“Then I’m sure,” I say. “It wasn’t me.”
A muscle feathers in his jaw. Without another word, Taliesin turns and strides toward the narrow path carved into the cliffside, dragging me along behind him. I don’t protest, if only because I’m too tired to try.
We start down, pebbles sliding beneath our boots. To the left, the world falls away into open air. I press a hand to the rock face on my right and peer down at the sea below, its spray painting the stones an even darker gray. Despite the biting cold, sweat dampens the back of my neck. Every new gust of wind threatens my balance.
One wrong step, and I’m dead.
Suddenly, Taliesin drops to one knee behind a jagged outcropping of rock. I duck down beside him, a cold unease slithering through me. Have we already been seen?
He presses a finger to his lips, then points.Down. At the sea.
I shake my head. I’m not going down there. Is he mad?
He leans closer—so close that his rich scent washes over me. His lips graze my ear. I shiver involuntarily, cursing my body for betraying me. But he doesn’t seem to notice.
Instead, he murmurs, “Use your magic and tell me how many there are, Swynwraig.”
I jerk away. “Why, so you can decide if you can kill them all? How many can you freeze with one burst of power? Dozens, I heard.” Or more.
“Tell me how many.” He tucks a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head so I’m forced to meet his narrowed gaze. “Or I will toss you into the sea.”
9
The wind howls through the cliffs. I grip the rock until my knuckles ache, and then I close my eyes. Hatred for Taliesin Wynn burns at the back of my throat. He’s making me count the Order members below, marking how many he needs to kill. They could be my friends. My confidantes.
Except all of them hate you, a voice hisses in the back of my mind.
Shivering from the cold, I press my fingers into the talisman embedded in the back of my neck. “Trefnydd.”
Magic wends through me, as soft and sweet as a lullaby. Unlike my necromancy, the Order’s magic takes nothing from me. It brushes against my skin like a feather, or warms me like a bowl of soup after hours in the borderlands. It dances at my fingertips, and I reach out, calling to it. The magic is linked to every talisman in service to the Order. Any others nearby will answer.
But nothing happens.
I frown and reach out again. Still nothing. The absence of magic is deafening. This is one of the first spells the Orderteaches new Swynwragedd. One of the simplest. Our talismans are part of us. They’re all linked. Which means…
I open my eyes to find Taliesin watching me with a furious intensity. His brow is drawn tight, his body is tense. It’s almost like he…fears what I’m doing. But that’s ridiculous. His magic far exceeds mine, at least the spells granted by the Order. And he’s not bound by any constraints, like we are.
“There are no Order members here.” I keep my voice low, in case someone is listening.
The crease between his brow deepens. “I saw movement below. Someone’s here.”
I shake my head. “Not someone from the Order.”
Wariness flickers across his face as my thoughts begin to race. What was it the dead man said? He insisted someone planned to trap the exile on the Môrfaen Cliffs, but he never said who. In fact, he warned me not to come here…
Of course.It must be the rebels.
My heart pounds. The rebels won’t care who I am. They’ll take me captive, too—or worse. I thrust my wrists toward Taliesin, wincing as the chain rattles far too loudly. I won’t be used as bait. Not for them.
“Release me,” I say in a low voice. “Before they realize we’re here.”
“We don’t even know who it is yet. Or how many. I—”
“Release me, or I will scream.”
His eyes flash. “Scream, and I will toss you into the sea.”
“You wouldn’t,” I hiss.
