Chapter 28
The tent is utterly still, while the wind outside builds into something like the roar of flames spilled forth from the mouths of firebirds. Gwenydd presses a hand to her chest. Rhian leans over the strategy table. Gethin looks like he might be sick all over the floor.
I stare at the dead prisoner, horrified and…relieved? It means we can get answers from him now. I try to push away the realization that this is my first thought, instead of…well, guilt.
My feet take me closer. Taliesin stands over the body, his expression unreadable.
His eyes are still dark and empty, like his power has sucked all the blue from them.
I know why he did this. It wasn’t just to get the prisoner to talk.
Or because he was angered by what he said. He did it so I wouldn’t have to.
To keep me from losing more of myself.
Even after what I told him the other night, he still did what he could to protect me.
I place a hand on his arm and gently pull him back. “My turn.”
He backs away, deathly silent.
I stand over the corpse and look down on him, feeling a flutter in my chest. No one speaks as I wrap my fingers around his throat.
His skin is cold, clammy, and wrong, and that same awful stench from earlier returns.
It feels inescapable, like a cloth pressed against my mouth, and standing this close makes my skin crawl.
If I stay near him too long, I might fall into death beside him. A shudder takes hold of me.
I need to get this over with.
“Anadl einioes,” I command.
The magic burns. It flares from the center of my chest and bursts outward in a violent, consuming blaze. The pain is nearly blinding. Still, I hold on and force my magic into him until I’m not sure I can even breathe. The fire is burning up every inch of me.
A spike of agony splits through my skull, and a cry rips from my throat.
“What’s happening to her?” someone gasps. I can’t tell who. The world around me has faded into darkness.
Strong hands grip my arms. “Swynwraig, stop. You don’t have to do this.”
But I do.
I bare my teeth, locking my focus on the man before me. My magic funnels into him, creeping over the death in his limbs, and as it takes hold, the inferno within me beings to ebb. Just enough for me to find my breath.
His eyes flip open.
“Hello,” I say in a hard voice I don’t recognize as my own.
He squirms back, but I have him pinned in place.
“Get away from me, you abomination,” he sneers.
“I have a few questions,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “And unfortunately for you, you have no choice but to answer.”
“Fuck you,” he spits.
“Why is the king’s army in the north and where are they headed?” I ask.
Technically two questions, but since I worded them as one, I’m hoping he doesn’t resist.
The prisoner grinds his teeth. “We’re here to meet with the High Swynwraig at the Tomb of Arawn the Mighty. We have his body, and we’ll transport it to Dinas Grym after containing the rebel threat.”
A gasp ripples through the tent.
“After containing the rebel threat,” I repeat. “Which rebel threat? Does he mean to come here?”
“Every rebel threat,” he says harshly.
Gwenydd appears at my side. “Ask him about the harp. And what else they took from the tomb. We need to know what the Order is planning.”
My head pounds. Too many questions and too scattered for a resurrected one to follow for long. Worse, the effort is draining me. My limbs feel heavy, like they’re being dragged into the ground. I don’t know how much longer I can stand, let alone command the dead.
“Tell me about the harp,” I say through clenched teeth.
The prisoner glares back at me, his lips sealed. I didn’t ask a question.
Sighing, I close my eyes. “Where is the harp?”
“They’re moving it. The rebels got too close to discovering its previous location. It’s in the Order’s camp now.”
“Where is their camp?” I ask, louder this time.
“With the king’s army,” he replies.
“Fuck,” Gwenydd whispers.
I press against the pounding ache in my brow, forcing myself to think. “Where are they moving the harp?”
“To a secure location that they have not disclosed with us. I assume they’re taking it to Dinas Grym.”
Of course. The Order and the king are working together, moving both the god and the harp to the most secure city in the kingdom. After they crush the rebel faction hidden here—and take the two scrolls that form the Ballad—they’ll have everything they need.
I scan the gathered rebels. Their expressions are a mixture of anger, resignation, and raw fear.
Rhian drifts closer, her face pale. “Ask what else was taken from the tomb.”
But when I turn back to the prisoner, the life in him is gone.
