My pulse thrums. Taliesin ripped through this camp with brutal precision. I should be afraid, but I’m not. All I feel is relief, mingling with a guilt I can’t seem to shake. These people never meant well for me. I see that now. But the last thing I want is to have more death on my hands. Ironic, really. Death is the only thing I’m good at.
Two figures emerge from the shadows of a nearby tent, torch held aloft.
Maelor, bearing a sword. And—
My heart stops as I take him in all at once. His gleaming blond hair. Those sunrise eyes. The expression that twists his familiar features into something I don’t recognize at first because I’ve never seen it directed at me. A mixture of shock, fury, and betrayal.
But…my heart stumbles with hope. It’shim.
“Osian?” I breathe.
Taliesin goes rigid around me, halting as a simmering cold whispers through the air.
“Release her,” Osian calls out, his face reddening with fury. “Give her to us. Now.”
I can’t look away from him. Nothing about this makes sense. How is he here? Outside of the Order’s castle? Away from thelab? The High Swynwragedd said they’d never let him leave…not until I returned with the revenant exile.
Lies. More lies.There’s so many now I feel like they’re choking me.
Taliesin raises his hand.
My heart lurches, and I reach up instinctively. I grab his arm and try to force it down. “No,please.”
His body tightens further, and his eyes flick briefly to mine before returning to the two figures ahead of us.
“Are you certain?” he murmurs.
“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t. Not Osian.”
Something dark flickers through his eyes, but after a beat his hand drops.
“Back inside the tent or I will freeze you where you stand,” he commands with no warmth in his voice at all.
Osian’s face twists up. “Anghar—”
“Do it,” I say quickly, before Taliesin can change his mind
Maelor hesitates only long enough to swallow, then grabs Osian’s arm and hauls him back toward the tent. Osian tries to tug away. But Maelor mutters into his ear, locking his hand tighter around his arm, and tugging him backward again. They vanish through the canvas.
Taliesin lifts his hand once more. Ice pours forward. It climbs the tent, racing over the canvas like a solid shield and trapping the Rhyfelwyr inside. Then, as distant shouts ring out in the distance, he turns without a word and strides into the trees.
Over his shoulder, I watch the frozen tent fade into darkness.
And even then, I still see Osian’s face.
31
The screams are like knives against the splitting pain in my skull. I cling to Taliesin like he’s the only thing keeping me from slipping into permanent darkness. Neither of us speaks as he moves through the woods like a wraith himself, Bryn scurrying through the underbrush only a few steps ahead.
The deep groove between his brow and the lines bracketing his mouth betray him. He’s struggling more than he wants to admit. Now and again, his footing falters, and his face turns paler—bluer.
He needs to rest as much as I do.
After we’ve been fleeing the camp for well over an hour, I tell him as much.
“We’ll rest when we reach the cliffs,” he says, his voice rumbling through me.
“And how much longer will that be?”
