I search her face. “You do this, and someone gets caught.”
“Maybe so. Gwenydd has already volunteered. So has Brioc.” She pauses. “That’s why I want Taliesin with them. Worst comes to worst, he can protect my people. Even swords bend to ice.”
I nod. “And me?”
A beat passes, then her grin turns wry. “He won’t go without you.”
I laugh, a little haltingly. “Oh, come on. He’s not—”
“I already asked him,” she cuts in with a shrug. “He said wherever you go, he goes. If you come with us to our new camp, that’s where he’ll be. But if you go after the harp…”
“I see,” I say quietly.
She cocks her head, her smile lingering. “You don’t sound pleased.”
“I just…I do not understand Taliesin Wynn,” I say.
“Well, I do. And that man is not letting you out of his sight, whatever his reasons.” She reaches out and grips my shoulder. “Please, Angharad. This might be our only chance to take the harp before it’s gone for good. We need you.”
I release a long, weary sigh but find myself smiling anyway. “How can I say no to that?”
We watch from the shadows of the woods. Gwenydd crouches high in the branches with her arrow nocked and trained on a passing guard, oblivious to the danger above him. The journey here was quiet and taut with tension. Brioc hadn’t been pleased about Gwenydd coming, and Gwenydd, for her part, hadn’t been pleased aboutanyof us.
The ravine between Taliesin and me seems as wide as ever. I don’t think we can bridge it until I have a chance to speak with him alone. And even then, we might remain stuck on opposite sides.
A rustling sounds behind us as Brioc pushes through the undergrowth. Sweat dampens his face, and his breath comes out in ragged bursts.
“The camp…” He drags in another lungful of air. “…they’re split, just like you thought. The army’s gathered on that side.” He points to the left. “Order’s over there. It might buy us some time if we’re spotted.”
I nod. “Any sign of the harp?”
“There are several Rhyfelwyr stationed around one tent in particular. Whether that’s for the harp or something else, I can’t say.”
Gwenydd drops from the branches, landing lithe and graceful, like falling from a tree is as simple as breathing. “Let’s just freeze them all. Then we can take whatever they’re hiding.”
“That’s a tremendously bad idea,” I say, fighting the urge to snap. “If someone sees, the entire army will descend upon us.”
“Maybe we should just freeze the entire army then,” she says in a tone that suggests she means it.
“I can’t do that,” Taliesin says, his voice clipped.
Gwenydd folds her arms. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
He mirrors her stance and meets her stare. “Despite the stories you may have heard about me, I do not command an endless well of power.”
“There are also innocents in that camp,” I add. “Healers, cooks, bards. We’re not killing them all. That would make us no better than the people we claim to oppose.”
I expect her to argue. She’s disagreed with just about everything I’ve said and done since we’ve met. But instead, a thoughtful look softens her face as she nods.
“So, do you have another plan?” she asks.
I cast a quick glance at Taliesin standing beside me with Bryn perched on his shoulder. Oh, I have one, and he’s not going to like it. Even as distant as he’s been this past week, Rhian was right about him. He takes his oaths seriously. Where I go, he goes.
“I think two of us should create a diversion,” I say. “The other two will get inside the tent and take the harp.”
Gwenydd purses her lips, nodding. “Which two do what?” Then she holds up a hand before I can answer. “No, that’s obvious. Taliesin and I draw them out. You and Brioc grab the harp.”
Taliesin scowls. “Absolutely not.”
