Taliesin twists his hand sideways. Frost bursts across the prisoner’s chest and splinters outward. He inhales a violent, broken gasp and collapses into the chair, his strength gone all at once, like a puppet whose strings have been severed.
Glassy, unseeing eyes stare accusingly at me.
My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The bastard is dead.
28
The tent is utterly still, while the wind outside builds into something like the roar of flames spilled forth from the mouths of firebirds. Gwenydd presses a hand to her chest. Rhian leans over the strategy table. Gethin looks like he might be sick all over the floor.
I stare at the dead prisoner, horrified and…relieved? It means we can get answers from him now. I try to push away the realization that this is my first thought, instead of…well, guilt.
My feet take me closer. Taliesin stands over the body, his expression unreadable. His eyes are still dark and empty, like his power has sucked all the blue from them. I know why he did this. It wasn’t just to get the prisoner to talk. Or because he was angered by what he said. He did it so I wouldn’t have to.
To keep me from losing more of myself.
Even after what I told him the other night, he still did what he could to protect me.
I place a hand on his arm and gently pull him back. “My turn.”
He backs away, deathly silent.
I stand over the corpse and look down on him, feeling a flutter in my chest. No one speaks as I wrap my fingers around his throat. His skin is cold, clammy, andwrong, and that same awful stench from earlier returns. It feels inescapable, like a cloth pressed against my mouth, and standing this close makes my skin crawl. If I stay near him too long, I might fall into death beside him. A shudder takes hold of me.
I need to get this over with.
“Anadl einioes,” I command.
The magic burns. It flares from the center of my chest and bursts outward in a violent, consuming blaze. The pain is nearly blinding. Still, I hold on and force my magic into him until I’m not sure I can even breathe. The fire is burning up every inch of me.
A spike of agony splits through my skull, and a cry rips from my throat.
“What’s happening to her?” someone gasps. I can’t tell who. The world around me has faded into darkness.
Strong hands grip my arms. “Swynwraig, stop. You don’t have to do this.”
But I do.
I bare my teeth, locking my focus on the man before me. My magic funnels into him, creeping over the death in his limbs, and as it takes hold, the inferno within me beings to ebb. Just enough for me to find my breath.
His eyes flip open.
“Hello,” I say in a hard voice I don’t recognize as my own.
He squirms back, but I have him pinned in place.
“Get away from me, you abomination,” he sneers.
“I have a few questions,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “And unfortunately for you, you have no choice but to answer.”
“Fuck you,” he spits.
“Why is the king’s army in the north and where are they headed?” I ask.
Technically two questions, but since I worded them as one, I’m hoping he doesn’t resist.
The prisoner grinds his teeth. “We’re here to meet with the High Swynwraig at the Tomb of Arawn the Mighty. We have his body, and we’ll transport it to Dinas Grym after containing the rebel threat.”
A gasp ripples through the tent.
