Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Elara soaked in her bath until her skin was wrinkled as a prune, then she changed into a soft cotton nightgown and padded out on to the balcony. The warm evening air gently dried her damp skin. The stone of the balcony felt warm beneath her toes, and she sighed. She was, begrudgingly, beginning to like the heat. Merissa had left a plate of the lemon pasta they’d made together the day before, and Elara ate as she watched the lightdown.
One saving grace about Helios was that the stars weren’t often visible in the deep scarlet of night. She let a ring of shadow fall from her finger, trying to wrap it around her glass of honeyed peach wine. But when it wouldn’t latch on to it, she exhaled in defeat, and settled back on the low divan. Maybe it was the warmth, or the full stomach, or the endless drills that Leo had put her through, but her eyelids drooped, her body growing heavy.
The sounds around her were drowned out; the faint clang of pots, the distant murmur of voices and the birdsong, all of it faded as she breathed deeper and deeper. She felt for limbo, the space between worlds, and with a sigh, she anchored her tether, and dreamwalked.
She moved between the colourful dreamclouds, searching until one caught her eye. She’d seen it before, black and pulsing, flames flickering through it. She could hazard a guess as to who it belonged to. Tonight, she drifted closer. And with a deep breath, she plunged into it.
The heat was unbearable. She swore under her breath as she gathered her bearings. She’d dreamwalked through nightmares before, but none like this. The room was made of cold white marble—a marble that struck her as somehow familiar—yet still the flames pressed in. She heard a roar of pain and started to run towards it, the cavernous space seeming to double then triple in size around her. Finally, she saw Enzo kneeling on the floor in the middle of the space, naked from the waist up, hunched over, as light whipped his back, his hands tied behind him. He screamed, begged, deep red blood running in rivulets as the skin ripped open. Flames were beating down upon Elara, sweat coating her body. Above him, Elara could make out a trio of numbers, huge in size, painted in blood, red ribbons marking the bare walls of the dreamscape— 3, 3, 3.
‘This is not real,’ she said evenly to herself, inhaling deeply. Streaks of light continued to thrash against Enzo’s torso as his screams tore through the dreamscape.
Her surroundings shimmered and shifted, and suddenly she was in the throne room, and Idris was before her, reclining on his throne.
‘I heard that the Asterian nearly escaped today,’ he drawled, his tone dripping with disinterest.
Enzo—now clothed and standing—tensed in front of his father.
‘You weak, pathetic excuse for a prince,’ Idris snarled, and light gathered between his fingers. Enzo didn’t so much as flinch. ‘You are meant to be watching her. You are meant to be making her into a weapon to defy gods. ’
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ came the monotonous reply.
‘You will be. You know what comes next. Remove your shirt.’
Fabric was shrugged to the ground as Elara watched in dread.
‘Turn around.’
The prince did, and Elara found herself looking into Enzo’s empty eyes, as light flared behind him.
It whipped over Enzo’s skin, and his jaw clenched. Elara gasped.
The lash of light came again, and Enzo breathed out harshly.
Again and again it came, until finally Enzo cried out, falling to the floor.
‘Enzo!’ she shouted, leaping towards him. He looked up then, with such a haunted, despairing look in his eyes that he was almost unrecognizable.
‘Elara?’ he rasped, his voice ragged.
The dream changed again. Once more they were back in the marbled room, though it had shrunk in size, the numbers glowing upon the wall. She took a step forwards, bringing a palm to the side of Enzo’s face. He winced and she dropped her hand.
‘It’s okay,’ she murmured. ‘Breathe.’
He took a shuddering breath.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now another.’
He obeyed her command. She went to put her palm to his face again, and this time he leaned into it, closing his eyes as he exhaled deeply.
‘You’re just dreaming,’ she said, kneeling opposite him, unwilling to move her hand. Light throbbed out of the darkness, readying to strike, and with a snarl, Elara struck her free hand out, shadows spewing from her. They choked the savage rays, quelled the source of that awful whip, and deadened the flames. Black smoke wreathed out around her until finally, her shadows won the battle, launching the dreamscape into darkness. Cool air swept over them as the flames abated, and Elara pulled the shadows back to her, letting out a slow breath as her darkness kissed them both.
‘See?’ she said, raising his head. ‘Just a dream.’
Enzo opened his eyes warily, looking around them. Her shadows danced out towards him, and she smiled to see them, bringing her hand back to her lap.
‘How did you do that?’ he asked hoarsely.
She shrugged, smiling. ‘I guess sometimes the Light needs the Dark.’
She rose, stretching out a hand to him. He took it, though the touch was feather-soft in the dreamscape, his gold gaze locked on hers as he stood up.
‘The place could use some décor,’ she said lightly, looking pointedly to the dripping, bloody numbers. She was trying not to show Enzo that she was still shaking at what she’d witnessed. His gaze followed hers, his expression bleak. ‘What do those numbers mean?’
Enzo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Three hundred and thirty-three. The number of Asterians I’ve killed.’
Elara took a step back, dropping his hand.
‘I remember every single one. Their names, their faces.’ His eyes searched hers wildly.
Elara didn’t know what to say. She had known he’d killed many, and knowing the exact number sickened her. Yet it stunned her that he remembered. That his actions haunted his dreams.
Her mouth worked. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she finally replied. ‘Next time this happens,’ she added, ‘just remember my shadows.’ Her lip quirked. ‘They seem to like you more than I do.’
His head jerked up. ‘What did you just say?’
She frowned. ‘I said my shadows seem to like you more than I do.’
He gave her a strange look, replacing that eerie darkness in his eyes.
‘What you saw, in the throne room—’
‘I won’t tell a soul, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
His eyes fluttered shut, and something twisted within her, something that couldn’t stand to see her brave, arrogant enemy look so defeated. ‘And Enzo…I think you have your own monster to slay.’
His eyes flew open at that, but she had already turned, pointing to the wall.
‘Did you know that you can make your dreamscape whatever you want once you’re aware of it?’ She waved a hand, and the bloody numbers disappeared, a clean marble wall in their place. Enzo sagged. ‘Fill it with good memories.’
She took a step towards him. ‘Here,’ she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. ‘There’s one to begin with.’
Enzo’s breathing hitched as his eyes bore into hers. He moved to grab her hand but, just like all the dreams she walked through, of another’s skin against hers, she barely felt it. She looked at it, then back at him, seeing his form fade as he began to wake.
‘Rest, Enzo. And remember, this was all just a dream.’