Rifling through saddlebags, I found rope. I chose one mount at random and tied his feet to the stirrups, leaving his hands tied together but loose enough so he could guide the reins. Then I cut the other horses loose.
I wasn’t in the mood for wasted words. I pointed my sword at him. “If you try to flee, you’ll die before your horse makes it two steps.”
The thought of wasting even a heartbeat chasing this fool when Isca was still their prisoner made my jaw clench hard enough to ache.
The soldier nodded, throat working.
“You’ll follow me to Tir Gelida,” I said. “On the way, you’ll answer my questions. And if you lie,” I let my magic flare just enough to set the end of his long hair on fire then snuffed it out, “I’ll know.”
I could do no such thing. The magic the curse granted me was all aimed at destruction and keeping me alive, not mental manipulation. Fortunately, the soldier believed me. Scared people were easy to fool.
Our conversation wasn’t one that the histories could record as a shining example of diplomatic or even investigative prowess. I hammered him with blunt-force questions. He answered to the best of his knowledge.
I didn’t like what I learned.
But we were already approaching the gates of Tir Gelida, so the whys of it all no longer mattered. The stones of the towers rose from the ground, tall and jagged against the lightening sky.
And the curse purred, sensing Isca’s nearness.
My pulse did not match its satisfaction. I was certain more fighting lay ahead.
But when I reached the gates, there was only stillness. Stillness, and the chilling fear that I was already too late.
Chapter 55
Isca
In Anwen’s rooms, the breezy scent of wildflowers mingled with the salty sea. It was grander than the place I’d been held before, but no warmer. Heavy blue tapestries weighed down the walls, muffling sound but not the tension keeping my body rigid. A fire crackled in the hearth, burning low but steady, just like the woman who shooed the guards away as she entered.
She wore the same gown I’d seen her in earlier, with the same sword slung low on her hips. The only thing that had changed about her was the permanent scowl that had settled on her face.
Must’ve been a tense dinner. I could only imagine the political pressure she was under after taking her cousin’s prisoner and hiding her in the capital.
I sat in one of the dining chairs near the hearth, bundled under a fur I’d stolen from her bed, hair still wet from the bath. It was far too cold in Gelida, and my body still ached from the last traces of the druid’s spell. It was growing late, and even though I’d slept for an entire day already, I was exhausted.
“Thank you for the meal and drink,” I said, swirling the chill liquid in my goblet. “I’ve never had a wine as sweet as mead.”
Anwen trudged over on weary feet and poured herself a goblet full, fingers strangling the stem. “It’s made from ice grapes. Thought it might be a fitting gesture for ourvisiting diplomat.”
“Is that how you’re selling me downstairs?”
Her smile had teeth. “Yes.” She moved with deliberate precision even in the comfort of her own room. Her every gesture carried the capacity for a strike or a calculated withdrawal.
“Clever,” I replied with my own smirk. “Your mental walls are good, but I don’t need my magic to know that things did not go exactly as planned.”
“I smiled at ten lords who’d have me burned alive if they knew the truth,” Anwen muttered. “So yes. A delight. They went so far as to suggest that I marry my own cousin.”
I couldn’t smile at that. “I don’t see you cleaning your sword, so it sounds to me like you did a fine job of handling them.”
“They keep asking who I’ll marry. Like it’s a given I’ll give them a name before my father dies. Just to box me in.” She sat across from me with a thud of exhaustion she didn’t bother to hide.
I shrugged. “They want you shackled before they can’t tell you ‘no’ easily.”
Anwen’s gaze met mine over the rim of her goblet.“They want to shackle me by any means possible.”
My voice dropped as I leaned in close. “Then don’t give them what they want. Give them what they’ll accept.”
“And what’s that?” Anwen snapped. She caught herself, closing her eyes for a long moment, breathing out through her teeth, but didn’t apologize. Instead, she waved a hand. “These rooms were warded centuries ago. The magic is still intact. We can speak freely.”
