A shiver rakes down my spine. I can’t imagine what could possibly be worse than his ice.
“We know what you were searching for in this cave,” she says, her voice carrying far enough to echo through the ridge.Cave, cave, cave. “The Ballad.”
Ballad, ballad, ballad.
The word itself rises and falls, like a song.
And something tightens in my chest so painfully I flinch. I haven’t thought about the Ballad in years. I…I forgot it existed until now. But the way the rebel spoke the word, and the way the stone echoed it back to her, it collides with the song Taliesin was humming last night, and it suddenly awakens something in me.
A gasp rips out of me. “The song of the gods. They sang it when an apprentice proved themselves, and they decided they were worthy of carrying magic.”
Every gaze shifts to me at once. Suddenly, I feel the weight of their stares, like all those judging eyes back in Caer Draen. Taliesin’s burns more brightly than the others, though I only see the surprise on his face for a second before the fury returns.
The rebel steps in front me, cutting off my sight of him, and peers at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I’m getting looked at like that a lot today.
“Yes.” She leans in close, sniffs. “The Order shares that with its puppets now?”
I meet her gaze, steady and unblinking. “I’m not a puppet.”
“You smell like them, Swynwraig. And that is not a compliment.”
“Tell me what you want. Your minute is almost up.” Taliesin’s voice carries such effortless command it’s almost easy to forget he isn’t the one holding all the power here.
The rebel sweeps her gaze over me once more before returning her focus to Taliesin.
“We took the scroll, or rather, the half of it that was there. And no, we don’t have it with us.” She lifts her chin, defiant. “Come with us. We know you have the other half. Together, we can activate the full Ballad and bring about the return of the gods—and hopefully the stars.”
A ripple of murmurs moves through the gathered rebels. Words of agreement, supported by nods of encouragement, like they might prove their leader’s words by simply making it so.
A moment ago, I might have dismissed them all as mad. How could a scroll, much less asong, usher in the return of the gods? But I can’t shake thatknowing, as faint as it is. The Ballad means something. Like my spellwork words, the Ballad holds command over magic, and the melody strengthens its power in a way I don’t yet understand.
These rebels—Taliesin, too—are on to something.
Does the Order know? This could changeeverything.
A burning heat sears through my neck where the talisman presses into my flesh, like my thoughts have conjured the attention of the Order. Instinctively, I try to reach for it, forgetting my arms are bound. The heat intensifies, and my skin twitches, alive with an itch I can’t scratch.
Then just as suddenly, the talisman goes cold.
And another thought grows wild in my mind. A certainty of something else, something Iknowsomehow.
“The Ballad, even whole, won’t be enough,” I say. “There’s something else you need. An…instrument?”
The rebel whips back toward me, brow furrowed. “We know that. How doyou?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“She’s right. Do you know how to find it?” Taliesin asks from behind her, his sword lowered to the ground. The minute has well and truly passed now, ending any promise in his words. If he dislikes their answer, he will turn his wrath on them without hesitation.
“We’ve been looking for it,” she responds, though her gaze remains fixed on me. “And we’ll need your help, and possibly hers, to get it.”
“And why is that?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper, already certain I will hate whatever comes next.
“The Order has been guarding it for decades.” Her teeth flash. “To reach it, we’ll have to go through them.”
18
