I know that can’t be true. A bird passed through, but when? Days ago? No, last night’s storm would have carried the feather far from here.
“I’ll take the lead.” Taliesin passes the feather back to me, like he expects me to do something with it. Strangely, Idofeel compelled keep it, though I don’t understand why. It’s like an odd impulse rising from the farthest reaches of my mind. Have I done this before? Is it one of my memories I’ve forgotten?
My chest burns at the thought. I’ve come to terms with the cost of my magic and the way it carves away pieces of me. Usually, the lost memories don’t matter. I move through lifewith the gaps in my mind like empty rooms in crumbling house I was glad to leave, and I think nothing of them.
But this…this stings. I have the haunting sense that this feather—or another feather like it—matters to me. And Ihatethat I can’t remember why.
To Taliesin, I merely say, “Thank you,” before tucking the feather in my pack.
We continue down the path, our conversation muted. I’m too focused on not tumbling to my death to bother with small talk, and Taliesin seems too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice me. It’s ironic, really, how this would be the perfect moment to break free of him, if only it weren’t for the sheer cliffs on either side of us.
Then, suddenly, Bryn comes scampering back, her chestnut fur spraying behind her. She barrels past me and scrambles up Taliesin’s leg before pressing her trembling body against his neck.
And in an instant, he transforms from the commanding man I know into someone unrecognizable.
“Bryn, what’s wrong?” he coos, rubbing the fur beneath her chin.
She chatters urgently, and somehow, he understands. His gaze sweeps across the path ahead, like he’s searching for something, and then his expression hardens. The hair on the back of my neck prickles in alarm.
“Careful,” he murmurs, barely audible. “There’s a nest of firebirds up ahead.”
15
We could turn around and go back, but the tower would offer no escape. Or we could press on and tempt fate with the firebirds, who would sooner claw our eyes out than let us near their hatchlings. At least according to legend. I’ve never met anyone brave—or foolish—enough to seek out one of their nests.
“I’m assuming there’s no other way off this ridge,” I say in a tight voice.
Taliesin chuckles darkly and gestures downward. The poisonous sea whips itself into a frenzy, waves smashing at the base of the cliffs far below. And if the firebirds decide we’re a threat, that’s exactly where we’ll end up.
“Just stay behind me,” he says. “I’ll try to make it clear we mean no harm.”
“Right,” I mutter, glancing at the shivering pine marten perched on his shoulder, “because you’re somehow the animal whisperer.”
“Bryn and I have been together a long time,” he says, leaving it at that.
We edge forward. Taliesin keeps one hand on the pommel of his sword, though I know he wouldn’t raise it against a firebird. These creatures were once the companions of the gods, flown into battle to obliterate ancient enemies, their flames consuming entire war camps.
They’re all that remains of the world that once thrived—a land that sang with magic. And they’re considered untouchable now. Except by that man at the inn.
We move slowly along the narrow ridge. The path slopes down from the summit and dips into a sheltered recess, where the wind can’t quite reach. There, the nest is cradled against salt-worn stone. Woven from long strands of branches and countless twigs, it spans nearly the entire width of the path. Broken eggs, pale with the glow of burnished gold, litter its interior, but it’s otherwise empty.
Except for one. A single firebird curls up against the nest’s side, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Blood streaks her feathers, and a wound in her flank oozes a pale, yellowish ichor.
A gasp rips out of me, and I reach for Taliesin’s arm without thinking. “It’s the firebird from the inn.”
He stiffens under my touch and glances over his shoulder. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something that makes my breath catch.
“What are the odds?” he murmurs. And somehow, I know he’s speaking about more than just the firebird. But for the life of me, I can’t understand what. Me? Those dreams? And what could any of that possibly have to do with this?
“I want to help her,” I say.
Before he can respond, I push past him and ease closer to the nest, my eyes locked on the wounded firebird. Up close, her breathing is anything but steady. Each inhalation is a wheezethat sounds like a death rattle. My chest tightens. If she’s left like this, she will die.
I haul myself over the lip of the nest and land on the brittle twigs with acrunch. She doesn’t stir. If anything, her body slumps lower, like death has already taken hold, dragging her into its shadowed realm.
I reach out, my hands trembling, and fear I’m too late.
“This is an extraordinarily bad idea,” Taliesin says from behind me. “If another comes while you’re in the nest, they will rip you to shreds. Not even my ice will stop them.”
