Chapter 41
“If I feel so much as a chill go through this room, I’ll cut her throat,” Seren warns Taliesin.
His hand has already half-risen, but at her words, he stops. He grinds his jaw, his eyes flicking from my face back to hers. Then with a muttered curse, he lets his hand fall heavily to his side.
Little is known about the gods. We have their titles and their dominions.
We know they are immortal, but not indestructible.
The Culling ended all their lives…well, perhaps not all of them.
But even if Taliesin is right about me—and I don’t want to bet my life that he is—a severed neck seems like a fatal kind of wound.
Something perhaps not even a god can survive.
“That’s a good boy,” she murmurs at him.
Anger prickles my skin.
I dart a glance around, searching for the other guards. “Where’s Osian?”
Seren laughs softly. “We knew you might come after the harp. Did you really think we’d leave someone here who’s forced to answer your every question?”
“That’s fine. He answered a whole fucking lot at the river,” I snarl back.
“Enough,” she snaps into my ear. “Now you’re going to stand aside and allow us to take the scrolls.”
I swallow, and the steel bites at my throat. “Never.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Angharad,” she says in that convincing voice she’s used on me a hundred times.
“Whoever controls the harp has the ability to harness the magic of the stars. Surely even you don’t want that kind of power to fall into the wrong hands.
” She leans even closer, her breath hot against my neck.
“Like the people who kill innocent civilians every Culling Day.”
Rhian barks a harsh laugh. “We never did such a thing, you fucking liar.”
I clench my jaw against Seren’s words. I know she’s just trying to get into my mind and manipulate me the way she always has. Even so, my eyes flick to Gethin. Can I trust him with this much power? Can I trust anyone?
Seren digs her fingernails into my shoulder. “We need this, Swynwraig. The human armies will be upon our shores within weeks. The power of the stars will give us the strength to defeat them. The Kingdom of Gwalia will be safe once and for all.”
Pain lances through my heart. Her words speak to me more than I want to admit.
The arrival of the human armies might be a lie.
But if they aren’t, we don’t have the army to fight them.
All I can do is trust the people who have become like a family to me.
A real family, not the fake one I’ve left behind, where lies are dressed up as love.
“I’m no longer a Swynwraig,” I whisper. “And I will not bow down to you.”
Seren’s fingernails dig deeper into my shoulder as she raises her voice and shouts, “Guards!”
The remaining Rhyfelwyr pour into the Observatory. Three rush up the steps while the other four emerge from hidden compartments behind the maps. One moves for the harp. Another grabs Arianell around the middle, while the other two close ranks around their leader.
Taliesin raises his hand against those charging up the stairs. The blade at my throat nicks my skin, and a shooting pain goes through me.
“I will cut her neck, Taliesin Wynn,” Seren commands in a hollow voice. “Step away from the stairwell.”
Taliesin’s body vibrates with barely contained rage. Even so, he backs away from the steps while the guards fill the room. One grips a crown of iron in her hands.
“Kneel,” the guard snaps at Taliesin.
A low sound hums in the back of his throat. “I kneel to no one.”
“You will kneel to us,” Seren warns, “or your precious Swynwraig will—”
“She’s not a fucking Swynwraig,” he snarls, that ancient darkness rippling across his face. “She’s a god. And if anyone’s going to kneel, it will be you. Fall to your knees. Kiss her feet. Or the next breath you take will be your last.”
My lips curve into a smile at the fury burning in his eyes.
Seren looses a harsh laugh. Taliesin’s rant caught her off guard, and that’s all I need. Before I can think it through—before I can talk myself out of it—I spin to face her and seize her throat.
Marwolaeth,” I say too quietly for anyone else to hear. And then, “Anadl einioes.”
She shudders, her eyes going dark and light all at once. And this time, it feels as easy as taking a breath.
Before she can speak, I murmur, even more softly, “Tell no one what I’ve done to you. Order the Rhyfelwyr to leave. Say you’ll take care of the rest.”
“Remove your hands from the High Swynwraig’s throat,” one of the guards behind me calls out. “Don’t make me fight you, Angharad.”
I release Seren’s throat and fall back.
The anger in her eyes is hot enough to burn a hole through me, but even she can’t fight against my magic. She’s bound to follow my every command now.
“It’s fine, Morgan,” Seren says tensely. “I have this under control. All of you can leave now.”
A look of utter confusion ripples across Morgan’s face, and her hands tighten around the iron. “What are you talking about? We need to secure the scrolls. And the harp.” Her gaze shifts to me as it narrows considerably. “What have you done to her?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say with a shrug.
“You’ve done something to her.” She advances on me but not before signalling to the others. “Don’t listen to the High Swynwraig. She’s a revenant.”
I press my lips together. Well, fuck. “Seren, you will fight to protect every rebel in this room from anyone who might cause them harm.”
“I told Lowri we should have kept you secured in the dungeons,” Seren growls, “but no, she wanted to make you her little pet. Thought she could break you in. Turns out some pets still bite the hand that feeds them.”
Those are the last words I hear before chaos erupts all around me.
The Rhyfelwyr spill through the chamber, filling the space between the rebels. Morgan’s sword arcs through the air toward Rhian. The Penderyn gets her own blade up just in time, the impact of steel-on-steel shuddering through her body.
