He rubs beneath her chin. “Nice to see you, too, Bryn.”
I smile down at his claw-marked boots, now a match with mine. “She’s cute. I like her.”
“Of course you do,” he mutters.
We travel for another hour or two before stopping for a midday meal of bread and beef. Bryn immediately investigates Taliesin’s pack, and then—much to my delight—steals his meat and darts up a tree to devour it beyond his reach. And judging by his deepening scowl, he doesn’t appreciate my laughter.
A few hours later, the trees begin to thin, the path widening into a clearing. A square structure of smooth onyx lurks in its center, its silhouette casting a long, menacing shadow across the ground. It’s seamless with no doorway in sight, like its built from a single slab of stone. Before it stands a ring of stakes, each one tipped with a skull. A tremor of unease runs through me, and Bryn drops to the ground before vanishing into the trees.
Taliesin draws his sword and steps in front of me, silently motioning for me to stay in his rear.
I don’t argue. I’d be foolish to insist on going first.
We slowly make our way through the clearing, parched grass crunching underfoot. I stare at the skulls as we pass them. I feel nothing from them, but droplets of blood stain the groundbelow and flies dart in and out of their hollow mouths. Whoever created this morbid display did so recently.
I tug on Taliesin’s sleeve and point to the blood. Speaking aloud right now seems like a terrible idea. His expression settles into grim resignation. Then he continues forward, toward the tomb. Reluctantly, I follow.
I dread whatever we’ll discover inside—if we can even cross the threshold. The walls are solid and smooth. Unless Taliesin possesses a power he’s never revealed, there’s no way in.
I’m about to break the silence and say as much when the air shifts. It tightens around us, pulling at my lungs, like we’ve suddenly been plunged toward the bottom of a lake. Taliesin freezes.
“Wards,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on the tomb ahead.
I frown. “That’s odd. Why would there be wards?”
When it comes to Order magic, this spell is among the rarest and the most difficult to perform. Only a High Swynwraig can weave it, and even then, I’ve never known anyone but Lowri or Seren capable of wielding that kind of power. Which means…it was likely one of them who placed it here.
But why? Wards like this can’t keep people out. They’re only meant to keep something in.
Fear rises in the back of my throat in a wave of burning nausea. Unsettling pieces fall into place, forming a picture I don’t want to see. This is the tomb of a god. The very god they want me to resurrect. The Order seeks control of the stars, of all magic. But to control all magic, they need those who can access it. Those who can funnel it. Gods.
I swallow the bitter lump in my throat. Have they found another way to raise him? Did they trap him here?
Or…wait. My stomach twists. They’ve lied about so much. What if…what if they’ve lied about this, too? What if the godshave been alive this entire time? What ifthatis how they were able to access enough magic to help the king’s army?
“What’s going through your mind, Swynwraig?” Taliesin glances back at me, his expression mirroring my unease.
“I’m thinking I don’t want to face whoever’s trapped inside that tomb.”
A muscle tenses in his jaw. “All the gods are dead. Besides, Rhian said they found Arawn’s sarcophagus here. It’s how she lost her sister.”
I wince. The pain in her voice wasn’t the kind anyone could fake.
“So why the wards?” I ask.
The tomb begins to rumble. Tiny stones dance at its base. One moment, the surface is as smooth as glass. The next, a narrow slit opens, revealing deep shadows within. A sweet scent curls toward us, beckoning us forward. Order magic. The place reeks of it.
“It looks like we’re going to find out,” Taliesin says darkly.
Without warning, he slips through the crack in the wall. I mutter a curse and follow my exiled enemy into darkness, wondering—again—how I ended up here. I should be tucked into my corner window seat, watching the sun sink toward the horizon and listening to the call of the gulls as they sweep over the streets. Osian would come in after training, without knocking, like he always did, his Order pin glittering at the base of his throat. He’d settle in beside me and say the sky looks like it’s about to rain. Then he’d ask if I remember the day we were walking back from a seminar and got caught in the storm that shattered the bell.
I always laugh and say yes. Of course I remember. The sight of his waterlogged golden hair, his flushed cheeks, and his crooked smile has been burned into my mind since the momentit happened. But now that memory feels so distant, like it belongs to someone else.
Sighing, I push the thoughts aside and follow Taliesin deeper into the tomb. The passage opens into a wide chamber. A stone platform rises in it center, a sarcophagus set atop it. Except…the lid is missing. My steps slow.
Chunks of stone litter the floor, like someone smashed it apart.
And worse, nothing lies inside.
