Gethin loops his arm through Brioc’s and leans in to brush a kiss on his cheek. The movement seems so easy, like they’ve done this dance a thousand times, memorizing the shape of each other’s steps until it’s as natural as breathing. My chest suddenly aches with longing. I’ve never had that. Not with Osian. Not with anyone.
I feel the weight of Taliesin’s attention, and I risk a glance his way. His answering stare is piercing, and for one long, heart-rending moment, I swear he can read every thought going through my mind.
Then Gethin breaks the silence. “Well, I think you have all you need. You should get going if you want any hope of travelling there and back within a day.”
I don’t ask why camping is out of the question. The screams of the dead. Best to avoid them, if possible.
Arianell is still shoving things into my pack—a waterskin now—so Taliesin tilts his head toward the tent flap. “Meet you outside?”
I nod. As he passes, his scent brushes against me. It hooks my gaze to his retreating back and the dark cloak hugging his broad shoulders.
“Isn’t it odd he smells like rowan blossom?” I say aloud before I can stop myself. It was meant to stay in my head. An unwanted heat crawls up my neck.
“He does?” Brioc chuckles. “Can’t say I noticed.”
Gethin leans in and murmurs something into Brioc’s ear, something that is clearly not meant for me. Backing away, I accept the pack from Arianell and follow the others out into the cool morning air. Rhian and Taliesin are waiting for me beside the fire. A tense silence hangs between them.
When Rhian spots me approaching, relief flickers across her face. “There you are. Ready?”
“Ready as I can be, I suppose.” I arch a brow. “Is there anything else we should know? Because now’s the time.”
“Yes. Don’t disturb the god’s sarcophagus.”
The back of my neck prickles. “Why?”
She grimaces. “We’re the ones who found the tomb. It was a few years back. My sister made the mistake of trying to open the sarcophagus so she could see him. He would have been the first god anyone had looked upon in…centuries.” Her jaw locks tight, and she glances away. “That fucking thing sucked her dry. Killed her in a single heartbeat. I watched it happen.”
My heart pounds.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She swallows. Once, then twice, like she’s finding it difficult to speak. “It’s why I’m sure the Order being there can’t be a good thing. That place is dangerous. We need to know what they were doing.”
I have a horrible suspicion I know exactly what it is, but I want to confirm it before I share it with anyone. The Order told me they wanted me to resurrect Arawn the Mighty. They musthave already gone to collect his body, pre-emptively deciding my assignment would be a success. And that I would never—no matter what I faced out here—consider breaking my oath.
Little do they know, I’m more of a turncloak than even my father. Not that I can remember much of him anymore.
Taliesin and I say our goodbyes and head through the gates. Beyond them, a path leads into a dense forest, the tall canopy casting a jagged outline across the sky. To our right, another path cuts a straight path into the valley. The shorter, less haunted route. But the recent heavy rains have flooded it, so we turn toward the trees.
As we step beneath the canopy, the air turns cooler and the wind thins. It smells of damp earth, of wet bark, and of petrichor. The trees stand close. Their trunks are wrapped in lichen, and their ancient roots are knotted around the soil. A rustling sounds ahead as animals dart into the underbrush, hiding at the sound of our footsteps.
An easy silence settles between us as we walk. It gives me time to think—and for a few unsettling doubts to creep into my head. I’m free again. No one’s chained me, at least not in the past few hours. No one’s holding a blade at my throat. The idea of going home is a temptation almost impossible to ignore. If I ran, how far would I make it before Taliesin tried to stop me?
Wouldhe still try to stop me?
“Thinking of running, are you?” he says wryly. “I hope you never play betting games, Swynwraig. Your face is an open book.”
I offer him my best glare. “You really expect me to believe the same thought hasn’t crossed your mind?”
Instead of answering, he counters with, “And doyoureally expectmeto believe you aren’t curious about this sarcophagus? Might as well stop wasting energy trying to convince yourself you want to run. We both know you’re going into that tomb.”
“So are you,” I accuse.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “Someone needs to stop you from touching the stars-damned thing.”
I open my mouth, ready to lob another retort at him, when a bundle of chestnut fur launches from the bushes. Bryn chatters angrily. She circles Taliesin’s boots before slashing the leather and racing up his leg. When she finally settles onto his shoulder with what sounds like huff, she glares at me.
I hold up my hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell you to stay out here.”
