Chapter 31
The screams are like knives against the splitting pain in my skull. I cling to Taliesin like he’s the only thing keeping me from slipping into permanent darkness. Neither of us speaks as he moves through the woods like a wraith himself, Bryn scurrying through the underbrush only a few steps ahead.
The deep groove between his brow and the lines bracketing his mouth betray him. He’s struggling more than he wants to admit. Now and again, his footing falters, and his face turns paler—bluer.
He needs to rest as much as I do.
After we’ve been fleeing the camp for well over an hour, I tell him as much.
“We’ll rest when we reach the cliffs,” he says, his voice rumbling through me.
“And how much longer will that be?”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Soon enough.”
The wails of the dead grow louder the deeper we move into the forest, until I feel like I can no longer remember what silence sounds like. I close my eyes and try to shut them out, but it’s impossible. They’re all I know.
As the wails grow to a terrible crescendo, a strange sensation tickles the back of my mind.
And an utter certainty comes over me. There’s something I need to remember.
That in itself is nothing new—I’ve forgotten so many things.
But this is different. There’s something on the tip of my tongue, so close I can almost taste it. I reach for the memory.
But the thought startles and takes flight before I can catch it.
I sigh, close my eyes, and rest my head against Taliesin’s shoulder. The strength of him—the scent of rowan and leather clinging to him—is a balm against my pain and the rawness beneath it. I keep replaying the moment I saw Osian in that camp and hearing his words echoing over and over in my mind.
Release her. Give her to us.
Not let her go or don’t hurt her. And he was with Maelor, the one who took me captive in the first place. They moved like partners, two warriors bound to the same purpose, not like one man trying to free me from the other.
The night drags by at a sluggish pace until, at last, the sea wind rushes across my face and the dark wall of trees falls behind us. We escaped the forest alive.
Taliesin carries me into the rebels’ old camp and gently sets me down on one of the crumbling walls.
The moment my arse touches the cold stone, the tension inside me begins to unravel.
I exhale slowly, then draw in a breath of salt and sea air.
Bryn climbs into my lap and presses her small, warm body against me, like she’s trying to tell me everything will be all right.
I trail my fingers through her fur, and the tightness inside me loosens even further.
Taliesin’s hands hover near my arms, like he’s worried I might break if he touches me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “You don’t need to look so concerned.”
“Tell me what they did to you,” he demands, like he didn’t hear a word I said.
“I can’t tell you because I don’t know.” I reach behind me and gently press on the talisman. A dull pain throbs through my skin.
“We need to take that fucking thing out of your neck.”
I flinch. “I can’t.”
“Why?” He frowns. “It’s the only thing left linking you to them. Take it out, and they can never reach you again.”
“Except the magic I get from this talisman doesn’t rip my mind apart,” I whisper. “Without it, all I have left is the thing that breaks me.”
“We’ll find a way to fix your magic, so it never hurts you again.”
A startled laugh pops out. “That’s impossible, Taliesin.”
He gently takes my hand, anchoring me in a way I didn’t know I needed. “You’re like me in so many ways. I can use my magic without losing myself. So can you. We just need to find out how.”
I meet his gaze, my heart hammering. He means this. There’s no mockery or doubt in his eyes. He truly believes there’s a path forward for me, but…
“My power is only good for one thing,” I say bitterly. “And that thing helps no one.”
He arches a brow. “Tell that to the firebird whose life you saved.”
I shift on the wall. He has me there. Still, I don’t know who I am without the Order’s magic, and when a cold gust sweeps in from the sea, I find an excuse to turn the conversation elsewhere.
“I don’t want to do anything until we reach the rebels’ new camp. They’ll have fire and warm food and hopefully news about Brioc, Gwenydd, and the harp.”
A deep frown furrows his brow. “I need to check you over for wounds.”
“I’m not wounded, I swear it.” I press a hand against his chest, the remnants of the broken chain rattling between us. “They did something with the talisman but no more than that. And the thing that will help me the most right now is getting somewhere warm and safe.”
By the look on his face, I can tell he wants to argue.
He can see the tremor in my hands, and my face is probably pale as death.
But I’m not only trying to flee this conversation.
I do want to get back to the rebels. I need to know if they recovered the harp.
I need all of this to have meant something.
Still, he doesn’t move. “And Osian?”
I clench my teeth and look away. “What about him?”
“Did he do this to you? Was he a part of this?” He cups my chin and turns my face back toward him so he can look directly into my eyes. “Don’t lie. I can always tell when you do.”
So I hold his gaze head on, willing him to see the truth. “He wasn’t involved. I only saw him when you did.”
He studies me for a long moment before finally nodding and letting go. Then he stands and holds out a hand.
“Can you walk now?” he asks. “Because I will carry you to the ends of the earth if you need me to.”
I swallow hard, heat crawling up my neck.
Despite the icy power he wields, his gaze feels scorching, like it’s burning right through me and making my heart tumble wildly inside my chest. I have the sudden urge to press up onto my toes and wrap my hand around his throat, like I’ve imagined doing so many times.
To feel his skin beneath my palm. To feel the steady thud of his heartbeat. To feel the faint burn of his ice.
Overhead, a gull’s cry cuts through the night air.
