Chapter 35
“Tell me what you make of this.”
Rhian slides a scroll across the table from where she perches in her chair like a cat, knees drawn up, tension coiled tight, like she’s ready to pounce on anything that moves.
Stacks of parchment surround her. Some are densely scribbled over while others are blank.
All manner of styluses are scattered among them.
I scan the unfurled parchment. Strange markings trail across the page beneath a drawing of two figures and a harp, all contained within a simple circle. Above them stretches an open, dark sky. I peer closer. One of the figures holds two scrolls. It’s just like Rhian thought.
“This is clearly a depiction of someone using the Ballad,” I say, sitting back. Beside me, Taliesin nods.
“Can you read that?” she asks.
“Those markings? They haven’t been used since Culling Day.”
She sighs, tugging at the ends of her hair in frustration. “We did exactly what it showed. Two scrolls. The harp. Night sky. Why didn’t it work?”
“Why are they in a circle?” Taliesin murmurs, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.
Rhian frowns. “Isn’t that just the edge of the drawing?”
“Could be,” he says. “Or could be a circle.”
“So we need to draw a circle around them?” Her frown deepens. “With what?”
I look at the image again, closer this time. An uncertain familiarity stirs through me, tickling the back of my mind. Over the past few days, I can’t help but feel like something important is trapped inside my memories, and if I only focus hard enough, it’ll come to me.
I try not to dwell on that brief flash of memory, the one filled with stars. It makes little sense. I was only born thirty-five years ago, far before the Culling. And yet…that image remains seared into my mind. Like I saw it. Like I remember the world with stars.
Taliesin hasn’t said anything, but I can tell he noticed my reaction to the song.
And as for what Rhian is asking…the answer feels close. Or at least some of it.
“That’s not a circle,” I say with more confidence than I understand. “It’s where you’re meant to perform the ceremony.”
Rhian’s brow wings upward. “You say that like you know.”
“I do, kind of.” I glance at Taliesin, then back at Rhian, searching for the right words. “When I use my magic—my innate magic, not the Order’s—I lose pieces of myself. Memories, mostly, but it feels like more than that. Like a fragment of my soul breaks away…”
At the look of horror on her face, I falter.
“But you resurrected someone for us,” she whispers, her complexion paling. “Are you telling me that it cost you one of your memories?”
I swallow and nod.
“Angharad, why didn’t you tell us?” She leans back in her chair, her hands gripping the armrests. “We never would have asked that of you if we’d known.” Her gaze swings to Taliesin. “Does your magic do that, too?”
“No,” he says quietly. “It does not. If it did, I might not be as inclined to give so much of myself as freely as Angharad does.” The corner of his mouth tilts upward. “I’m not that selfless.”
I shift on the chair, warmth blooming in my chest at his words, though I’ve never thought of myself that way. Selflessness means giving without expecting anything in return. But I did want something from the Order. A home. A family.
“Be that as it may,” Rhian says, cutting through the silence. “I’m sorry, Angharad. We didn’t know.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I did it because I wanted to.” Eager to turn the conversation away from myself, I press my finger against the parchment. “This circle…I think I know what it means. There’s only one place in this kingdom shaped like that. A perfect circle.”
Taliesin follows my thought almost instantly. “Ah.”
“A perfect circle,” Rhian repeats, her eyes locked on the page. “Surely you don’t mean…”
“The Observatory,” I finish for her.
Before the Culling, the elves turned to the stars for answers. In many ways, we revered them more than the gods themselves. Perhaps the gods were too close to inspire true awe. But the stars, distant and unknowable, gleaming far beyond the limits of our understanding…those inspired true veneration.
For years, the elves tolled on the tallest peak in the Kingdom of Gwalia, pouring coin, blood, sweat, and tears into the soil.
And in time, the grandest Observatory the world has ever known rose from the stone.
From there, they studied the stars through intricate mechanical devices.
They charted the constellations and searched for distant worlds beyond our own.
Now it lies in ruins. Only a blackened crater remains.
Rhian rubs a hand down her face. “The journey to the Observatory takes four or five days at best. With the harp, even longer.”
“I’m afraid it’s that or stay here and try again,” I say. “And I could still be wrong.”
She lets out a short laugh. “We all know you’re not wrong.” Rising from the table, she snatches up the scroll. “I’ll break the news to the others. We’ll need a least twenty people if we’re going to do this properly. I assume you’ll join us. We may need that mind of yours again.”
“Consider me there,” I say, then clear my throat. “There’s just one favor I’d like to ask of you.”
She cocks her head. “Anything you need, it’s yours.”
