Chapter 32
End the exile.
A voice whispers in my mind. I roll over and press my hands to my ears, hating the shape of those words. End the exile. They come again, louder this time. Then louder still, swelling into a shout that rattles my skull. I flinch so hard it jars my bones.
And wakes me up.
My eyes fly open. Gasping, I bolt upright, my hair a tangled, sweat-damp mess around my face. Deep breath in, long breath out. There’s a ringing in my ears, but it’s no worse than those words.
Those three terrible words.
But I am not in Caer Draen, not trapped in the High Swynwragedd’s study, not signing away my fate for an assignment I still don’t fully understand.
I’m here instead, which is…a small, drafty room with a bed squashed beneath a window that looks out over the sea.
Sunlight glimmers across the waves. The panes rattle in their frame, and a persistent chill seems to cover everything.
Somewhere below, the steady murmur of voices drifts upward.
Everything comes rushing back.
Last night, Taliesin and I dragged ourselves into the rebels’ new camp before promptly collapsing—both of us. Someone must have carried me here afterward, tucking the thick woollen blanket around me to block out the worst of the chill.
Warmth spreads through me at the thought. These rebels…they’ve been kind to me.
A strange blankness follows.
One moment I’m lying in bed, and the next I have a tunic halfway over my head and I’m standing beside the mattress. I blink down at the rumpled blanket, unease twisting through me. I don’t remember getting up.
Shaking that feeling away, I tug the tunic the rest of the way down. Yesterday took nearly everything out of me, but at least it was worth it. We got the harp.
I step into the corridor and follow the torchlit passage down a winding stairwell, my boots echoing over the stones.
At the bottom, the space opens into a large chamber where most of the rebel leaders have gathered.
They’re all seated around a massive table stretching nearly the length of the room.
Rhian is there with her second, Gethin, along with Gwenydd, and Arianell.
And Taliesin with Bryn on his shoulder, as always.
My heart stutters at the sight of him.
Memories from last night crash over me. Of the look on his face when he saw me chained. Of his arms cradling me protectively against his chest as he carried me to safety. Of his fingers trailing across my lips, awakening something in me far too dangerous to admit.
Taliesin shifts in his chair, one forearm braced against the carved wood of the table, and my attention catches on the movement before I can stop it. His fingers tap once against the surface—the same fingers that were touching my lips—and heat crawls up my neck.
Rhian notices me first and rises from her chair. “Morning, Angharad. Glad to see you have some color back in your face.”
I trail closer to the table. “Morning. Thanks to whoever got me to bed.”
Gethin smiles and inclines his head. “Anytime.”
“Love, there’s something we need to talk to you about,” Arianell says, her voice firmer than usual.
I frown, my gaze moving from face to face.
They’re all watching me with the same careful expression, like they’ve already had this conversation while I’ve slept.
An old, familiar tension tightens in my gut.
The Order used to do this, too. People liked to talk about me when I wasn’t there, and then the moment I entered a room, conversations would stop. Eyes would move away.
The necromancer is here, they would whisper.
“It’s about the talisman,” Taliesin says, cutting through the noise in my head. “Twice now it’s harmed you. We’d like to remove it.”
As he speaks, he leans back further in his chair, far too at ease for the heaviness of the conversation.
Hearthlight slides across the hard lines of his chest and shoulders, even beneath his dark tunic, and I hate that I notice the effortless strength in him.
As I stare, Bryn’s eyes gleam, like she can read all my thoughts.
I drag my gaze away. “Removing it might also harm me. Look what’s happened to the rogues.”
“The rogues are the result of the Order’s experiments,” Rhian says gently. “But I understand your concern. I would have it, too.”
I pull out a chair and sit, lacing my fingers together on top of the table. Then I lift my chin and force authority into my voice. Even if I’m not truly in command here, maybe I can redirect them if I sound certain enough.
“This isn’t what matters right now,” I say. “We should focus on the Ballad. With the harp and the scrolls in our possession, we now have everything we need.”
Rhian nods. “We’re planning to perform it tonight under the night sky.”
“It’ll be a celebration,” Arianell adds, leaning eagerly over the table. “I’m making lamb pie, roast potatoes, and cake. What could be better?”
“With music and dancing,” Gethin adds, smiling slightly.
“And we’ll all be dressed for it,” Rhian says. “I can lend you a gown if you’d like.”
I look around the table, a mixture of hope and confusion twisting through me. That was…far too easy. They went from tense and worried to gushing about tonight’s ceremony in less than a heartbeat. It’s like they’ve forgotten about my talisman entirely.
Only Taliesin remains solemn, though I can’t tell if that has anything to do with me or if that’s merely his default expression.
