Chapter 36
Morning comes too quickly.
I haven’t slept properly. Ink still stains my fingers, and a dull ache throbs in my legs from where I spent the night folded against the windowsill, trying to draw until the exhaustion won out over the page.
By the time I give up, the castle is awake around me.
Voices drift through the corridors, the scent of warm porridge curls through the air, and the general sense of life seems to bleed through the stones.
After a short nap to dull the worst of the fatigue, I wash and pull on my long tunic, loose trousers, and dependable leather boots.
I follow the hum of voices into the main hall, where preparation for our departure is already well under way.
People crowd the table, poring over the kingdom’s map.
Others haul supplies across the room and lower them into wooden crates. Everywhere, people are in motion.
It’s like the entire rebellion has gathered for the cause.
Outside, through the open doors, a convoy is taking shape in the courtyard below. Horses are led into line. Packs are being secured. The harp stands in the middle of it all, secured to a weather-beaten wagon that has seen far better days.
A week’s journey is ahead of us, give or take, depending on the road and weather and whatever else the world decides to throw at us.
Through the crush of bodies, I spot Gwenydd, Rhian, Gethin bent over the map in deep discussion. They motion me closer when they see me approach.
“Morning,” Rhian says, sweeping her gaze across my red-streaked eyes and ink-stained fingers. She mercifully doesn’t comment on any of it. “Eat something, then pack. We leave at midday.”
“You’re moving fast,” I say.
Gwenydd nods, a scowl twisting her mouth. “The king’s army is on the move. As of this morning, they were headed toward our old camp at the ruins, but we can’t delay long enough to risk being seen leaving here. We’re not the only one with scouts.”
An uneasy pulse skips through my chest. “Do you think it’s safe?”
“As safe as anything can be right now,” Rhian says solemnly. “But we need to leave.”
There is no time for more questions after that.
On my way out of the great hall, I catch sight of Taliesin near the corridor archway with Bryn by his feet. She darts back and forth in agitated loops, chattering furiously at his boots.
Taliesin sighs and drags a hand down his face. “I’m sorry, Bryn. You need to stay here where it’s safe.”
She answers with another burst of indignation, then lashes her tail against the floor.
“I’ll come back for you soon,” he adds, crouching down in front of her. “I promise.”
Bryn doesn’t look reassured, and I’m not sure what it says about me that I can tell.
I move on, snatching some stale bread and butter from the kitchen before returning to my room to pack. I didn’t bring much, so it only takes a moment. But as I slide my drawing into my satchel, my fingers begin to tremble.
This drawing brought me a fragment of a fragment of a memory. A name. An emotion attached to it. Nothing more. How many more drawings will it take to awaken the full truth? Is it even possible or am I only chasing shadows?
I shake the thought away and carefully tuck the parchment inside my bag. However long it takes, I’ll make it happen.
We leave with the convoy at midday, just as Rhian promised: fighters, scouts, and pack animals winding into a long procession.
Arianell joins us, along with a rebel trained in blacksmithing and another skilled in healing.
Off to the side, two horses pull the wagon carrying the harp, now hidden beneath thick blankets and lashed tight with rope.
Those of us on foot take the stairs while the horses descend the steep ramp spiraling around the cliff toward the valley below. It takes most of the afternoon to reach the bottom, and by the time grass finally spreads beneath my boots, my legs ache, my lungs burn, and I’m desperate for rest.
But we keep moving, crawling across the wild hills until the last light bleeds from the sky and that deep impenetrable darkness consumes everything. As soon as we make camp, Gwenydd takes off with a couple other scouts to keep an eye on the king’s army.
The rest of us build a fire that fights against the dark.
Tents rise one by one, stakes hammered deep into the earth so the wind can’t rip them free in the night.
Once mine is finished, I sink down beside the flames between Taliesin and Arianell.
Taliesin slips an arm around my waist, his palm warm against the small of my back, never missing a beat in his conversation with Meurig on his other side.
The firebird has followed us all the way here, and I watch as she swoops low overhead, hunting for mice.
“Here, love.” Arianell passes me a flask. “This’ll put some warmth in your bones.”
Gratefully, I take a sip. The bitter liquid burns all the way down. I cough violently, pound my chest, and blink the tears from my eyes. Arianell only laughs.
“Fearsome, but effective,” she says. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m utterly exhausted,” I admit. But then I tilt my head back, gazing up at the dark, and a strange calm settles over me. “I like being out here, though. In the wild. Back in Caer Draen, I used to think of this as the great expanse. Out here is where life happens, not trapped behind stone walls.”
Arianell smiles, warmth reaching all the way to her eyes. “You could be a poet, love.”
“Thank you, but I’d much rather be an illustrator. Someone who can capture what she sees and show its beauty, so the world doesn’t feel like such a lonely place. If I could make even one person feel that…” I shrug. “I think I’d be happy.”
“Have you drawn something?” she asks immediately, brightening.
Heat floods my cheeks. “A few things. They’re not very good.”
“Bah. Good doesn’t exist where art is concerned. Only honestly. I’d love to see.”
I hesitate. But then I pull my pack into my lap and retrieve the drawing.
