Chapter 38
“Rhian.” Gently, I shake her shoulder, fearing the worst.
But then she rolls onto her back with a groan.
A purple bruise stains her left cheek and blood pours from her crooked nose, red and slick against her skin, but she takes my hand and allows me to pull her to her feet.
She surveys the wreckage without a word.
Tears cut tracks through the grime on her face.
“We need to gather the dead,” she says quietly.
I nod, hating my next words even though they’re necessary. “They’ll return with reinforcements.”
“Gather the dead,” she repeats. “We’ll offer up a prayer to the gods before moving on.” Her eyes flick to the wagon. “The scrolls?”
“Safe with Taliesin. He’s still on the far side of the river.”
“Let him know we leave within the hour, though I don’t know where the fuck we can go.” Her face twists with pain. “If you’ve got any ideas, Swynwraig, now’s the time.”
“Maybe we should head back.” But as soon as I voice it, I already know her objections.
The Gods’ Bridge is gone, and Taliesin is in no shape to craft us another. The long way around will take weeks. By that time, the Rhyfelwyr will have returned with reinforcements. That or the king’s army will take us out on the other side.
She grips my arm before moving off, winding through the bodies scattered across the ground. By my count, we lost four while the Order lost six. It’s a hollow victory. Any loss of life here feels like a wound carved straight through the rebellion.
And Osian took the harp.
I’ve never seen him move like that before, even when I pushed a great deal of magic into him. It troubles me.
As I turn back toward the river, I see Taliesin making his way across. The bridge has shattered into drifting slabs, but enough remains for him reach us. He makes the final stretch crouching on a raft of ice. Arianell and the others pull him in with a rope they tossed.
I jog down the riverbank. As soon as his boots hit the ground, I’m in his arms, pulling him tight against me.
He’s soaked through and shaking, and his breath comes out quick and sharp, mist curling into the smoke-choked air.
I pull back and look into his face, my trembling hands cradling his pale blue cheeks.
“Taliesin,” I murmur. “Are you all right?”
“They tried to take you away,” he says roughly, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “And I wasn’t here.”
“Except you were,” I whisper. “Seeing you gave me strength.”
“I should have been here,” he says stubbornly.
“You were. In all the ways that matter.”
His eyes close briefly at that, like the words slice deeper than any blade.
He stumbles forward. I catch him around the waist, and Gethin and Brioc arrive to take his arms. Together, we help him to the wagon, where he lies on his back, uneven breath spilling from his blue-tinged lips.
Arianell paces nearby, her gaze unfocused.
I step closer. “Arianell…could you find some food for him?”
She blinks, like she didn’t realize I was there. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She smooths down the front of her tunic as if it were an apron. Her hands come away smeared with mud, and she stares at them like she doesn’t understand why.
While she searches through the saddlebags, I climb into the wagon and curl up beside Taliesin. I tell him everything that happened as though he didn’t witness it all from a distance. He says nothing at first. Then he merely pulls me against his chest and holds me there.
I close my eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat and letting the scent of leather, ice, and rowan wash over me.
Beneath it lingers river water and smoke.
An ache constricts my heart as another image comes unbidden to my mind.
Us, just like this. My head on his chest. His arms tucked tight around me.
The world beyond us is a wild, tangled mess, but at least we have each other.
As much as I wish I could lie here forever, I can’t. Because that wild mess of a world needs me, and I know exactly what I can do to help it.
“Will you be all right here?” I ask.
His arms tighten around me a fraction before loosening. “Yes, go on. I just need rest.”
I leave him there in the wagon, though it feels like I’m wrenching one of my limbs away.
After jumping down, my boots crunching over pebbles, I weave through the small battlefield.
The fire still crackles through the woods and smoke clogs the air, but the bank is mostly untouched.
My companions have already gathered their dead.
They lie near the bank in a line, eyes closed, traitor marks illuminated beneath the sun.
Someone has folded their hands across their chests. Someone else tucked cloaks beneath their heads like pillows.
I wish I could rub the marks from their skin. They are no traitors to the Kingdom of Gwalia.
As I stand there gazing at them, Gwenydd slowly approaches. A wetness coats her cheeks, and she doesn’t bother to wipe it away. Blood stains her tunic, and her hands shake.
“Angharad.” She grasps my hands. “Please save them. Bring them back to life.”
I bite the insides of my cheek as pain flickers through my heart. I’ve never had anyone ask me to use my powers with so much need. For information, yes. For ‘necessity’, always. Never with a grief that seems to shudder through every inch of her body.
“I wish I could,” I whisper, “but it won’t stick.”
She grinds her jaw and glances away. “You knew Meurig, at least.”
“Not well enough. He might live a few days, but…I’m afraid the second loss might hurt you worse than the first.”
“Why?” she grinds out, then flicks her pain-filled gaze back to me. “Why is your magic like that?”
