He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good night, Angharad.”
I smile. “I’m glad you stopped calling me Swynwraig.”
“Me too.”
He backs away down the hall, his eyes still on mine. It isn’t until I push open my door and step inside that he turns away. As the door shuts behind me, I press a hand to my trembling heart and sag against the wood.
And all I picture is his smile.
I’m losing it. I need to get ahold of myself before I do something stupid and look like a fool. Whatever he said earlier, he must have changed his mind. Perhaps he decided taking things further would only end in heartache.
Perhaps he remembered the words of warning from my dream self.
Us meeting will be the undoing of both of us.
Perhaps I would be wise to remember them, too.
Sighing, I slip out of the beautiful gown and into soft linen sleep trousers and a matching tunic. Then I climb into the bed, knees drawn beneath me, and place a sheet of parchment on the cold windowsill. For a moment, I close my eyes and try to call those earlier memories back to me. Firebird wings flashing across a star-filled night sky.
Then I begin to draw.
It comes slowly at first—haltingly. The few times I’ve sketched before, I’ve done it in my Order room with the door locked and a constant glance over my shoulder, in case a High Swynwraig came by with a key. The drawings were always crude scribbles made with charcoal. The images barely held the rightshape—an Order talisman, the star pin that clasps every cloak, a pair of wings…
Even then, I was always drawn to wings.
All that time, there was something in the back of my mind, and I never knew it.
As the hours bleed by, the lines come quicker until I’m bent over the parchment in furious concentration—so focused I don’t think to sleep until a distant pink stains the horizon. My fingers ache from the pressure of the stylus, but I can’t bring myself to stop, afraid the image will slip away if I do.
I sigh and sit back, bleary-eyed, legs cramped beneath me. The portrait of the firebird is still not very good, but it fills a hollow ache in my chest I’ve been carrying since we found that nest.
This is the bird from my past Taliesin mentioned. The one I’ve forgotten. Her name was Sionc. And while I can’t remember much else about her, I know I loved her dearly.
A tear slips down my cheeks. She was someone special to me—someone I’ve lost without ever being allowed to grieve her properly. All my memories of her have been taken. But I will get them back.
I will geteverythingback.
And I will break the Order’s hold on this world.
36
Morning comes too quickly.
I haven’t slept properly. Ink still stains my fingers, and a dull ache throbs in my legs from where I spent the night folded against the windowsill, trying to draw until the exhaustion won out over the page. By the time I give up, the castle is awake around me. Voices drift through the corridors, the scent of warm porridge curls through the air, and the general sense oflifeseems to bleed through the stones.
After a short nap to dull the worst of the fatigue, I wash and pull on my long tunic, loose trousers, and dependable leather boots. I follow the hum of voices into the main hall, where preparation for our departure is already well under way. People crowd the table, poring over the kingdom’s map. Others haul supplies across the room and lower them into wooden crates. Everywhere, people are in motion.
It’s like the entire rebellion has gathered for the cause.
Outside, through the open doors, a convoy is taking shape in the courtyard below. Horses are led into line. Packs are beingsecured. The harp stands in the middle of it all, secured to a weather-beaten wagon that has seen far better days.
A week’s journey is ahead of us, give or take, depending on the road and weather and whatever else the world decides to throw at us.
Through the crush of bodies, I spot Gwenydd, Rhian, Gethin bent over the map in deep discussion. They motion me closer when they see me approach.
“Morning,” Rhian says, sweeping her gaze across my red-streaked eyes and ink-stained fingers. She mercifully doesn’t comment on any of it. “Eat something, then pack. We leave at midday.”
“You’re moving fast,” I say.
