You never notice when something becomes everything until it’s ripped away.
Tears fall, and the ache in my chest swells. What did I lose? Please, don’t let it be Osian. Trembling, I scramble to find my memories of him.
And he’sthere.
His name still rings in my mind. I can remember the day we met. His rich laughter. The crinkling of his eyes when he smiles. I sag forward, relief rushing through me. At least I still have all my memories of him.
And as long as I have those, I’ll be fine.
The corpse’s cloak rustles. Seagulls hover above, shrieking, like they can sense what I’ve done to their meal. I brush my tears aside just as the man’s eyelids twitch. His vacant stare brightens for a moment, but darkness still hovers at the corners, waiting to drag him back to the land of the dead.
I have no memories of this man. He’ll be gone in minutes.
“Hello?” he croaks, his voice far too loud.
I press a finger to my lips. “Speak quietly. There’s danger nearby.”
“Who are you?” he asks, nervously wetting his lips. “What do you want from me?”
I lean closer, despite the scent of death wafting off him. “I need you to answer a question for me. Who sent you here? Are you looking for someone? What is your mission?”
I wince. That was three questions. Corpses get confused when you ask too much of them at once. Rookie mistake. Clearly, my nerves are getting the better of me.
He suddenly shudders, his body jerking against the tree. I grab his clammy hand and hold it tight. A tether to the here and now. It won’t work long, but hopefully it’s enough for him to answer.
“Tell me your mission,” I command. He’s compelled to answer me honestly. It’s the only control I have over the resurrected…in most cases.
“Exile,” he hisses between clenched teeth. “Don’t…go near… Môrfaen Cliffs. They…will trap him.”
Confusion whips through me. “What? The Order plans to trap the exile at the Môrfaen Cliffs? How?”
The cliffs are just past the border, edging the warded veil that keeps the exile confined to his tower. He shouldn’t even be able to reach them. But that’s not the strangest part. What he’s saying directly contradicts my mission. Why would the Order set a trap when they’ve already sent me to use my power against him?
A knot twists in my gut. None of this makes sense.
“There’s more,” he rasps. “The veil…broken.” His hand goes limp, and his gaze shutters.
Cold dread washes over me. I let the corpse slide from my fingers and stumble back, his words ringing in my mind like a warning bell. The warded veil has been broken, which means…there’s nothing to hold the exile in the tower. Taliesin Wynn is free.
My gaze shifts to the road above. The silver-haired stranger stands by the horses, his cloak whipping around his powerful frame. He’s glaring down at me. And for one horrifying moment, I forget how to breathe.
I swear I see something ancient and terrible in his eyes.
No, he can’t be.
It’s the thought I’ve whispered to myself since the moment I first laid eyes on him. But now I know he could be.
7
Did he see me talking to the corpse?
I’m not sure how I’d explain it if he did. Normal people don’t go around chatting with the dead. He’d suspect what I am. And then he will know I’m no ordinary Swynwraig and certainly no ordinary fugitive fleeing the Order.
Heart thudding against my ribs, I kneel and search the dead man’s cloak. The pockets are bare. I even check the back of his neck, finding only the rough hollow where his talisman should be. The attackers were thorough.
The stranger’s boots crunch on the scattered rocks as he rounds the tree. I don’t look up, focusing on the man’s trouser pockets. Heat blooms on my cheeks, and sweat dampens my forehead, betraying the turmoil I fight to hide. Even the wind seems to conspire against me by lifting the scent of my magic into the air.
“Are you stealing from the dead?” he asks in a low voice. Somewhere above, the gulls cry.
