A wide smile curls her lips. “And give you the information the Order needs to ambush us?”
“If you want my help, you’re going to have to trust me eventually.”
“You’re right.” She pats my back, hard enough to jolt me forward half a step. “So don’t let us down today, Swynwraig.”
After we’ve finished with our porridge, we head into the same hut as the night before. A large circular table has replaced the chairs, covered with a colorful map depicting the entire continent, even the human islands beyond these northern shores. The air is warmer, damp with old timber and the musty smell of ink and parchment. Outside, wind presses against the walls, and the beams give a low shudder in response.
The blond man from last night is already here. Both hands braced on the table, he frowns down at the map with furious focus, like he believes staring hard enough will force it to give up an answer.
He doesn’t look up as we enter. Taliesin stands across from him with his stony expression firmly in place. The iron catches the morning light spilling through the windows, and every so often his eyes flick toward it, like he’s constantly aware of its weight.
My chest tightens. No matter who he is or what he can do, no matter the chains…hehashelped me. Seeing him like this makes my stomach turn. It’s not a manacle, and it’s not a chain, but it feels the same…no, it’s worse.
“Well, what are you thinking, Gethin?” Rhian asks, striding over to the table. She casts a furrowed glance at the map but stays well back, like she’s letting him take this lead on this.
“There’s no way around it. They’ll have to go from here,” he says, placing his finger on the map and tracing it along a curved line, “to here.” He looks up. “Should be fine on the way. Can’t guarantee a pleasant journey on the return.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“The dead,” they say in unison.
An involuntary shudder runs through me. “You keep talking about the dead and how the keep is haunted by them, but I heard no screams last night. Taliesin didn’t either.”
“No, it was a deathless night,” Rhian says.
Again with the deathless night. “I don’t know what that means.”
She waves her hand, dismissive. “It means they were sleeping. They do that sometimes.” She leans down, dragging her finger along the route her second just marked. “Never two nights in a row, though,” she muses.
I glance at Taliesin. “So you want me to go to…”
“A tomb,” Gethin supplies.
“You want me to go to atomb?”
“The tomb of Arawn the Mighty, specifically.” Rhian smiles, then taps the back of her neck. “Use your Order magic to see if others of your kind were there recently. You can do that, right? Sense their talismans? And if you can figure out why they were there, even better.”
The god’s name sends a shiver of unease down my spine. It’s the same one the High Swynwragedd told me they want to bring back. It must be tied to their plan to harness the stars’ magic for themselves…which means they involvedmein this without my knowledge.
A flare of anger burns hot in my chest. I’ve accepted they’ve been using me. I’ve accepted they’ve been lying. But this—this feels like a betrayal I can’t make sense of. They told Osian what he was getting involved in. Why not me?
They must have known I’d never agree. And so they twisted things.
They used my love for Osian against me.
And that…that is the thought that cuts through whatever hesitation is left.
My love is not a weapon for someone else to wield. It ismine.
“I’m not afraid of the dead,” I say in a firm, unyielding voice that sounds far less like me—controlled and beaten down—and more like a woman who’s had enough. “I will go.”
Surprise flickers in Rhian’s eyes, and dare I say it, respect. “Good. Can you be ready within an hour?”
“Remove the iron from Taliesin’s head.”
Her eyes flick toward him. Her throat bobs. “No.”
“All right, then I’ll do it myself.”
