Chapter 33
Afloor-length mirror stands before me, and I stare at the elven woman reflected there.
I hardly recognize her. She wears a shimmering green gown that hugs the curves of her body in a way the Order’s plain linen dresses and long tunics never did.
My dark hair spills over my shoulders in soft waves, and a blush warms my cheekbones.
But the biggest change of all is the way I hold myself.
I stand taller. My shoulders are drawn back instead of folded inward.
And there’s a glint of anger and defiance in my eyes.
I don’t remember ever looking this way before.
Maybe it was always there, and I never saw it.
Or maybe I’m just finally allowing it to show.
As I pull on my shoes—still stubbornly choosing boots over slippers to ward off the northern cold—another empty moment seems to pass. My left boot is partially on and then—
I’m standing at the door with my hand on the latch.
I jerk backward. Something’s wrong. Earlier, I dismissed the missing moment as exhaustion, but now I’m not so sure. Once might mean nothing. Twice is a concern. Though I haven’t the faintest idea what it could—
End the exile.
My hand rises toward the latch again.
No.
I watch it, horrified, as my hand closes around the handle. A terrible sensation sweeps through me, like my mind is detached from my own body. The latch clicks, and I step into the corridor.
My feet carry me down the passage toward Taliesin’s room. Earlier, on our way back from the tour, Rhian pointed it out to me. She mentioned he intended to rest before the ceremony to prepare himself in case something went wrong and he was forced to use his power.
End the exile.
The command slams through my skull again, and searing pain ignites at the back of my neck.
A horrifying realization tears through me. The talisman is controlling me. Or rather, the Order is controlling me through it. They must have done something to me in their camp, and now they’re taking that magic and twisting it against Taliesin Wynn.
I strain to reach behind my neck, desperate to tear the thing free, but my body no longer obeys me. My hand won’t move, and my feet keep moving forward until I find myself standing outside Taliesin’s room.
My fingers wrap around the latch. Inwardly, I scream and try to force it back to my side, but they’re already tightening around it. The latch clicks open, and I quietly ease inside.
The room is dark, quiet. I glance around, hoping to spot Bryn curled up somewhere, ready to attack when she senses my reason for being here. But there’s no sign of her in the small space. Only Taliesin.
My heart pounds a frantic beat in my chest. He’s lying on his back with his eyes closed, and his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm beneath the wool blanket.
I’ve never seen him look so peaceful before, like all the tension he carries has finally loosened its grip in sleep.
Moonlight spills across the strong lines of his face, softening him into something almost unbearably vulnerable.
I can’t hurt him. Please. Of all the people in this godsforsaken world, not him. The only person who has ever truly looked at me, seen the truth of what I am, and didn’t flinch away.
But my body moves of its own volition. With my heart raging against my ribs, I slowly—carefully—sink one knee into the mattress and slide one over onto his other side so that I’m straddling him. He doesn’t even shift, his breathing as steady as it was before.
I gaze down at him and drink in the sight of his silver lashes fanned across his cheek. His soft, curving lips.
Tears stream down my face as I lean forward and wrap my hand around his throat.
End the exile.
A sob scrapes its away out of me.
“No,” I manage to force out.
But my fingers tighten against his skin, so tight I can feel the pulsing beat of his heart beneath them. A heart that will stop if I can’t fight against whoever is controlling me. Taliesin will never again open his eyes. Not unless I bring him back.
End the exile. Make him your revenant.
I hiss and release his neck, the thick taste of horror clogging my throat. The Order still wants me to complete my assignment. After infiltrating the camp with Taliesin and the rebels, they must have realized I’d never do it now of my own accord. So they are forcing me into submission.
I can’t do this.
And as I lift my leg from around his middle, Taliesin cracks open his eyes, gently take my arm, and tugs me back against him.
“If you’re going to be my undoing, at least stay,” he murmurs.
I inhale sharply. His hand snakes around my lower back, holding me flush against him. All the hard planes of his body press against mine, and for one long, torturous moment, I forget what I came here for. The heat of him seeps through every layer between us, warm and solid and devastatingly alive.
I forget the Order. I forget Osian’s face as he backed inside that tent. I forget all of it. All that exists is this beautiful man beneath me.
“I will say,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through me, “when I imagined you in my bed, this is not how I thought you’d get here.”
A burning heat spreads through my cheeks. “Taliesin, you need to let me go. You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” His hand tightens against my back. “You came here to finally kill me.”
