My heart beats a wild rhythm. That question holds far too much weight for me to carry it. Because if Taliesin is the King of Winter, if he has forgotten because of his own lost memories, then what does that say about me?
It says everything.
But I still recoil against it.
“I can’t be,” I whisper. “My power does behave like yours. It’s limited. It—”
“Because the Order fucked with it,” he cuts in.
The words stop me cold.
“You remember the stars.” He gestures to the drawing of the Observatory. “You remember this. That building is from before the Culling, too. Tell me how that works if you’re not the same as me.”
“I can’t be a goddess, Taliesin.”
“You’re a goddess to me.”
A painful silence stretches between us. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting the others to have awakened and to be listening to our conversation. Whatever this is, it could change everything—how they see us, how easily they trust us, whether they want us in their rebellion at all.
But the camp remains still.
I turn back to Taliesin, whispering. “If this is all true…what do we do with it? How do we move forward?”
“We get into that Observatory and we take back the harp,” he says, a brutal smile curving his lips. “And then we bring the Order to its fucking knees. We’ll become the gods we once were.”
40
We crouch along the rim of the crater at the peak of the Hiraeth Mountains. Beside me, Taliesin peers down into the basin below, one hand braced against the charred stone. We left our camp at dawn, but it still took most of the day for us to reach the summit, driven into caves again and again by bouts of torrential rain.
Now we’re here—shivering and soaked through but alive. The light is fading from the sky, and soon the world will fall into darkness.
Taliesin and I have said nothing more about our discovery, if it can even be called that. Really, it’s only a hunch. Part of me wants to ignore it. Of everything my past could be hiding, how could it possibly be that?
I’m not a goddess.
Except…if I’m not, whatamI?
At the center of the crater, a new circular building stands proud. It bears an aching resemblance to my drawing, though the details aren’t quite right. It’s much smaller, for one. Thestone bleeds orange like rust on the hilt of a forgotten sword, and the white dome above is sealed shut against the sky.
Five members of the Order guard the entrance. That means seven more inside. It feels too easy.
I duck behind the lip of the crater, out of sight, while Gwenydd addresses the others. My Rhyfelwr revenant stands nearby, awaiting his next order from me.
“There’s only five,” she says. “We could fight them, or one of us could create a diversion. And when I say one of us, I mean me.”
“And that worked so well last time,” I say dryly.
“That was only because of the screaming dead. Don’t need to worry about them today.”
Rhian nods once. “Do it.”
I turn to my revenant. “When we tell you to fight, you will attack any member of the Order. You will turn no blade against us, or aid the Order in any manner. If one of us is in danger, you will protect them.”
“Yes, I understand,” he says with narrowed eyes. “You’re making me your puppet.”
Ignoring him, I continue. “When we get inside the building, you will lead us to the harp. If you don’t know where it’s kept, you will take us where you believe it might be. You will sound no alarm to anyone inside. Do you understand?”
“I understand perfectly,” he mutters.
