Chapter 40
We crouch along the rim of the crater at the peak of the Hiraeth Mountains.
Beside me, Taliesin peers down into the basin below, one hand braced against the charred stone.
We left our camp at dawn, but it still took most of the day for us to reach the summit, driven into caves again and again by bouts of torrential rain.
Now we’re here—shivering and soaked through but alive. The light is fading from the sky, and soon the world will fall into darkness.
Taliesin and I have said nothing more about our discovery, if it can even be called that. Really, it’s only a hunch. Part of me wants to ignore it. Of everything my past could be hiding, how could it possibly be that?
I’m not a goddess.
Except…if I’m not, what am I?
At the center of the crater, a new circular building stands proud.
It bears an aching resemblance to my drawing, though the details aren’t quite right.
It’s much smaller, for one. The stone bleeds orange like rust on the hilt of a forgotten sword, and the white dome above is sealed shut against the sky.
Five members of the Order guard the entrance. That means seven more inside. It feels too easy.
I duck behind the lip of the crater, out of sight, while Gwenydd addresses the others. My Rhyfelwr revenant stands nearby, awaiting his next order from me.
“There’s only five,” she says. “We could fight them, or one of us could create a diversion. And when I say one of us, I mean me.”
“And that worked so well last time,” I say dryly.
“That was only because of the screaming dead. Don’t need to worry about them today.”
Rhian nods once. “Do it.”
I turn to my revenant. “When we tell you to fight, you will attack any member of the Order. You will turn no blade against us, or aid the Order in any manner. If one of us is in danger, you will protect them.”
“Yes, I understand,” he says with narrowed eyes. “You’re making me your puppet.”
Ignoring him, I continue. “When we get inside the building, you will lead us to the harp. If you don’t know where it’s kept, you will take us where you believe it might be. You will sound no alarm to anyone inside. Do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly,” he mutters.
“Good.”
When I turn back around, Rhian is watching me.
“You seem at ease commanding the dead. Have you done this before?” She asks it lightly, but I can feel the tension threading through every word.
“Not that I can recall,” I say.
Taliesin’s gaze flicks toward me at that. He understands what I’m not saying.
Deep down, I suspect I know exactly who and what I am, and I don’t know how to reconcile it with the person I’ve become these past thirty-odd years. That being was known to be ruthless. And I’m not. What’s more, I don’t want to be.
“Get ready,” Rhian whispers, pressing up to peer over the lip of the crater.
Everyone falls silent. Tension throbs through our little ragged group as the wind howls over the mountain peak. It feels like we’re standing on the knife-edge between past and future. The moment we move forward, there will be no turning back.
Everything will change.
It’s what we want—what we’ve been working toward all this time—but unease still curls through my chest.
An arrow whistles through the air and punches the ground at the rear of the Observatory.
The Rhyfelwyr move. One shouts and rushes toward the sound immediately. Two others draw their swords and sprint around the building in the opposite direction. That leaves only two. Rhian lifts a hand and whistles.
The rebels surge forward.
We charge down the slope, black dust misting the air behind us beneath the force of our boots. It shifts under our feet like sand, and it’s all I can do to keep myself upright. More arrows slice through the air in the distance. Gwenydd is doing her damndest to keep their attention elsewhere.
But then the remaining guards spot us.
For a moment, they freeze in horror as we charge them. Then they draw their swords. Brioc roars as he meets them first. He drives his blade into the enemy’s chest with brutal efficiency, and I can hear the grief packed into that blow. Vengeance for Meurig.
The other lunges toward him, but Taliesin is there. He blocks the man’s sword, knocking it sideways. It gives him an opening. He swings his blade in an arc and severs the enemy’s head.
It falls with a horrifying thud.
I clench my teeth and turn to my revenant. “Get us inside.”
He slides a key into the lock and twists it sideways just as one of the guards Gwenydd distracted rounds the building.
A furious shout rips from the Rhyfelwr’s throat as his eyes lock on me.
Without slowing, he yanks a dagger from his side and hurls it straight at my chest. The revenant mutters a curse, spinning toward the attack.
His sword flashes through the air. He strikes the thrown dagger aside with a sharp clang.
The deflected blade disappears in the black dust while the Rhyfelwr barrels toward us with a furious roar. He draws a second dagger from his belt.
It happens so quickly. One moment my revenant stands like a shield in front of me. The next he’s in a pluming cloud of dust with a dagger buried in his neck.
My chest heaves. It feels like something has been carved out of me—something far worse than any loss I’ve ever endured. The enemy stole something precious from me. Fury pounds through my veins.
