The days fall into a rhythm I find myself unexpectedly enjoying. We walk until dusk, make camp beneath the starless sky, pass the evening around the fire, then rise and do it all again the next morning. Long and exhausting as the journey is, it passes without trouble.
Until we reach the river.
The Llyn Oerfa is an icy river cutting down from the Hiraeth Mountains, where the Observatory was built. Narrow and violent, its rapids look strong enough to drag a person under and never let them surface again. Normally, travellers cross by way of the Gods’ Bridge—a sweeping stone arch said to have been built by the gods themselves because no mortal hands could have crafted it.
But when we reach the riverbank, the bridge is almost entirely gone. Only crumbling, jagged edges remain on each side, like something has hacked away at the rest.
“Well, fuck,” Taliesin mutters beside me, raking his fingers through his hair.
Rhian paces at the head of the convoy, every step conveying her dismay. We’ve already been travelling for days, and the path up the mountain is so close we can see it now—a thin line of dirt winding through the copse of trees on the far side of the river before disappearing into the dense undergrowth climbing themountainside. But the only way to reach the path is to cross the river, which is…impossible now.
The rapids are too violent to swim across, let alone carry the harp over safely.
“What do we do?” Rhian whirls toward us, her face pinched with distress.
Gethin stares out over the churning water, his expression thoughtful. “We may have to follow the river downstream until the rapids are calm enough to cross.”
“That’s weeks away, Gethin,” she snaps.
“It’s that or give up and turn back,” he counters, throwing a hand toward the river. “And then we risk the king’s army spotting us with the harp. We only have twelve fighters here. Not enough.”
“Fourteen,” Rhian corrects tightly, “if you include Angharad and Taliesin. Plus, we’ve got his ice.”
“And he’s made it clear he can’t freeze an entire army,” Gethin says, exasperated. “Look, I understand—”
“No, but I can freeze the river here,” Taliesin cuts in, his voice quiet.
I suck in a breath and look up at him. His brow is drawn together, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that has no right answer.
“Are you sure you can do that?” Rhian asks doubtfully.
“I am.” He nods once. “I’ll need to rest afterwards, but I can get us across.”
“Tell us what you need us to do.”
“Make sure everyone is ready.” He unclasps his cloak and lets it fall to the ground, like he needs nothing restraining him to do this. “The rapids will push against my ice, so we’ll only have moments to cross. Move quickly but carefully. I’ll make it as solid as I can, but I can’t promise the ice won’t crack if someone falls.”
Rhian swallows hard. “All right. Let’s do this.” Then she raises her voice to address the others. “Everyone, listen up!”
As she explains the plan to the convoy, I follow Taliesin down to the riverbank. The closer we get, the louder the water becomes. Taliesin kneels and dips his fingers into the current, closing his eyes as though listening to the song hidden beneath the chaos.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask quietly.
His magic might not take from him the same way mine does, but it still leaves an imprint, like a scar. I’ve seen the exhaustion it carves into him afterwards and the way the cold starts to eat at his skin.
He doesn’t look at me as he nods. “This is the only way.”
I rest my hand on his shoulder, feeling his steady strength beneath my palm. “You say you’re not selfless, but that’s a lie.”
“Except I’m doing this as much for myself as I am for them,” he says, finally glancing up at me. His eyes have already gone dark. “After everything that’s happened, I’ve realized something important.”
At the seriousness in his tone, my breath thins.
“I believe the stars, the Ballad, all of it, is somehow threaded through your memories. And if we restore the sky, you’ll recover what you’ve lost.” A pause. “You’ll remember me, too.”
And suddenly, I understand. That’s why he’s held himself back since that night in his bed. Not because he changed his mind. Not because he’s worried I’ll be his undoing. But because something already existed between us before all of this. Somethinghappenedin his dreams. I’ve known it for some time but hearing him say it out loud sends an ache through me. A grief for memories I can’t reach. A longing for something that once belonged to me.
And he doesn’t want to cross that line until I remember.
