“After containing the rebel threat,” I repeat. “Which rebel threat? Does he mean to come here?”
“Everyrebel threat,” he says harshly.
Gwenydd appears at my side. “Ask him about the harp. And what else they took from the tomb. We need to know what the Order is planning.”
My head pounds. Too many questions and too scattered for a resurrected one to follow for long. Worse, the effort is draining me. My limbs feel heavy, like they’re being dragged into the ground. I don’t know how much longer I can stand, let alone command the dead.
“Tell me about the harp,” I say through clenched teeth.
The prisoner glares back at me, his lips sealed. I didn’t ask a question.
Sighing, I close my eyes. “Where is the harp?”
“They’re moving it. The rebels got too close to discovering its previous location. It’s in the Order’s camp now.”
“Where is their camp?” I ask, louder this time.
“With the king’s army,” he replies.
“Fuck,” Gwenydd whispers.
I press against the pounding ache in my brow, forcing myself to think. “Where are they moving the harp?”
“To a secure location that they have not disclosed with us. I assume they’re taking it to Dinas Grym.”
Of course. The Order and the king are working together, moving both the god and the harp to the most secure city in the kingdom. After they crush the rebel faction hidden here—and take the two scrolls that form the Ballad—they’ll have everything they need.
I scan the gathered rebels. Their expressions are a mixture of anger, resignation, and raw fear.
Rhian drifts closer, her face pale. “Ask what else was taken from the tomb.”
But when I turn back to the prisoner, the life in him is gone.
The camp explodes into motion. Rebels stuff their belongings into packs and tear down their tents in haste. The fire is stamped out in moments. Arianell moves through the chaos, handing out fresh loaves of bread. No one hesitates. They know exactly what to do, like they’ve been planning this moment for years.
Penderyn Rhian surveys it all from a broken stretch of wall. I jump up beside her, my loose trousers swishing around my boots. After the interrogation, I rushed back to my room to change out of my linen dress and grab my pack and dagger. My long tunic and trousers aren’t fit for fighting, but they’ll do for running.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you hoped to stay here longer.”
“It’s all right. I have somewhere else in mind. Somewhere the king won’t think look, at least not for a while.” She turns to face me fully. “I have a job for you, if you’ll take it.”
I wince, already shaking my head. “No more resurrections. Not now. They take a lot out of me, and that one…it was a lot worse.”
I expect her to balk. I’ve never told someone no before, and while I don’t regret helping them, I can’t do it again so soon. Whatever she needs, there must be another way. One that doesn’t leave my mind in tatters.
“I wouldn’t ask that,” she says quietly. “Not after I saw what it did to you.”
Some tension leaves my shoulders. “All right. What is it, then?”
“Right now, the Order and the king have us bent over the wall, ready to fuck us from behind.” She flashes me a vicious smile. “I thought I might throw a little grit in their faces. You think you, Taliesin, and a few others could sneak into their camp and steal the harp?”
I let out a startled laugh. “You’re joking.”
“If they take it to Dinas Grym, we’ll never get it back.”
“But without the scrolls—”
“They can’t control the stars.” She arches a brow. “But theywilltrack us down eventually. There’s only so long we can hide. You see that, don’t you?”