“I don’t know.” My hands hang heavily by my sides. I hate feeling useless. “I wish I did.” Then I reach out and grip her arm. “But I promise I will do everything in my power to make them pay for this.”
“An oath,” she murmurs, inclining her head. “I will take it.”
As she backs away, I turn to the dead Rhyfelwyr that still litter the riverbank. I find the one I killed and kneel beside him, my stomach twisting at the stench of death already emanating from his body. Even now, part of me remains back in the wagon beside Taliesin, away from all this.
I grasp his throat. “Anadl einioes.”
Leaning back on my heels, I wait, only wincing once when a pain shoots through my brow. A distant memory crumbles, but I try not to focus on that now. This will be worth it. It has to be. Otherwise, I’m tearing pieces from myself for nothing.
The Rhyfelwr blinks his eyes, then sits upright. He looks dazedly around before his gaze lands on me. In an instant, he’s on his feet, panic and horror flashing across his face. Just like Osian did.
“You turned me into a revenant,” he breathes, his complexion paling past the color of death.
“Calm down,” I command, rising with him.
Instantly, the tension in his body loosens. “Yes.”
“Tell me where Osian took the harp,” I say.
He shudders again, then nods. “To the Observatory.”
I frown. “Not to Dinas Grym? Explain exactly what’s happening.”
“The Order took the harp to the Observatory,” he says automatically. “Some others are with the king’s army. They will end the rebel threat and recover the Ballad’s scrolls. Then the king will take Arawn the Mighty to Dinas Grym.”
I pace, then glance at the rebels saying goodbye to their dead. Low prayers drift across the riverbank beneath the hiss and crack of burning trees. “How many guard the Observatory?”
A long beat passes. I whirl back toward the Rhyfelwr whose jaw is locked so tightly it looks like it might shatter. Sweat curls down his face.
“Tell me how many guard the Observatory,” I command, my voice louder this time.
He winces. “A Section of twelve. Rhyfelwr only.”
“They won’t have their Swynwragedd? Why not?”
“The king has placed them all on secondment for his army.”
Strange.
“Right.” I point at him. “Stay here. Do not call out or make any loud noises. Do not fight anyone. You are my revenant, and you will not do anything against me or the people with me. Do you understand?”
“Fuck you,” he mutters.
I flash him a vicious smile. “Fuck you, too.”
Rhian sits on the riverbank, staring at the rapids. I go to her and tell her everything I’ve learned. When I’m done, it takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, she swallows hard, like the words are stuck in her throat.
“Those Order bastards need to pay for this,” she says quietly.
“I agree.” I glance over my shoulder at the unmoving Rhyfelwr whose eyes blaze with fury. “We can use the revenant to get us inside the Observatory, find the harp, then end this once and for all.”
“And you really believe we’re capable of that?” she asks with a bitter laugh. “We just lost. Horribly.”
“Next time we won’t have Taliesin drain most of his power by making us an ice bridge,” I say.
“Between him, my revenant, and the fighters we have here, a Section stands no chance against us. Besides, they won’t be expecting us.
” A pause as I catch my breath. “We can do this, Rhian. I truly believe that.”
She nods, though doubt still lingers on her face.
“The Order is run by tyrants, Rhian. If they grow any stronger, no one will be able to stand against them. We must find the courage to break their grip on this world. In fact, I believe you’re the one who convinced me of that.”
“You’re right.” She inhales deeply, then stands. All her earlier doubt and pain vanish. In their place she wears determination like a shield.
She strides to the others with a sense of purpose in her steps. As she tells them the new plan, I start gathering only the necessary supplies. We’ll need to leave the wagon behind if we want to make good time.
We set off within minutes, making for the trail by skirting the charred and flaming woods.
Gwenydd scouts ahead, dropping back every hour to let us know all is safe and quiet up ahead.
The trail upward is a gentle slope at first, winding around the base of the mountain.
But soon, it grows thinner and steeper, and as the sun dips beyond the peaks, Rhian motions us inside a cave to wait out the night.
The cave yawns open between two weathered slabs of stone, its mouth blackened with old soot.
Cool air seeps from within, carrying the scent of damp earth and petrichor.
The ceiling slopes low near the entrance before widening farther back.
Water drips steadily somewhere in the darkness, the sound echoing through the chamber.
By the time we drag ourselves inside, exhaustion hangs over us like another layer of smoke. No one speaks above a murmur. Beyond the cave mouth, the woods still burn below us. Their dying flames are the only light in the growing darkness.
I help Taliesin unfurl his bedroll, where he collapses without ceremony, sleep taking him almost instantly. I sit back on my heels and watch the blue veins fade back into his skin. He should get more time to rest than a night. I should, too. All of us should.
But the world outside keeps burning, and it will not stop for us.
As everyone gathers around the small cookfire, no asks what comes next, because we already know. Whatever waits for us at the Observatory, whatever the Order is building toward, this is our last chance to stop it.
When we leave this cave, we either save this world or we die trying.