The camp explodes into motion. Rebels stuff their belongings into packs and tear down their tents in haste.
The fire is stamped out in moments. Arianell moves through the chaos, handing out fresh loaves of bread.
No one hesitates. They know exactly what to do, like they’ve been planning this moment for years.
Penderyn Rhian surveys it all from a broken stretch of wall.
I jump up beside her, my loose trousers swishing around my boots.
After the interrogation, I rushed back to my room to change out of my linen dress and grab my pack and dagger.
My long tunic and trousers aren’t fit for fighting, but they’ll do for running.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you hoped to stay here longer.”
“It’s all right. I have somewhere else in mind. Somewhere the king won’t think look, at least not for a while.” She turns to face me fully. “I have a job for you, if you’ll take it.”
I wince, already shaking my head. “No more resurrections. Not now. They take a lot out of me, and that one…it was a lot worse.”
I expect her to balk. I’ve never told someone no before, and while I don’t regret helping them, I can’t do it again so soon. Whatever she needs, there must be another way. One that doesn’t leave my mind in tatters.
“I wouldn’t ask that,” she says quietly. “Not after I saw what it did to you.”
Some tension leaves my shoulders. “All right. What is it, then?”
“Right now, the Order and the king have us bent over the wall, ready to fuck us from behind.” She flashes me a vicious smile. “I thought I might throw a little grit in their faces. You think you, Taliesin, and a few others could sneak into their camp and steal the harp?”
I let out a startled laugh. “You’re joking.”
“If they take it to Dinas Grym, we’ll never get it back.”
“But without the scrolls—”
“They can’t control the stars.” She arches a brow. “But they will track us down eventually. There’s only so long we can hide. You see that, don’t you?”
I search her face. “You do this, and someone gets caught.”
“Maybe so. Gwenydd has already volunteered. So has Brioc.” She pauses. “That’s why I want Taliesin with them. Worst comes to worst, he can protect my people. Even swords bend to ice.”
I nod. “And me?”
A beat passes, then her grin turns wry. “He won’t go without you.”
I laugh, a little haltingly. “Oh, come on. He’s not—”
“I already asked him,” she cuts in with a shrug. “He said wherever you go, he goes. If you come with us to our new camp, that’s where he’ll be. But if you go after the harp…”
“I see,” I say quietly.
She cocks her head, her smile lingering. “You don’t sound pleased.”
“I just…I do not understand Taliesin Wynn,” I say.
“Well, I do. And that man is not letting you out of his sight, whatever his reasons.” She reaches out and grips my shoulder. “Please, Angharad. This might be our only chance to take the harp before it’s gone for good. We need you.”
I release a long, weary sigh but find myself smiling anyway. “How can I say no to that?”
We watch from the shadows of the woods. Gwenydd crouches high in the branches with her arrow nocked and trained on a passing guard, oblivious to the danger above him.
The journey here was quiet and taut with tension.
Brioc hadn’t been pleased about Gwenydd coming, and Gwenydd, for her part, hadn’t been pleased about any of us.
The ravine between Taliesin and me seems as wide as ever. I don’t think we can bridge it until I have a chance to speak with him alone. And even then, we might remain stuck on opposite sides.
A rustling sounds behind us as Brioc pushes through the undergrowth. Sweat dampens his face, and his breath comes out in ragged bursts.
“The camp…” He drags in another lungful of air. “…they’re split, just like you thought. The army’s gathered on that side.” He points to the left. “Order’s over there. It might buy us some time if we’re spotted.”
I nod. “Any sign of the harp?”
“There are several Rhyfelwyr stationed around one tent in particular. Whether that’s for the harp or something else, I can’t say.”
Gwenydd drops from the branches, landing lithe and graceful, like falling from a tree is as simple as breathing. “Let’s just freeze them all. Then we can take whatever they’re hiding.”
“That’s a tremendously bad idea,” I say, fighting the urge to snap. “If someone sees, the entire army will descend upon us.”
“Maybe we should just freeze the entire army then,” she says in a tone that suggests she means it.
“I can’t do that,” Taliesin says, his voice clipped.
