And so I stride up to him, wrench my pack from his hands, and lock my eyes with his, summoning as much defiance as I can.
“You may have me trapped now,” I say, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins, “but one day you won’t. I hope you’re brave enough for face me when I wield my full magic. Lead the way.”
The torch casts tortured shadows as we descend into the gut of the earth. Water drips along the slick walls, leaving trails of poison in its wake. We’ve been spiralling downward for what feels like an age. Hours, maybe more. After twenty flights, Taliesin warned me it was time to hug the center of the stairwell, to avoid brushing the stone. We’re far enough down now that the sea is creeping in, hungry to strip us to bone and marrow.
At last, we reach the bottom. The torch’s yellow light splashes over the mouth of a low tunnel. Fear lodges in my throat, but I swallow it and duck after Taliesin—and Bryn on his shoulder—into darkness. Our boots ring against the stone, and the trickle of water grows louder.
The walls seem to close around us, pressing tighter with every step, as if the tunnel itself wishes to crush us between its ribs—or drag us into the earth, folding us into it. Dramatic, I know, but the thought of being trapped has always made me feel like my skin is too tight for my body. The worst end I can imagine has always been…well,this. Surrounded on all sides, unable to move or breathe or speak.
Chained, like a monster.
Memories of the dead suddenly claw to the surface of my mind, usually trapped in the darkest corners where I can ignore them. I see the pain in their eyes, and hear the fear in their voices when they realize I’ve forced them back from Otherworld, pulled them into screaming daylight, and dragged their truths from them for the Order’s advantage…
I try to shove the memories down, but they rise anyway, a sea of faces flashing through my mind like a parade of ghosts I’ve damned. Each glare, each silent accusation, hits harder than the last. The question I’ve long carried swells like an angry wave. What becomes of them when they die a second time? The Order says they return to Otherworld.
But how can they know? How couldanyoneknow?
A hand gently brushes my elbow, and the storm inside my head shatters. I’ve stopped without realizing it, and my breath tears raggedly through my lungs.
“Are you all right?” Taliesin’s voice echoes down the tunnel. When I don’t immediately answer, he drops to one knee but somehow remains tall enough to meet my eyes. “Swynwraig?”
A shudder crawls down my spine, cutting through the panic. “Stop calling me that.”
Taliesin’s gaze darkens, but there is something in it that makes my heart twist rather than harden. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”
“You mean it like a curse.” I take a step back, shaking my head. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
He watches me for a long moment, and in the silence, the tunnel feels otherworldly, like we’re suspended between the living and the dead, between what is real and what is lost forever. A ringing builds in my ears as my lungs drag in air too fast. Darkness creeps into the corners of my vision.
Concern gathers in his eyes. “Breathe. You’re all right.”
But his words—those of a stranger who bound me in chains—mean nothing. Panic closes a fist around my throat and drives me under, consuming everything until there is nothing left but black.
The hiss of waves cuts through the darkness, dragging me back to the surface of my mind. I gasp and bolt upright, still clutched in panic’s grip. Wind lashes my skin as the world comes into focus. Grass beneath me, a cloudless cerulean sky above. The terror of the deep is gone. I’m above ground.
Relief shudders through me. I haven’t felt that kind of panic in so long, I almost convinced myself I’d conquered it. But no, it still haunts me like the specters of all those I’ve condemned. Hands trembling, I press my palms to my eyes and force the tears back down. I don’t get to fall apart. Not here, not with him.
Not ever.
“Feeling any better?” The voice comes from behind me.
I start, though I knew he was there. He wouldn’t have left me alone on this hillside, if only because he refuses to let me out of his sight.
“It depends on what you mean by ‘better,’” I say, not turning.
He moves to my side and settles onto the ground beside me, forearms resting on his bent knees, wind ruffling his silver hair. “You want to talk about what that was back there?”
“Not particularly.”
He nods, like he expected that answer. “You seem to have an aversion to feeling trapped.”
I frown. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Of course. Just perhaps not to this extent.”
Irritation slices through me, driving me to change the subject to something else. “I’m assuming you had to carry me all the way here. Didn’t fancy leaving your assassin to drown in the tunnel floods?”
“It was tempting,” he says sardonically.
