Wings flare against a gray sky.
I shake my head. Now is not the time for memories. But when the shadow of wings floats across the ground again, I realize thewings are in the here and now, not from some dark corner of my mind.
My heart lifts. The firebird is here.
Plumes of fire race across the ground behind the Order. Enemy warriors scatter away from the heat, dropping back just enough for Brioc to drive his sword into another man’s chest. I catch sight of Osian through the smoke. He stares up at the firebird, his eyes wide, as if transfixed. Then he turns and runs straight for the wagon.
“The harp!” I scream at anyone who will listen. But the clash of steel is far too loud. Every other sound is drowned out by the inferno blazing through the woods.
Osian reaches the wagon and yanks at the restraints. They snap in his hands like brittle twigs. Then tears the harp free and leaps down, moving with the preternatural speed and strength only a Rhyfelwr can possess.
A Rhyfelwr strengthened by their Swynwraig.
But how?I’mhis Rhyfelwr, and I tore out my talisman.
Theyreplacedme.
I throw myself toward the wagon, desperate to stop him. Someone grabs me around the waist and wrenches me backward. I scream and thrash against his grip.
I twist hard, driving my heel down and forcing my weight sideways. My boot slams onto his, and his grip loosens just enough. I wrench free and stumble forward, my pulse roaring in my ears. Across the river, Taliesin kneels, shuddering as he watches the battle, his skin veined deep blue and his eyes as black as night.
The Rhyfelwr reaches for me again, anger twisting his features. I drive my knee hard into his groin. He doubles over with a guttural roar of pain.
Then the firebird unleashes another river of flame behind him. Shouts erupt nearby. The Rhyfelwr falters, then turns,retreating toward the hills. The others follow only a heartbeat later.
And through the smoke, Osian runs with the harp cradled against his chest.
He never once looks back.
38
“Rhian.” Gently, I shake her shoulder, fearing the worst.
But then she rolls onto her back with a groan. A purple bruise stains her left cheek and blood pours from her crooked nose, red and slick against her skin, but she takes my hand and allows me to pull her to her feet. She surveys the wreckage without a word. Tears cut tracks through the grime on her face.
“We need to gather the dead,” she says quietly.
I nod, hating my next words even though they’re necessary. “They’ll return with reinforcements.”
“Gather the dead,” she repeats. “We’ll offer up a prayer to the gods before moving on.” Her eyes flick to the wagon. “The scrolls?”
“Safe with Taliesin. He’s still on the far side of the river.”
“Let him know we leave within the hour, though I don’t know where the fuck we can go.” Her face twists with pain. “If you’ve got any ideas, Swynwraig, now’s the time.”
“Maybe we should head back.” But as soon as I voice it, I already know her objections.
The Gods’ Bridge is gone, and Taliesin is in no shape to craft us another. The long way around will take weeks. By that time, the Rhyfelwyr will have returned with reinforcements. That or the king’s army will take us out on the other side.
She grips my arm before moving off, winding through the bodies scattered across the ground. By my count, we lost four while the Order lost six. It’s a hollow victory. Any loss of life here feels like a wound carved straight through the rebellion.
And Osian took the harp.
I’ve never seen him move like that before, even when I pushed a great deal of magic into him. It troubles me.
As I turn back toward the river, I see Taliesin making his way across. The bridge has shattered into drifting slabs, but enough remains for him reach us. He makes the final stretch crouching on a raft of ice. Arianell and the others pull him in with a rope they tossed.
I jog down the riverbank. As soon as his boots hit the ground, I’m in his arms, pulling him tight against me. He’s soaked through and shaking, and his breath comes out quick and sharp, mist curling into the smoke-choked air. I pull back and look into his face, my trembling hands cradling his pale blue cheeks.
