I shudder. “That can’t be true.”
“Oh, it’s true, Swynwraig,” Meurig says. “Don’t believe us? You’ll find out soon enough.”
“What about the huts? Are those haunted?”
He shakes his head. “No, and before you ask, you can’t stay in one. We’ve run out of space, and this is all we’ve got.”
“Besides,” the other guard, Brioc, says with a grin, “we didn’t think it’d be much of an issue for a necromancer. Maybe you can make friends with them, eh?”
I scowl and stalk past him up the stairs, trying to push his jaunty tone into the back of my mind. As I drag my tired body upward, their voices echo behind me.
First, Taliesin. “She doesn’t like being called a necromancer.”
Then Brioc. “Why not? She is one, isn’t she?”
“Stars, she’s theonlyone,” Meurig adds.
A pause. “Be that as it may, she doesn’t like it. Don’t let me hear you say it again.”
My scowl deepens. I pause on the steps, resting my hand on the curved wooden railing, and wait for him to catch up. Whenhe comes into view, there’s a weary look on his face that catches me off guard. The corners of his eyes are downturned, like the weight of the world is pulling at them. He moves slowly, like each step is pure effort. It isn’t until he notices me standing there that the exhaustion vanishes, flickering away so quickly it’s like it was never there.
But I know I saw it.
He pauses on the step below mine. Still, he’s a head taller than I am.
“I heard what you said,” I say, looking up at him. “Pretty rich coming from you, since you were relishing calling me that only hours ago.”
“Are you looking for an argument you couldn’t get out of them?” he says, shaking his head as he resumes the climb. “As tempting as that is, I don’t have the energy right now. I haven’t slept in three days, and if I don’t get some rest—”
He stumbles on a step.
My hand catches his arm before I even know what I’m doing. Even through his clothes, he feels cold.Icecold. I flinch, and he looks at me, exhaustion settling over him and pushing away the mask he can’t keep up anymore.
Up close, I can see it. Veins twist beneath pale, blue-tinged skin, and his lungs crackle with every breath. I tighten my grip without thinking, helping him steady himself up the stairs.
“What’s going on? I ask quietly as we move, careful to keep my voice from carrying to the guards. “What is this?”
“My magic takes a toll,” he says roughly. “I should have rested after the last time I used it. Still, it might have been fine if it weren’t for the stars-damned iron on my head. It’s dampening my ability to heal myself.”
“Then take it off,” I say. “If they want our help, then they’ll have to deal with you having access to your full power.”
He lets out a hoarse laugh. “If only it were that easy.”
I help him up the final step, where we find a short hallway lined by two open doors, as promised.
“Isn’t it?” I ask. “You’ve removed one before.”
“It nearly killed me.”
He pulls away, sagging against the wall with his forearm braced against the stone, breaths short and ragged. His skin has turned a ghastly shade of blue, and the spiderwebs of ice are thickening with every heartbeat. The cold seems to encase him, seeping into the air around his body. It’s biting enough to sting my lungs.
I haul him off the wall and into the nearest room. Through the shadows, I spot the bed and steer him toward it. He collapses as soon as we reach it, frame squealing in protest, one leg hanging over the edge, his head sinking into the pillows. His eyes close, and almost immediately, his breathing evens out.
For a moment, I’m not sure what to do. Remove his boots?No.
He just needs rest.
As I back toward the door, his eyes stay shut, but his rumbling voice follows me.
