I clench my jaw and stare at the ceiling, the candlelight throwing dancing shadows across the room. Every instinct screams to run, but there’s nowhere I could go and nothing I can do chained as I am. He moves past the tapestry, and a moment later, the chair creaks as he settles into it.
Minutes go by slowly, and the quiet is ruptured only by the distant howl of the wind and the soft crackle of the hearthfire. I twist onto my side. The chains dig into my arm, so I flop onto my back, restless. As exhausted as I am, my limbs seem to thrum, and sleep feels impossibly far away.
A suddencrackoutside the window makes me tense. A breath later, Taliesin pushes through the tapestry, sword in hand, Bryn chattering angrily on his shoulder.
“Stay here,” he murmurs. “And lock the door as soon as I leave.”
I push up from the bed, my heart hammering. “I thought you said the tower was clear. That whoever broke inside was long gone.”
“They were. But someone else is here now.” He points the tip of his sword at me. “Don’t move.”
13
The door clicks softly when Taliesin pulls it shut behind him. I cross the room, the cold stone biting at my bare feet, and secure the latch. I stumble back and glare at the wood. All my life, I’ve felt a twisted sense of comfort, knowing that an enemy’s death was only a whispered word away. My magic was always a last resort, but at least it was mine.
But now Taliesin has stolen it from me. If I want to defend myself against whoever’s out there, I can’t.
The clash of steel drifts through the door, and a curse claws its way out of me. Why isn’t the bastard using his power? Does hewantto get us both killed? There’s no need forblades, not when you can consume an enemy with frost, turning their skin to shattered glass. Not unless…
If iron dulls my magic as it does his, are our powers more alike than I ever imagined? Does he lose a piece of himself every time he calls upon his ice? He must. That’s why he’s so hesitant to use it. Which means…I might be able to use this information. I just don’t know how yet.
First, I’ll need to survive this attack…
I glance around the room for weapons. Stone walls, dust-coated corners… and a fireplace poker leaning against the hearth. I grab it and test its weight. It’s no sword, but it’ll do. My eyes catch on the chairs beside the hearth. I drag one in front of the doorway as a barricade. It won’t stop anyone, but it might buy me a moment.
Poker in hand, I move behind the tapestry, watching the shadows stretch across the stone walls. A draft rattles the windowpanes, sending a loose candlestick skittering across the floor. The clash of steel follows a moment later. It’s closer this time, the rhythm of a fight playing just beyond the door.
I press myself tighter against the tapestry, trying not to breathe too loud. The sounds of clashing steel, grunts, and occasional curses echo through the tower. My knuckles whiten around the poker.
The door shudders under a heavy blow, then crashes inward. The chair hurls across the room. Splinters spray through the air. Heart hammering, I throw the tapestry aside and swing the poker. The iron collides hard with flesh. A grunt of surprise escapes my attacker, and the impact drives him back a step.
Eyes black and vacant. Order robes hanging on his gaunt form.
I don’t wait to see if he recovers. I pivot, using the momentum to swing the poker again and keep him off balance. But he throws up a hand and catches the poker just before it reaches his neck. The iron shudders under his grip, and for the first time I see how unnervingly strong he is. My momentum stalls, and a spike of fear shoots through me.
“The exile must die,” he hisses the words, sweat dripping down his face, each word ragged as if speaking is a struggle. His nostrils flare as he scents the air. “And so must you.”
I tighten my grip on the poker, forcing myself to breathe. “Why? Who are you? What do you want?”
He lifts his gaze to the ceiling. “You carry what remains, and it must be destroyed before it awakens.”
“I carry what remains? You mean...magic?”
I can’t fathom why he would want it destroyed. Everyone—even our greatest enemies—wants magic to return. The stars, our dead gods, all of it. The Order was thrilled when they discovered me, a young child carrying a fragment of what we all once had. I’ve never heardanyonesay it should be destroyed, not even those who fear me.
The rogue’s eyes suddenly gleam. “When we condemn darkness to the grave, light will be reborn.”
Quick as lightning, he shoves the poker aside and presses a cool blade to my neck. I grab his throat just as fast, the chains rattling like thunder. His eyes go wide.
“Marwolaeth,” I spit.
But of course, nothing happens. These fucking iron chains have caged the wild animal inside me. An animal that now paces and snarls, anger building into a fire that rages beneath my skin. It wants out.
The shock on his face vanishes, and a smile twists his lips. “Iron forged in the lands of men shall be the undoing of the cursed.” His eyes flick to his blade. “Guess where my dagger came from.”
Does he mean the human lands? If so, how did the Order get their hands on that iron net? Elves and men have never worked together. I’ve never even heard of one setting foot on our continent, let alone walking the streets of Caer Draen with goods to trade.
I don’t get the chance to ask. Taliesin is suddenly there behind him. The tip of his sword punches through the rogue’s skull, spraying my face with blood. His throat slips from my hands as he falls.