Gwenydd folds her arms. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
He mirrors her stance and meets her stare. “Despite the stories you may have heard about me, I do not command an endless well of power.”
“There are also innocents in that camp,” I add. “Healers, cooks, bards. We’re not killing them all. That would make us no better than the people we claim to oppose.”
I expect her to argue. She’s disagreed with just about everything I’ve said and done since we’ve met. But instead, a thoughtful look softens her face as she nods.
“So, do you have another plan?” she asks.
I cast a quick glance at Taliesin standing beside me with Bryn perched on his shoulder. Oh, I have one, and he’s not going to like it. Even as distant as he’s been this past week, Rhian was right about him. He takes his oaths seriously. Where I go, he goes.
“I think two of us should create a diversion,” I say. “The other two will get inside the tent and take the harp.”
Gwenydd purses her lips, nodding. “Which two do what?” Then she holds up a hand before I can answer. “No, that’s obvious. Taliesin and I draw them out. You and Brioc grab the harp.”
Taliesin scowls. “Absolutely not.”
Ah, there it is. I almost smile at his predictability.
“No, it makes sense,” Gwenydd says, clearly seeing what I do. “We need two people to carry the harp.”
“Then I’ll go with Brioc,” Taliesin counters.
“Except you and I make the better distraction. I’ll loose a few arrows to draw them out. Your ice can keep them busy after that.”
Taliesin rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like this.”
“Why?” Gwenydd jerks her chin toward me. “Worried about her? She can kill people with a single word. She’ll be fine.”
“Excuse me,” Brioc cuts in with a laugh. “Don’t overlook me. I’ve got more kills to my name than any other rebel, and I don’t say that to brag. It’s just a fact.”
“He’s right,” Gwenydd admits sourly.
“Anyway, it’s my choice,” I say, arching a brow at Taliesin. “This plan is the best one we have. And the longer we stand here arguing, the greater the chance someone hears or sees us. If we’re doing this, we need to move now.”
“Fine,” he grinds out.
We spend a few moments discussing the details before Brioc and I move deeper into the trees. Night has fully fallen, and with it comes the scent of smoke mingling with the rising tang of Order magic, so thick it almost feels like a blow to the chest.
At least we know we’re in the right place.
I take slow and careful steps. Twigs threaten to snap beneath my boots and leaves strain to rustle when my elbow grazes them. It conjures an aching memory of all the times I lurked in the shadows while Osian fought the enemy. The kind of enemy who stands beside me now.
Guilt flickers through me. Not for turning my back on the Order but for all those rebels I condemned…
or watched die. From the moment I met Rhian and the others, I thought they were different from those Osian and I tracked down.
And they are. But are the others truly as evil as I was taught to believe?
Or, like so much else, was the truth about their violence nothing more than a carefully spun lie?
Orange glows through the trees. A horse snorts somewhere nearby, followed by a soft bark of laughter. The rich scent of cawl wends through the air.
The camp is close now.
Brioc and I inch forward and crawl into the bushes along the perimeter of the camp.
Through the foliage, I spot the tent Gwenydd mentioned.
It’s slightly larger than the others and crafted from fine silk.
Useless against the northern chill and more ceremonial than practical.
Knowing Seren, that’s exactly where she’ll have stored the harp.
Four Rhyfelwyr guard its entrance. Two I recognize from a few assignments we did together.
They stand at attention, but their slack faces betray their boredom.
One even yawns. A few others are scattered around a fire, heartily eating their stew with their sleeves rolled up and their weapons discarded on the ground.
Beyond them, countless tents wind through the forest, interrupted by clusters of trees and dense undergrowth. If these guards sense too big a threat, they’ll raise the alarm, and hundreds will come running. I can only pray to the stars Gwenydd is in position and follows the plan.
She should be watching us from her perch above. Any minute now…
I wait, my legs burning from crouching for so long. As I listen to the crackle of fire, the moments seem to drag by, like time itself has succumbed to lethargy.
An arrow suddenly whistles overhead and thuds into a tree only a few feet behind us. The sound rents the quiet, and every guard turns as one.