“I’d like some blank parchment and a silverpoint stylus.”
I shift uneasily, catching Taliesin’s attention in the corner of my eye.
Without hesitation, she pulls three sheets of parchment from the table, uncovers a silver stylus from beneath a stack of others, and pushes it all toward me.
“All yours. Anything else?” she asks.
My heart pounds as I pull the precious materials closer. “That’s it. Thank you, Rhian.”
With a nod, she strides away before vanishing through the great double doors. Taliesin and I are all that’s left inside. For a long moment, the only sound is his breath and my own pounding heartbeat. Then he stands and holds out a hand.
“We should get some rest,” he says. “By the sounds of it, we have a long road ahead of us.”
At the thought, an endless weariness presses into my bones, heavy as a stone. In the past week, it feels like I’ve barely had a chance to breathe, let alone think about anything beyond survival—and my increasingly complicated feelings for the man beside me.
We leave the great hall behind, my dress fluttering around my legs and the parchment clutched to my chest. After climbing the long flight of stairs, Taliesin walks me to my door. He stops there, gazing down at me, thoughtful.
It would be so easy to close the distance between us. All I’d have to do is grip the front of his tunic, yank him down to me, and crash my lips against his.
Instead, I clear my throat. “Tonight was nice, even if it ended in disappointment.”
His lips twitch. “Which part was nice? The bit where you sneaked into my room to kill me or—”
“Stop it.” I reach up as if I mean to shove him again, then lose the nerve halfway and let my hand fall back to my side. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Probably not,” he says in a low, rough voice that sends a shiver of delight down my spine.
I let out a light laugh. “Well…all right then…”
He doesn’t move closer, even when another few heartbeats pass between us. Only then do I notice his gaze has shifted to my hands. To the parchment I’m still holding too tightly against my chest.
“You’re going to draw,” he says, not a question.
I hesitate, caught off guard that he knows this about me, but I shouldn’t be surprised by his understanding of me anymore. He’s ‘known me’ for a decade. Of course I would have told him I yearn to draw.
“Yes,” I say.
His brow furrows slightly, like he’s piecing something together. “Why tonight?”
“Because…” I look down at the parchment, then back to him. “I think it will help me remember.”
Something flickers across his face—understanding, or something close to it. He studies me for a long moment, then nods once, like that makes all the sense in the world.
“Good night, Taliesin,” I say.
He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good night, Angharad.”
I smile. “I’m glad you stopped calling me Swynwraig.”
“Me too.”
He backs away down the hall, his eyes still on mine. It isn’t until I push open my door and step inside that he turns away. As the door shuts behind me, I press a hand to my trembling heart and sag against the wood.
And all I picture is his smile.
I’m losing it. I need to get ahold of myself before I do something stupid and look like a fool. Whatever he said earlier, he must have changed his mind. Perhaps he decided taking things further would only end in heartache.
Perhaps he remembered the words of warning from my dream self.
Us meeting will be the undoing of both of us.
Perhaps I would be wise to remember them, too.
Sighing, I slip out of the beautiful gown and into soft linen sleep trousers and a matching tunic.
Then I climb into the bed, knees drawn beneath me, and place a sheet of parchment on the cold windowsill.
For a moment, I close my eyes and try to call those earlier memories back to me.
Firebird wings flashing across a star-filled night sky.
Then I begin to draw.
It comes slowly at first—haltingly. The few times I’ve sketched before, I’ve done it in my Order room with the door locked and a constant glance over my shoulder, in case a High Swynwraig came by with a key.
The drawings were always crude scribbles made with charcoal.
The images barely held the right shape—an Order talisman, the star pin that clasps every cloak, a pair of wings…
Even then, I was always drawn to wings.
All that time, there was something in the back of my mind, and I never knew it.
As the hours bleed by, the lines come quicker until I’m bent over the parchment in furious concentration—so focused I don’t think to sleep until a distant pink stains the horizon.
My fingers ache from the pressure of the stylus, but I can’t bring myself to stop, afraid the image will slip away if I do.
I sigh and sit back, bleary-eyed, legs cramped beneath me. The portrait of the firebird is still not very good, but it fills a hollow ache in my chest I’ve been carrying since we found that nest.
This is the bird from my past Taliesin mentioned. The one I’ve forgotten. Her name was Sionc. And while I can’t remember much else about her, I know I loved her dearly.
A tear slips down my cheeks. She was someone special to me—someone I’ve lost without ever being allowed to grieve her properly. All my memories of her have been taken. But I will get them back.
I will get everything back.
And I will break the Order’s hold on this world.