My fingers tremble slightly as I hand it to her.
The moment she sees it, her expression softens.
She studies my rough lines with careful attention, like she’s looking beyond the ink itself.
Like she can see the heart that went into it.
“I do love the firebirds.” She hands the drawing back to me. “It’s lovely, Angharad. Truly. And whether it’s good doesn’t matter. It matters to you, and you can tell.”
I nudge her shoulder with mine, suddenly shy beneath the praise. No one has ever seen my drawings before, not even Osian. Somehow, I knew he would turn something so precious against me. Now I know that instinct was right.
I tuck the drawing safely back into my pack, and eventually the conversation drifts elsewhere.
We eat, we drink, we laugh. Taliesin and I stay up past the others.
We talk for a while before falling silent, just sitting together while the wind rushes over us.
Eventually we crawl into our tents and steal whatever scraps of sleep we can.
The days fall into a rhythm I find myself unexpectedly enjoying. We walk until dusk, make camp beneath the starless sky, pass the evening around the fire, then rise and do it all again the next morning. Long and exhausting as the journey is, it passes without trouble.
Until we reach the river.
The Llyn Oerfa is an icy river cutting down from the Hiraeth Mountains, where the Observatory was built.
Narrow and violent, its rapids look strong enough to drag a person under and never let them surface again.
Normally, travellers cross by way of the Gods’ Bridge—a sweeping stone arch said to have been built by the gods themselves because no mortal hands could have crafted it.
But when we reach the riverbank, the bridge is almost entirely gone. Only crumbling, jagged edges remain on each side, like something has hacked away at the rest.
“Well, fuck,” Taliesin mutters beside me, raking his fingers through his hair.
Rhian paces at the head of the convoy, every step conveying her dismay.
We’ve already been travelling for days, and the path up the mountain is so close we can see it now—a thin line of dirt winding through the copse of trees on the far side of the river before disappearing into the dense undergrowth climbing the mountainside.
But the only way to reach the path is to cross the river, which is… impossible now.
The rapids are too violent to swim across, let alone carry the harp over safely.
“What do we do?” Rhian whirls toward us, her face pinched with distress.
Gethin stares out over the churning water, his expression thoughtful. “We may have to follow the river downstream until the rapids are calm enough to cross.”
“That’s weeks away, Gethin,” she snaps.
“It’s that or give up and turn back,” he counters, throwing a hand toward the river. “And then we risk the king’s army spotting us with the harp. We only have twelve fighters here. Not enough.”
“Fourteen,” Rhian corrects tightly, “if you include Angharad and Taliesin. Plus, we’ve got his ice.”
“And he’s made it clear he can’t freeze an entire army,” Gethin says, exasperated. “Look, I understand—”
“No, but I can freeze the river here,” Taliesin cuts in, his voice quiet.
I suck in a breath and look up at him. His brow is drawn together, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that has no right answer.
“Are you sure you can do that?” Rhian asks doubtfully.
“I am.” He nods once. “I’ll need to rest afterwards, but I can get us across.”
“Tell us what you need us to do.”
“Make sure everyone is ready.” He unclasps his cloak and lets it fall to the ground, like he needs nothing restraining him to do this.
“The rapids will push against my ice, so we’ll only have moments to cross.
Move quickly but carefully. I’ll make it as solid as I can, but I can’t promise the ice won’t crack if someone falls. ”
Rhian swallows hard. “All right. Let’s do this.” Then she raises her voice to address the others. “Everyone, listen up!”
As she explains the plan to the convoy, I follow Taliesin down to the riverbank. The closer we get, the louder the water becomes. Taliesin kneels and dips his fingers into the current, closing his eyes as though listening to the song hidden beneath the chaos.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask quietly.
His magic might not take from him the same way mine does, but it still leaves an imprint, like a scar. I’ve seen the exhaustion it carves into him afterwards and the way the cold starts to eat at his skin.
He doesn’t look at me as he nods. “This is the only way.”
I rest my hand on his shoulder, feeling his steady strength beneath my palm. “You say you’re not selfless, but that’s a lie.”
“Except I’m doing this as much for myself as I am for them,” he says, finally glancing up at me. His eyes have already gone dark. “After everything that’s happened, I’ve realized something important.”
At the seriousness in his tone, my breath thins.
“I believe the stars, the Ballad, all of it, is somehow threaded through your memories. And if we restore the sky, you’ll recover what you’ve lost.” A pause. “You’ll remember me, too.”
And suddenly, I understand. That’s why he’s held himself back since that night in his bed.
Not because he changed his mind. Not because he’s worried I’ll be his undoing.
But because something already existed between us before all of this.
Something happened in his dreams. I’ve known it for some time but hearing him say it out loud sends an ache through me.
A grief for memories I can’t reach. A longing for something that once belonged to me.
And he doesn’t want to cross that line until I remember.
Until I can look into his eyes and understand what we are to each other.
I swallow hard and nod. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can get yourself safely across that river,” he says roughly. “Because if you fall into it, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to go in after you.”
“Where you go, I go,” I murmur, my chest tightening painfully.
His hand grips mine. “Where you go, I go, even if it’s into darkness.”