Those thoughts shatter instantly. Stars, what am I thinking?
I blink and step back until the stone wall brushes against me.
Taliesin catches a strand of my windblown hair and tucks it behind my ear.
His knuckles graze my skin. Then his finger trails slowly down the side of my face, along the curve of my jaw, until it reaches my mouth.
My lips part. My breath hitches.
His gaze turns deadly dark. “You didn’t answer my question.”
My heart stumbles. “What?”
“I said I would carry you to the fucking ends of the earth, Angharad,” he murmurs. “I’m yours to command. Just say the word.”
“I…” I press my palms against my legs, my pulse fluttering wildly. That’s the first time I can recall him saying my name, and the way it sounds rolling off his tongue….
“I can walk. Thank you.” I clear my throat. “But I’m fine.”
He nods, and his hand drops away. The desperate urge to catch it and put it back nearly overwhelms me. For a brief, startling moment, I’m certain I’ll do it. I’ll guide his hand back to my mouth. He’ll slip it between my lips, so I can taste him.
Heat floods through me at the thought.
Oh, stars.
I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this.
“We should go,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage to get out.
We find the way hidden in the tower’s dungeon, a single torch waiting in its iron sconce.
They left one behind in case we ran into trouble and were forced to come back this way.
Our footsteps echo through the low-ceilinged tunnel, bouncing into darkness for what sounds like miles.
Water drips somewhere ahead in a slow, maddening rhythm, and every so often my shoulder brushes the wall.
I swallow and try to hold back the panic.
The tunnel feels too tight, but unlike last time, Taliesin’s presence is more of a comfort than a curse.
His hand grazes mine every so often, grounding me before my thoughts begin to spiral.
Even Bryn softens the edge of my fear. She sits on my shoulder, her fluffy tail curled around the back of my neck—a warm, steady reassurance after such a terrible night.
After a few hours of steady walking, the torch burns low, but we finally reach the end.
The tunnel empties out into the courtyard of a cliffside castle where a bonfire rages against the night.
The flames illuminate dozens of figures wrapped in furs and leathers.
Beyond them loom the distant teeth-like battlements of a castle wall.
Salt swirls through the smoke, and somewhere far below, waves crash hard against the rocks.
As soon as we step out of the tunnel, a cheer goes up.
And Taliesin goes down, his knees slamming into the dirt.
The rebels move as a single unit. Two get under Taliesin’s shoulders and haul him to his feet while Bryn chatters angrily at them. I like to imagine she’s telling them to be careful with her beloved exile, or she’ll claw holes in their boots. Truth be told, I’m probably not far off.
Gethin and Rhian fall in beside me as we trail him inside the central keep, where another fire rages in the hearth. The room is vast and empty. Faded tapestries hang along the far side, depicting threadbare dragons in flight. As we move inside, dust motes scatter at our steps.
“Thought he might turn up like this,” Rhian says, dropping back her fur lined hood. “What about you? Are you all right? Brioc told me about the talisman.”
In spite of Taliesin’s state, my heart lifts. “They made it back?”
“Safe and sound.” A slow grin spreads across her face. “With the harp.”
Utter relief shudders through me. “Thank the stars.”
“No, thank the gods.” Her smile dims. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look pale.”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” I say, my eyes drifting to Taliesin.
The rebels have eased him into a chair beside the fire. Arianell bustles forward, handing him a bowl of stew, while another presses a flask into his hands. When she passes me, she motions at the chair beside him.
“You should get some rest yourself,” she says heartily, though I can see the concern in her eyes.
“I will.” My voice echoes off the stones. “What is this place?”
“Brawychus Castle. Ever heard of it?” Arianell asks.
I shake my head.
“Figures.” Rhian grunts. “The Order will keep a tight lid on this one.”
I gaze around. Despite its creeping emptiness, I can’t see anything out of the ordinary about this place. If anything, its towering walls and curving, gold-painted ceilings give the sense that this would be a coveted piece of land. One kings would fight over, rather than avoid.
“There was a massacre here,” Arianell says.
“This was once the home of the king’s brother.
He invited the king himself, the High Swynwragedd, and other members of the Order for a celebration.
They say a rebel attacked and killed everyone inside, even the servants.
Only the king escaped, but he’s avoided it ever since. Pretends it doesn’t exist.”
A shiver goes down my spine. “Awful story.”
“Only thing is,” Arianell says, tapping her chin, “it never sat right with me. This secret, murderous rebel.”
“Ah, here she goes,” Rhian mutters.
“How could one of us pull that off by herself?” She shakes her head. “No, I think it was the king.”
Suddenly, the world goes dark at the edges. One moment I’m looking at Arianell. The next, I swear Osian’s familiar golden eyes are staring right back at me. I blink, and the vision is gone. Then I blink again, and it has returned.
“Angharad,” he says. “The talisman isn’t working. Tell me where you are.”
I shake my head, my mouth parting in shock.
“Tell me,” he says—this time more demanding.
I press a trembling hand to the back of my neck. Pain bursts through me like a poisonous bite. I try to dig it out, to tear it free, but there’s nothing to grab. My fingers merely slide across the metal and my sweat-slick skin.
I stumble sideways. My body folds like it’s made of leaves.
The ground opens beneath me and swallows me whole.