Then his gaze lifts and catches mine across the table.
The room seems to vanish beyond it. He’s still sprawled back in his chair, powerful arms loose at his sides.
The tips of his ears slice through his silver hair as he watches me with an intensity that sends my pulse racing.
A sudden chill brushes across my skin, like fingers of frost tracing over bare flesh.
Heat simmers in my stomach, and for what feels like an endless moment, I forget everyone else in the room exists at all.
And then the conversation rises around us. The moment breaks off, and I rip my gaze away. I feel so breathless I’m certain someone will notice.
Arianell disappears and returns with a bowl of cold porridge, apologizing that it's no longer warm.
The others ate hours ago, it seems. I listen carefully, piecing together the details.
Beneath an open night sky, Gethin will play the harp while Brioc will sing the words of the Ballad from the scrolls.
And if all goes well, the stars will simply… return.
“I do have one question,” I say when they finish explaining the plan. “How do we stop the Order from taking control of the stars once they’re back?”
“We destroy the harp,” Rhian says bluntly.
I blink and sit back. “What? You can’t.”
“We must.” Her fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
“With the Ballad, the harp can restore the stars, but it can also channel and direct their magic. In the wrong hands—in the Order’s hands—it’s far too dangerous.
Once the ceremony is complete, we’ll cast it into the poisonous sea, where no one will ever find it again. ”
My heart pounds. I don’t like this.
I don’t like this at all.
Something within me recoils at the thought, a deep instinct I can’t quite explain. My mind is screaming no with every fabric of my being. The harp is too important to destroy. If it’s lost, then…I don’t know what will happen. Only that it will be something terrible.
I press my palms flat against the table. “If this harp is our link to the stars, I don’t think we should destroy it.”
Rhian nods slowly. “I understand your concern. I had it myself. But we’ve spent years researching these tombs and hidden caches, and everything we’ve recovered points to this being the answer.
Destroying the harp will not end magic, and it won’t sever us from the stars again.
It will simply keep anyone from bending that power to their own will. ”
I can see she’s already made up her mind, and there will be no changing it now. They’ve brought me into their fold, and they hear what I have to say, but in the end, they have their plans and their goals, and I’m not part of the creation of them.
I try not to take it personally. I’m the outsider, after all.
But for once, I wish I was more than that to someone.
The conversation soon ends, and Rhian offers to show me their new home.
The castle stands on the kingdom’s northernmost tip, an immense, dominating structure built on top of a cliff that looms over the world below.
Tall battlements snake around the perimeter, where the wind whips past in violent gusts.
Rhian points out a set of stone stairs carved into the rock face that descend toward the valley.
It’s the only way in or out, other than the tunnel they discovered, making the stronghold as impenetrable as any fortress could hope to be.
In the courtyard below, fur-clad figures loop ribbons and vines around the wooden huts once used by blacksmiths, falconers, and wheelwrights to meet all the daily needs of a castle.
Someone has found a pair of sheers and hurries through the weeds, hacking back months of overgrowth.
By nightfall, this place will be fit for the grandest celebration it has seen in decades.
Along the rear cliffs, the land plunges to a rocky shore, where the waves surge and crash in a frothing roar.
The harp stands on a ledge overlooking the sea spray.
Ropes wind around the instrument and anchor it with hooks that have been hammered into the ground to prevent the wind from carrying it away.
Even from the battlements, I can feel its hum in my bones.
“You feel it, too?” Rhian asks from beside me with her fur hood tucked tight around her face.
“How could I not?” I glance toward the harp again. “I’m impressed they managed to carry it all the way here, and up that massive flight of stairs, without it driving them mad.”
“They had help with the stairs,” she says.
“As soon as we saw them coming, a dozen of us ran out and took turns. We’re a team here.
” She turns to me then, her expression softening.
“That includes you. Don’t think I dismissed your concerns easily.
I know we’re taking a risk, but…it’s the only choice we have. ”
I lean against the crenelations with a sigh. “Did you ever consider…not going through with it? The Ballad, the return of the stars, the whole damn thing? We don’t get our magic back, but we also don’t have to worry about the Order gaining even more power.”
Her jaw tightens as the wind tugs strands of red curls from her hood. “I did. And do you want to know the conclusion I reached?”
I nod.
“The Order already has too much control. Something fundamental must change, or the world will stay the same. To cross a chasm, someone eventually has to make the leap.” A fierce light gleams in her eyes.
“People like them never surrender power willingly. If we want freedom, we have to find the courage to rip it away from them.”
The wind whistles between us, carrying the scent of salt and woodsmoke from the bonfire flaming below.
“All right,” I say softly, nodding. “I’m in.”