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’sgooddoesn’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.