Two more spring toward the harp. Brioc drops the scrolls, draws his sword, and drives it into the nearest one’s shoulder. The guard roars in agony. Gethin abandons the harp. They two move in sync, battling the enemy, moving as one, like they’ve trained for this a hundred times.
“Your precious King of Winter is helpless against this.” Seren’s fingers dig into my shoulder again as she hisses into my ear. “Not unless he wants to risk killing all your friends.”
I spot him through the chaos, locked in battle with Morgan now while Rhian has shifted to face another. His movements are brutal and efficient, his blows hard enough to keep her stumbling back, but one blast of ice would take all seven enemies down.
But I can’t help but see how right Seren is. The room is a blur of chaotic motion with everyone packed in close. Too close. If he made even the smallest mistake with his magic, everyone here would end up frozen.
I whirl toward her.
“I told you to protect the rebels,” I spit out. “That was a command, Seren. Do it now. Help Brioc and Gethin.”
She hisses through her teeth but releases her tight grip all the same. With a feral scream, she draws her dagger and launches toward the Rhyfelwyr nearest the harp.
Just as a blade drives through Arianell’s gut.
I feel the impact through my own heart.
Time seems to hold its breath, then it surges forward all at once. Arianell goes limp, the spark in her eyes blinking out. The Rhyfelwr shoves her away from him. She crashes into the wall, where she goes down hard, blood-stained charts floating down on top of her.
For one single horrifying moment, I can’t breathe. Not Arianell.
And then I’m already across the room before I even know I’ve moved. I rip the dagger from my waistband, tucked there but never used, and slash his throat.
It isn’t enough.
I rise up behind another. “Marwolaeth.” And then another, my ruthless fury unfettered now. “Marwolaeth.”
When the third drops, I notice the silence and take in the sudden stillness. Seren, Brioc, and Gethin have won against their two, breathing heavily but unwounded. Taliesin and Rhian stand over their fallen enemies. Blood covers their hands, but it’s not theirs. Somehow, we’ve…won.
But there’s a buzzing in my ears that won’t yield. This doesn’t feel over. Nowhere near it yet.
My eyes briefly meet Taliesin’s before I take command.
“We need to complete the ceremony before reinforcements arrive,” I say, pacing to the harp. “With Seren being here, more will come.”
Pale-faced, Gethin resumes his position by the instrument. Brioc quietly gathers the scrolls from the ground. No one else speaks.
I move to Seren. “Lie on the floor.”
She falls to her knees and lies back, every muscle in her body trembling. I put my boot on her neck. Her eyes meet mine, as red as Arianell’s blood.
“How does it feel?” I gaze down at her. “To be forced to do someone else’s bidding? It’s not very nice, is it?”
“We never forced you to do anything,” she whispers. “With a little encouragement, you chose to do it all yourself.”
Anger burns in my veins, hotter than any fire.
“Go ahead, Gethin. Play the song,” I say, my eyes still locked on Seren’s face.
“All of you will regret this.” She sneers up at me. “But most of all you, necromancer.”
I press my boot harder against her throat and lift my eyes to Gethin.
“Do it,” I command.
His fingers dance over the harp strings, and the aching melody of the Ballad of the Gods fills the Observatory. As Brioc joins in, the tenor of his voice weaves through the music, the shape of the chamber catching the sound and hurling it upward into the open sky.
From outside suddenly comes the screams of the dead, their vicious tones scraping through the beauty of the song. I cringe and try to block them out with my hands over my ears, but when their voices begin to weave into the music, that’s when I finally understand.
They are not screaming. They’re not even wailing. They’re trying to sing. And not just any song. This one.
Slowly, as I listen to the music and the voices and feel strands of remembrance weave though me, everything suddenly makes a horrible, twisted kind of sense.
The dead are trapped. Without the magic of the stars to lead them to the Otherworld, they’ve had nowhere to go.
And they’ve been waiting—begging—someone to sing the Ballad of the Gods so that their souls might move on.
The music swells, each chord tugging at the broken pieces of my mind, until the song reaches an almighty crescendo.
Then silence. The dead stop screaming. And everyone in the Observatory holds their breath.
A pulse of silver light tears through the open dome. It surges past us, crashing through the chamber, racing down the stairs, and bursting through the doors to unfurl into the world.
Then a boom reverberates through the ground beneath us.
Wild, unfettered magic mists the air.
The screams do not return, and somehow, I know they won’t be heard again. The dead are at peace, at last.
Heart pounding, I tip back my head. A glittering canopy stretches as far as the eye can see. Stars, everywhere. Hundreds—no, thousands of them. Tiny silver sparks leak magic from their core, letting it rain down over us. I breathe deeply, tasting it on the back of my tongue.
Taliesin wraps an arm around me, and I fold into the crook his shoulder while we gaze up and bask in the glow of our new world.
A world that will no longer be ruled by the Order.
“The stars have returned,” I say, looking down at Seren. “You’ve lost.”
“Lost? I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken.” A guttural laugh spills from her lips. “Magic once tied elves to their promises, and now that it has returned, every oath you’ve ever made will become binding once more.”
My heart stops.
“Every oath,” I whisper. Taliesin’s arm tightens around me.
End the exile.
Rhian gasps from across the room. “But that means—”
I never hear the rest. Hundreds of memories flood my mind, breaking loose all at once, spilling over each other in relentless waves until I’m drowning in them.