Warmth spreads through me at the thought. These rebels…they’ve been kind to me.
A strange blankness follows.
One moment I’m lying in bed, and the next I have a tunic halfway over my head and I’m standing beside the mattress. I blink down at the rumpled blanket, unease twisting through me. I don’t remember getting up.
Shaking that feeling away, I tug the tunic the rest of the way down. Yesterday took nearly everything out of me, but at least it was worth it. We got the harp.
I step into the corridor and follow the torchlit passage down a winding stairwell, my boots echoing over the stones. At the bottom, the space opens into a large chamber where most of the rebel leaders have gathered. They’re all seated around a massive table stretching nearly the length of the room. Rhian is there with her second, Gethin, along with Gwenydd, and Arianell.
And Taliesin with Bryn on his shoulder, as always.
My heart stutters at the sight of him.
Memories from last night crash over me. Of the look on his face when he saw me chained. Of his arms cradling me protectively against his chest as he carried me to safety. Of his fingers trailing across my lips, awakening something in me far too dangerous to admit.
Taliesin shifts in his chair, one forearm braced against the carved wood of the table, and my attention catches on the movement before I can stop it. His fingers tap once against the surface—the same fingers that were touching my lips—and heat crawls up my neck.
Rhian notices me first and rises from her chair. “Morning, Angharad. Glad to see you have some color back in your face.”
I trail closer to the table. “Morning. Thanks to whoever got me to bed.”
Gethin smiles and inclines his head. “Anytime.”
“Love, there’s something we need to talk to you about,” Arianell says, her voice firmer than usual.
I frown, my gaze moving from face to face. They’re all watching me with the same careful expression, like they’ve already had this conversation while I’ve slept. An old, familiar tension tightens in my gut. The Order used to do this, too. People liked to talk about me when I wasn’t there, and then the moment I entered a room, conversations would stop. Eyes would move away.
The necromancer is here, they would whisper.
“It’s about the talisman,” Taliesin says, cutting through the noise in my head. “Twice now it’s harmed you. We’d like to remove it.”
As he speaks, he leans back further in his chair, far too at ease for the heaviness of the conversation. Hearthlight slides across the hard lines of his chest and shoulders, even beneath his dark tunic, and I hate that I notice the effortless strength in him. As I stare, Bryn’s eyes gleam, like she can read all my thoughts.
I drag my gaze away. “Removing it might also harm me. Look what’s happened to the rogues.”
“The rogues are the result of the Order’s experiments,” Rhian says gently. “But I understand your concern. I would have it, too.”
I pull out a chair and sit, lacing my fingers together on top of the table. Then I lift my chin and force authority into my voice. Even if I’m not truly in command here, maybe I can redirect them if I sound certain enough.
“This isn’t what matters right now,” I say. “We should focus on the Ballad. With the harp and the scrolls in our possession, we now have everything we need.”
Rhian nods. “We’re planning to perform it tonight under the night sky.”
“It’ll be a celebration,” Arianell adds, leaning eagerly over the table. “I’m making lamb pie, roast potatoes, and cake. What could be better?”
“With music and dancing,” Gethin adds, smiling slightly.
“And we’ll all be dressed for it,” Rhian says. “I can lend you a gown if you’d like.”
I look around the table, a mixture of hope and confusion twisting through me. That was…far too easy. They went from tense and worried to gushing about tonight’s ceremony in less than a heartbeat. It’s like they’ve forgotten about my talisman entirely.
Only Taliesin remains solemn, though I can’t tell if that has anything to do with me or if that’s merely his default expression.
Then his gaze lifts and catches mine across the table. The room seems to vanish beyond it. He’s still sprawled back in his chair, powerful arms loose at his sides. The tips of his ears slice through his silver hair as he watches me with an intensity that sends my pulse racing. A sudden chill brushes across my skin, like fingers of frost tracing over bare flesh. Heat simmers in my stomach, and for what feels like an endless moment, I forget everyone else in the room exists at all.
And then the conversation rises around us. The moment breaks off, and I rip my gaze away. I feel so breathless I’m certain someone will notice.
Arianell disappears and returns with a bowl of cold porridge, apologizing that it's no longer warm. The others ate hours ago, it seems. I listen carefully, piecing together the details. Beneath an open night sky, Gethin will play the harp while Brioc will sing thewords of the Ballad from the scrolls. And if all goes well, the stars will simply…return.
