Then I force myself back to words, to his offered hand, and I hesitate.
“They want me, not you,” I find myself saying. “If you told them you wanted to return to the tower, I think they’d remove the iron bands. We could go our separate ways, try to save ourselves.”
He offers a tense smile. “I meant what I said earlier. The wheel is already turning, and no matter what we do, we can’t undo us meeting. Our fate will come for us now.”
“Maybe I don’t believe in fate,” I murmur.
“Even so, you must admit we’re wound too tightly in something we don’t yet understand—you and me. I think we should find out what it is.”
He’s right. None of this feels accidental. Us meeting, the firebird leading us to the cave, the rebels bringing us here. What it all means, I have no idea, but it does feel as if a force beyond ourselves is dragging us toward…this.
My heart pounds. “Fine. But this doesn’t mean I forgive the chains. Or your cruel remarks.”
He cocks his head. “You’re still upset about the necromancer comment.”
“You called me spineless.”
“You’ve insinuated far worse about me.”
I open my mouth to argue but then stop. He’s not wrong.
“Truce?” he asks, brow rising.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate before slipping my hand into his. His palm is warm against mine—unexpected given how cold he was only hours ago. We shake, our eyes locked, and the thrumming in my veins spikes. The moment lengthens, like we’ve been caught in it outside of time, shaking hands through an entire day and night before it starts again. And still, I can’t seem to let go. My hand moves with his as if it already knows the rhythm.
Eventually, we break apart. I don’t know who lets go first, or if it’s mutual, but one moment we’re touching, and the next we’re not, and I’m suddenly too aware of my sleeve, smoothing it down just to have something to do. I avoid looking at his face.
Then, more boldly than I feel, I ask, “Did she visit you?”
“Hmm?”
“The person who comes to your dreams.” I flick my eyes up to his. “Did she visit you just now, while you were resting?”
He looks at me oddly. “You said you couldn’t sleep.”
“Yes, but she isn’t—”
He leans closer, pressing a finger against my lips. Everything in me stills. Not just because of the gesture, but because for a brief, disorienting second, it feels like I’ve been here before.
“No,” he says quietly. “She didn’t. And I don’t think she will unless you sleep.” His hand drops as he rises, like a pendulum, and the absence of his touch hits me harder than it should.
“Or the iron is repelling her?” I counter. “It sounds like it was before, kind of like the opposite of how talismans work between a Swynwraig and her Rhyfelwr.”
He lifts his fingers to the band, a distant look in his eye, like he’s only just remembered it’s there. “Hmm. Never trust anyone who erases what you are.”
20
Itoss and turn the rest of the night, Taliesin’s words echoing in my ears. I try to find the silver lining. At least it’s not the screams of the dead.
The Order never tried to erase what I am—not directly. But they’ve always known the cost of my power. They’ve also known my mind frays a little more every time I work for them. Yes, they offer soothing words, comforting smiles, and endless gifts, but is that enough? Once, they left a basket of the finest cheese in my room. I dragged myself inside, mind coming apart at the edges, and devoured the whole thing in under an hour.
It didn’t fix anything. It just moved the damage from my mind to my stomach.
I don’t think Taliesin meant it for the Order, though, despite their plans. Or even the rebels. I think he was talking about Osian.
My heart twists painfully. Sometimes when I think about how much I love him, I feel like I’m drowning. Like I’m lost in the poisonous sea, lungs spasming, reaching toward him with trembling hands, and he can’t see me. And that’s the problem. Ithurts. He hates what I am and what I can do. When I resurrecton our assignments, he refuses to watch. He gets that pained look on his face and walks away, like it hurts him just to stay.
I’ve always accepted his reaction. My magic disturbs most people, and while it disturbs him too, that’s the only part of me he doesn’t like. He loves me otherwise.