“No.” I wrench away. “The talisman, there’s something wrong with it. Somehow the Order is controlling me through it.”
He sits upright, his arms locking around my waist, my legs still straddling either of his hips. This does not seem like the kind of conversation one should have sitting in another’s lap, but when I think of shifting back, I just…don’t.
End the exile!
The words scrape through my mind, and a flare of unrelenting agony splits my skull. I clench my teeth as my body begins to shudder.
Taliesin cups my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “Angharad, what’s happening?”
“It wants me,” I whisper, gasping, “to kill you.”
Suddenly, I understand there’s only one thing I can do, and I should have done it the moment Taliesin suggested it. I must sever their hold on me. It’s the only way forward. Even with the pain screaming through my skull, I slip from his lap and turn my back to him.
“Take it out,” I gasp.
He hesitates. “Are you certain?”
“Take it out, Taliesin.” Another shudder wracks through me. “Please.”
That’s the only confirmation he needs. He takes a dagger from the bedside table and gently presses it against my neck. Even that small contact sends a new wave of pain throbbing through me. This is going to fucking hurt.
“This might feel sharp, but I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
END THE EXILE!
“Cut it out of me, I don’t care. Just get it out now!” I scream so loud the words feel like someone has reached into my throat and ripped them free.
END THE EXILE END THE EXILE END THE EXILE!
I close my eyes and my fingers curl like they’re desperate to reach Taliesin’s neck and suck the life out of him.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold it back.
Already, I feel like I’m unravelling at the seams. Like something ancient and monstrous is clawing through my bones, wearing my skin like a disguise.
The blade cuts into my aching skin. A hot, white flare blazes through me. I grip the blanket, holding on, biting the insides of my cheeks as the pain builds and builds and—
The talisman pops free from my neck.
The voice dies. The pain ebbs.
I sag forward, still clutching the blanket, and breathe around the panic rattling through me.
The small cut on my neck instantly knits itself back together.
I can feel it healing in a way I never have before.
A strange warmth ripples beneath my skin, as though my magic is stretching free after being shackled for far too long.
Taliesin gently eases me around to face him. His thumbs brush the dampness on my cheeks, and his eyes are so full of concern a nervous laugh slips out of me.
His lips curl as his brow arches. “I didn’t expect you to laugh.”
“A nervous tick,” I say.
His eyes darken. “Are you nervous?”
I wet my lips. “Thank you for doing that. I’m sorry I…”
“Tried to kill me?” He laughs softly. The sound of it rumbles over me like a song I’ve heard a hundred times before. And there it is again—that aching sense of familiarity. There’s a version of me who knows him, and when he looks at me, I’m certain that’s who he sees.
“I never came close to saying the word,” I whisper.
“No,” he murmurs. “I don’t suppose you did.”
He holds up the talisman between us, a trickle of blood running down the metal. Reverently, he takes my hand and presses it into my palm. It’s cool against my skin, but it holds no lingering sense of magic, like it’s nothing more than dead metal without a host.
“I’m sorry you had to do that to save me,” he says. “I know you weren’t ready to lose that magic and—”
I lean in and press my finger to his mouth. The expression on his face instantly shifts into something hungry. He takes my hand, tilts his head sideways, and brushes his lips across the center of my palm. An intoxicating heat curls between my thighs.
I shudder, for an entirely different reason than before.
And instead of pulling back, I scoot closer. “It was for both of us, Taliesin. As long as I had that talisman, I would never be free from the Order.”
His thumb strokes once across my waist, almost absentmindedly, but the touch feels unbearably tender after everything that just happened.
“Hmm. Are we still talking about that? Because all I can think about is tasting your perfect little mouth.”
My breath hitches.
And then, much to my dismay, he slowly grips my waist and eases me off his lap, a tortured expression twisting his features.
“The ceremony is about to start.” He stands, but moves so slowly, like it’s a struggle to force his body to obey him. Like his mind is still here in this bed. With me. For a moment, I consider pulling him back. Just to see if he would follow through on what he said.
Then his words register. The ceremony. Stars, I forgot all about that the moment I stepped through his door.
Gently, he helps me to my feet, and his eyes dip to the bodice of my dress.
“I want nothing more to stay here,” he murmurs. “But I’ve waited a decade for you. I can wait a little longer.”
The way he says it sends a strange ache through me, like some lost part of me remembers waiting, too.