“It will only release to the person who attached it,” she says.
“That doesn’t apply to me.” I narrow my eyes at her, my voice full of command. “You will let me do it.”
I move before she can stop me, placing my hand on Taliesin’s left shoulder. Our eyes lock, and he kneels, so easily, so automatically it feels like habit.
Like we’ve done this before.
From behind me, I hear a sword whisper from its sheath, but I don’t turn.
“Stand down, Gethin,” Rhian murmurs.
I slide my fingers around the iron bands. They throb against my skin, the metal clinging to him like it doesn’t want to let go. I close my eyes and let the word come to me. It’s there, at the edge of thought and on the tip of my tongue, unknown to my mind until this moment. But it’s there now.
“Rhyddhau,” I whisper.
The band falls free. I lift it from Taliesin’s head and press it into his hands, so he can decide what to do with it.
He doesn’t take it at first. For a heartbeat, his fingers close around mine instead of the iron. Accidentally? I can’t tell.
My grip tightens before I mean it to, and at the same time his hold shifts just slightly, like he’s registering it the same moment I do. But neither of us moves to correct it.
Then the moment breaks. He takes the iron. Andcrushesit. The metal shatters like bone in his hands, and when he lets it fall, it clatters to the ground in ruined shards.
When I turn back to the rebels, I know my eyes are full of fire, daring them to challenge me—challengeus. But Gethin’s sword is sheathed, and Rhian has already turned back to the map. It’s like nothing happened at all.Strange.
“So, this is us.” She points at a circle on the far north, where the land slices into the sea like a forked tongue. “Here’s the tomb. You can’t go through this spot in the middle. It’s a bog this time of year. Go around.” She traces the path with her finger. “Like Gethin said, you two should have no issues on the way there. Just get in, figure out what they were doing, and leave. Got it?”
“I assumed you’d send others with us,” I say, frowning. “And that you wanted us to retrieve the harp.”
“Don’t trust you well enough for that yet. And if you give yourselves up to the Order, I don’t want my people caught up in it.” She presses her finger harder against the map, turning her skin pale at the tip. “We think they were doing something here, relating to their plan. We need to know what it was.”
“You think any are still at the tomb?” Taliesin asks.
“Could be.” She flashes her teeth. “Though I expect you won’t be the one doing the giving-up if they are.” Her brow rises. “You sure you trust her not to turn you in? Why not just go back to your tower?”
His eyes darken. “I’m making my own oath. Where she goes, I go.”
A tremor goes through me at the conviction in his words, but I shove it down quickly. He only means it because he believes our fate is entwined, like something beyond us has pulled us together, forcing our souls to walk the same dangerous road.And that we’re bound to see this through, even if it ends in the undoing of the both of us.
21
“You’ll want to take this with you.”
Arianell stands before me, tunic sleeves rolled up to her elbows, flour dusting her forearms. She hands me a parcel of warm bread and a pouch of salted beef for my pack. I thank her with a smile, one she returns so easily, like she’s not quite as hardened as the others.
Meurig and Brioc—the guards from last night—stride into the tent, bearing Taliesin’s sword and my dagger. They were still standing by the stairwell when I emerged from my room this morning, the red streaks in their eyes showing more exhaustion than their rigid postures. As Arianell fusses with my pack, Meurig goes to Taliesin, and Brioc comes to me.
He holds out my sheathed dagger, the iron hilt angled toward me.Mine.I’d recognize it anywhere, gifted to me by Seren all those years ago when she first took me under her wing.
“Figured this might come in handy,” he says, his voice a shade less severe than last night.
“Thanks.” I take it and tuck it into my waistband. Finally, it’s back where it belongs.
He shifts his weight, hesitating for a moment. “I wanted to apologize for Meurig and me. I can see you’re no Order puppet. Should have shown you a bit more respect.” He cracks a grin. “Not that this means I fully trust you. Let’s see how you handle this mission first, eh? Might be you’re just trying to fool us all.”
His words should rankle me, but I find myself smiling back. There’s a kindness in his eyes I didn’t notice last night, likely because I was too caught up in my own thoughts, too overwhelmed by everything I learned. That and the necromancer insult burned through any goodwill I felt toward the rebels. But his apology seems earnest, genuine.
“You better not be flirting with my husband.” Gethin appears beside us with an armed Taliesin a step behind.