My hand snaps out. I clamp my fingers around the guard’s throat. A cry of terror chokes him.
“Marwolaeth,” I spit. He goes down like a log. I don’t stop to think how easy it is now.
Taliesin has already taken down another, and Gwenydd has skewered one on her arrows. That’s all five of them now. Squaring my shoulders, I shove open the door and stride inside.
A pattern of stars covers the interior wall.
Between the constellations, someone has written, “May the stars never be forgotten,” in an elegant, looping script.
The rug beneath our feet is deep navy and soft enough to quiet our steps.
The scent of Order magic wends through the air.
A draft pushes it toward us from the circular stairwell at the center of the room leading only up.
From above, something ancient hums.
Taliesin is the first to move to the stairwell. He grips the metal banister and peers through the slim opening that seems to lead the way to the highest floor. Then he cocks his head as if listening for signs of life.
“I should go first,” he says at last.
No one argues, though I don’t much like the sound of it. A net of iron would stop him in his tracks.
I step in behind him. “I’ll go next.”
Rhian nods. “Brioc and Gethin, you’re after Angharad. Everyone else get in the middle. Gwenydd and I will take the rear.”
The rebels fall into position. Even the scouts and Arianell are here, determined to see this journey through to its bitter end. Daggers hang at their hips, though I pray to the gods—if any others are alive to hear it—that they won’t be needed
With soft and careful steps, we inch up the stairwell, passing through one floor and the next.
One contains all manner of instruments: brass rings suspended from the ceiling, small metal spyglasses, quills and parchment scattered everywhere.
The next holds a row of narrow beds. The third floor is entirely empty save for a gathering of cobwebs in the corners.
We move on quickly before spilling out onto the highest floor.
Above us, the white dome curves like the underside of the moon and glows just as brightly.
Every wall is layered in maps, some of the kingdom, others of the shores beyond our own, and others of every constellation.
Charts overlap charts until no surface is left bare.
A small wooden platform stands at the heart of it all, where the harp has made its home. The eerie hum of it washes over me.
Rhian lets out a low whistle as she comes up behind us. “I can’t believe this has actually worked.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Gethin says grimly. “We still need to open this roof and perform the ceremony before anyone stops us.”
“I’ll guard the stairs,” Taliesin says, already moving into position.
Several of us begin searching the room for answers about the dome. Brioc takes the scrolls from Taliesin while Gethin cautiously approaches the harp. Its hum deepens with his every step, but nothing worse follows, even as he takes up position on the stool beside it.
Rhian leans in and lowers her voice. “Does this seem too easy to you?”
“There were meant to be twelve Rhyfelwyr here,” I reply just as quietly. “There were only five outside.”
“Where the fuck are the others?” she mutters with a quick glance around, like they might emerge from behind the charts at any moment.
Suddenly, a click resounds through the room. Arianell staggers back from a wall with a gasp. Before her, a wooden button protrudes from the wall.
A low rumbling rolls overhead. The dome shudders, then splits. It yawns open in the center, revealing an expanse of empty darkness above. I shield my eyes as dust and grit rain down on us. It’s like no one has opened this ceiling in months.
Someone coughs. Another claps dust from their hands. And a third mutters something that sounds like a prayer.
When the air finally clears, Brioc stands at Gethin’s side, the first scroll already unfurled in his hands.
His fingers tremble around the parchment, and a sheen of sweat covers his forehead.
He didn’t look like this before, even when the crowd was near a hundred and dressed in their finest clothes.
But here with our battle-hardened group and our cheeks dusted with grime, our tunics ragged and half-torn, and our hearts weary, we know the world is about to change.
Brioc knows this time it will actually mean something.
And he’s right. There’s something in the air I can taste.
The Ballad wasn’t right before. It is this time.
My heart pounds as what we’re about to do finally sinks in.
We’re only moments from the greatest event our world has seen in…
centuries. Magic—what was lost for so long, controlled, and contained—is about to flow freely again.
People will hold power in their own hands.
Stars will burn bright in the skies. The gods will rise again.
And I might finally remember.
Across the room, Taliesin meets my gaze like he can see every thought spinning through me. He probably can. All along, he’s known me well enough to understand even the smallest shift in my expression or catch the slightest hitch in my breath.
More than anything, I hope I will remember him.
Gethin clears his throat. “Is everyone ready?”
Whispers of yes ripple through the room. With a smile, he lifts his fingers.
“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I for one am most certainly ready.” The clear voice rings through the Observatory, setting every hair on the back of my neck on end.
I know that voice.
Seren, the woman who made me what I am, steps up behind me, and cold steel kisses my throat.