“I do have one question,” I say when they finish explaining the plan. “How do we stop the Order from taking control of the stars once they’re back?”
“We destroy the harp,” Rhian says bluntly.
I blink and sit back. “What? You can’t.”
“Wemust.” Her fingers tighten around the edge of the table. “With the Ballad, the harp can restore the stars, but it can also channel and direct their magic. In the wrong hands—in theOrder’shands—it’s far too dangerous. Once the ceremony is complete, we’ll cast it into the poisonous sea, where no one will ever find it again.”
My heart pounds. I don’t like this.
I don’t like thisat all.
Something within me recoils at the thought, a deep instinct I can’t quite explain. My mind is screamingnowith every fabric of my being. The harp is too important to destroy. If it’s lost, then…I don’t know what will happen. Only that it will be something terrible.
I press my palms flat against the table. “If this harp is our link to the stars, I don’t think we should destroy it.”
Rhian nods slowly. “I understand your concern. I had it myself. But we’ve spent years researching these tombs and hidden caches, and everything we’ve recovered points to this being the answer. Destroying the harp will not end magic, and it won’t sever us from the stars again. It will simply keep anyone from bending that power to their own will.”
I can see she’s already made up her mind, and there will be no changing it now. They’ve brought me into their fold, and they hear what I have to say, but in the end, they have their plans and their goals, and I’m not part of the creation of them.
I try not to take it personally. I’m the outsider, after all.
But for once, I wish I was more than that to someone.
The conversation soon ends, and Rhian offers to show me their new home. The castle stands on the kingdom’s northernmost tip, an immense, dominating structure built on top of a cliff that looms over the world below. Tall battlements snake around the perimeter, where the wind whips past in violent gusts. Rhian points out a set of stone stairs carved into the rock face that descend toward the valley. It’s the only way in or out, other than the tunnel they discovered, making the stronghold as impenetrable as any fortress could hope to be.
In the courtyard below, fur-clad figures loop ribbons and vines around the wooden huts once used by blacksmiths, falconers, and wheelwrights to meet all the daily needs of a castle. Someone has found a pair of sheers and hurries through the weeds, hacking back months of overgrowth. By nightfall, this place will be fit for the grandest celebration it has seen in decades.
Along the rear cliffs, the land plunges to a rocky shore, where the waves surge and crash in a frothing roar. The harp stands on a ledge overlooking the sea spray. Ropes wind around the instrument and anchor it with hooks that have been hammered into the ground to prevent the wind from carrying it away. Even from the battlements, I can feel its hum in my bones.
“You feel it, too?” Rhian asks from beside me with her fur hood tucked tight around her face.
“How could I not?” I glance toward the harp again. “I’m impressed they managed to carry it all the way here, and up that massive flight of stairs, without it driving them mad.”
“They had help with the stairs,” she says. “As soon as we saw them coming, a dozen of us ran out and took turns. We’re a team here.” She turns to me then, her expression softening. “That includes you. Don’t think I dismissed your concerns easily. I know we’re taking a risk, but…it’s the only choice we have.”
I lean against the crenelations with a sigh. “Did you ever consider…not going through with it? The Ballad, the return of the stars, the whole damn thing? We don’t get our magic back, but we also don’t have to worry about the Order gaining even more power.”
Her jaw tightens as the wind tugs strands of red curls from her hood. “I did. And do you want to know the conclusion I reached?”
I nod.
“The Order already has too much control. Something fundamental must change, or the world will stay the same. To cross a chasm, someone eventually has to make the leap.” A fierce light gleams in her eyes. “People like them never surrender power willingly. If we want freedom, we have to find the courage to rip it away from them.”
The wind whistles between us, carrying the scent of salt and woodsmoke from the bonfire flaming below.
“All right,” I say softly, nodding. “I’m in.”
33
Afloor-length mirror stands before me, and I stare at the elven woman reflected there. I hardly recognize her. She wears a shimmering green gown that hugs the curves of her body in a way the Order’s plain linen dresses and long tunics never did. My dark hair spills over my shoulders in soft waves, and a blush warms my cheekbones.
But the biggest change of all is the way I hold myself. I stand taller. My shoulders are drawn back instead of folded inward. And there’s a glint of anger and defiance in my eyes. I don’t remember ever looking this way before. Maybe it was always there, and I never saw it. Or maybe I’m just finally allowing it to show.
As I pull on my shoes—still stubbornly choosing boots over slippers to ward off the northern cold—another empty moment seems to pass. My left boot is partially on and then—
I’m standing at the door with my hand on the latch.
I jerk backward.Something’s wrong. Earlier, I dismissed the missing moment as exhaustion, but now I’m not so sure. Once might mean nothing. Twice is a concern. Though I haven’t the faintest idea what it could—
