I show you the thing, then we can ruin each other’s days. How does that sound?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” I can’t help but laugh, despite the weight of our situation. “Then go ahead and ruin me.”
“Careful. I don’t do things halfway,” he says, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. “Especially not that.”