It isn’t until a boom of distant thunder that the tension breaks. Taliesin exhales, lowering the sword and stepping inside the room. A light flares to life a heartbeat later, and after an uncertain glance over my shoulder, I follow.
Pale yellow light spills across a spacious living area, divided into three sections by tapestries hanging from the ceiling. I walk closer to the nearest, my eyes roving over the woven scene while Taliesin moves toward a wooden chest tucked in the back corner. Threads of gold, deep reds, and endless blues bring the world to life. It’s the coast in all its splendor, a brilliant sunset lighting up the sky behind it, a spiral of starlings soaring beyond the cliffs.
My chest constricts. It’s so achingly beautiful I don’t know what to do with myself, and a strange tickling goes through the back of my mind…
The Order has banned art like this. They believe it binds us to lies. The world does not truly look like this tapestry. It reflects it, but it isn’t the truth, like the like warped image of yourself in a rippling pond. Close, but…wrongin ways that matter. TheOrder claims it’s too dangerous to get attached to such things. If we confuse truth with art, our magic will suffer.
And we can hardly wield magic as it is, at least compared to what elves once did.
Taliesin moves to my side. “Queen Eiriol wove this tapestry herself. Or at least that’s what the merchant claimed when he sold this to me.”
I glance at him sharply. “A merchant sold you this? How?”
“The wards broke several years ago.” He smiles at my widening eyes. “As I told you, I’ve visited the Twin Talons Inn many times. There’s usually a merchant or two passing through. I’ve got trunks full of gold, so they love to trade with me, even if they suspect there’s something off about me.”
“So you’ve never told anyone who you are?”
A wistful smile crosses his face. “Only one.”
I turn back to the tapestry and try to focus on the craftsmanship. Whoever did this—if it truly was Queen Eiriol—captured the froth curling over the cresting waves. The white bleeds almost seamlessly into the blue. The starlings look like a cloud dancing in tune with the rhythm of the sea.
“So lifelike.” I brush my fingertips across the textured surface, and the chain rattles.
That sound sends the Order’s warnings flashing through my mind.Art is wrong.Swallowing, I drop my hand to my side. I shouldn’t take so much pleasure in this, but I’ve always struggled to see the danger in beautiful things. I glance at the man beside me. His gaze is locked on me, the candlelight illuminating the strong curve of his jaw.
“And illegal,” I add.
“Does that truly bother you?”
“Yes.” It should, anyway.
“Hmm.”
Heat prickles beneath my skin, my breath catching just enough to annoy me. I should be mapping the angles of his throat and the distance between us, so I can put an end to this before he even sees it coming.
But…the rogues. They could still be here, and the easiest way to survive them is to let the exile turn this place into a graveyard of frozen bones.
“Should we check the rest of the tower?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves closer—close enough that I feel the shift of air between us. I try to retreat, but the tapestry rustles against me, trapping me in place. A part of me wants to bolt around it. Another part wants to reach out and wrap my fingers around his throat. Both parts scream so loud that I do neither.
I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I said? We should check for the rogues.”
“No need,” he murmurs.
A soft thud sounds above us.
I freeze, every sense sharpening. A quietscrapeechoes through the room, like claws raking across wood, and—
Something drops from the rafters.
12
Alithe creature lands between us, no bigger than a cat. Her rich chestnut coat gleams in the candlelight, broken only by a red crescent at her throat. Her eyes catch the light as they narrow on me. She pauses, her tail flicking, like she’s deciding whether I belong.
Without warning, she swipes a paw at my boot, and her claws scrape the leather. I start, stepping back instinctively. With a satisfied growl, she circles Taliesin’s legs once before settling at his side, though her unblinking gaze never leaves me.
“A pine marten,” Taliesin says, like that explains everything. “She knocked her water basin off the table. That’s what made all that noise earlier.”
