The way he says it sends another ribbon of warmth curling through me. “Well, here’s hoping my gut feeling is wrong, because to see the stars glimmering in the sky again feels like an impossible dream. One I would want to never wake from.”
He cocks his head, looking at me strangely.
“What?” I ask.
“You saidagain. Like you remember them.”
An uneasy sensation slithers through my chest. “No. Of course not. It just came out wrong, that’s all. The stars will be in the sky again if this works. That’s all I meant.”
But he continues to look at me strangely, like I’ve said something remarkable instead of merely stumbling over my words. A sick feeling burns in the back of my throat. There’s something on the tip of my tongue again, but as soon as I think it, it’s gone.
The crowd suddenly parts. Rhian drags a crate beside the bonfire and leaps on top of it, her boots ringing against the wood. Her curls dance wildly in the breeze as she claps her hands, commanding the attention of everyone gathered.
The courtyard falls silent save for the crackle of the fire.
“Welcome to the first annual Starlit Night!” she shouts.
A boisterous cheer erupts, filling the night with celebration. Rebels stomp and clap. Several link arms and swing in circles, dancing despite the lack of music. The promise of the stars is enough for them.
But my mind snags on her choice of words.Starlit Night.It feels like the opposite of its sister, Culling Day, when the stars first died. And despite my unease, despite my doubt, I so desperately want to believe she’s right. That this will be the first of many.
She holds two scrolls aloft in her fist. “This is theBallad of the Gods. With it and the Harp of Arawn, we will usher in a new era. One of peace and prosperity. One where magic runs freeagain. One where the Order no longer commands enough power to wield its tyrannical control over the rest of us!”
More cheers. More screams. The ground beneath my feet rumbles with their pounding.
“And none of this would have been possible if not for the newest members of our beloved family. Angharad Morgan and Taliesin Wynn!” Her face beams as she gestures our way.
My first instinct is to shrink beneath their attention. The old Angharad would have. But as their cheers rise around me, my chin lifts with them. No shrinking anymore. I let the sound wash over me, let it remind me of who I was once.
Someone even kings once feared.
My smile falters. Where did that thought come from?
“Now!” Rhian shouts. “We’ll begin this celebration with a dance. Take it away, Gethin!”
As Rhian jumps down, Gethin springs up behind her, taking her place. He lifts his fiddle high overhead, like a challenge thrown to the night, then brings his bow down across the strings.
An upbeat tune bursts into the air, and instantly the rebels are on their feet. They whirl and stamp and spin, like the music has hooked into them and pulled their bodies into motion.Illegal, dangerous, wrong.The Order’s words echo in my ears, but for once, they’re easy to ignore. The strings break into a fast, lilting reel. The bright, full notes ricochet through the firelit air, making it almost impossible to stand still.
Indeed, Taliesin bows and extends his hand toward me.
For once, I don’t hesitate. I place my hand in his.
He guides me into the dance with surprising ease. Around us, bodies blur into motion, boots striking earth in rhythm. And when he spins me, the world tilts—not from the dance, but from him. His hand tightens on my waist for just a moment longer than necessary, before the next step finally breaks us apart.
Then he turns me back into him, and for a fleeting instant we are close enough that I can see the detail of him—the soft curve of his mouth, that ancient darkness I should fear but don’t. And the scent of his rowan blossom eclipses everything else.
The fiddle drives on, faster now, dragging everyone deeper into its rhythm. My steps begin to match his without thinking. Around us, the rebels are a blur of movement and color, laughter rising in delighted bursts between the thud of boots and the cry of strings.
“Not bad,” he murmurs as he draws me into another turn. “For someone who just tried to kill me.”
“It wasn’t me,” I protest, but then I see the glint of amusement in his eyes.
I push at his chest in jest, but he gently catches my wrist mid-motion. He holds it there against him, and a dangerous tension pulses in the air between us. There’s barely an inch of space separating us now. If I lean forward just a bit, just the slightest rise onto my toes…
My pulse races.
The music surges one last time, like it refuses to let go of the night. Then, with a final flourish of strings, it cuts.
