24. This is the Real Nightmare
24
THIS IS THE REAL NIGHTMARE
WREN
I wake with a scream. The only thing keeping me from giving away our position is Kadyn’s warm hand slapped over my mouth.
My heart is racing, and cold sweat is dripping down my neck and arms. My breaths come in gasps, and I tighten my grip on my knife. The hilt digs into my hand, proof that I’m awake.
It was a nightmare , I think, staring at the wooden slats as if they could help me ground myself. Just a bad dream.
The words aren’t comforting. The nightmare was the worst I’ve ever had. Never has a dream felt so real or so gods-damned terrifying.
Even now, it feels like the wisps of the dream remain in my mind. Haunting me. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.
I’d woken in a dark room with no ceiling and walls made of the night sky. Naked and strapped to a stone altar, I tried to scream, only to find out that my voice had been stolen. I’d been unable to make a single sound as the head priestess and the strange, cloaked figure from Amelia’s Giving had approached me.
Tears had run down my cheek as the head priestess placed a crimson candle on the altar next to me. She had stood over me, speaking of strange things. Of Harvests and Givings and people she referred to as Blessed and Inherited.
I hadn’t understood what she was talking about. Coming from anyone else, I would’ve put them off as the ramblings of a mad woman. But there was something about the gleam in her eye that told me that, at the very least, she believed what she was saying.
As if that hadn’t been bad enough, when the head priestess’s ramblings had ended, the cloaked person had begun chanting.
Amelia’s murderer had leaned in close, her breath brushing my cheek, and she whispered, “You’ve been a very bad Given, Wren Nightingale.”
Her words had swirled around me as she raised a silver dagger and brushed it against my cheek. I’d tried to move, to escape her wrath, but the invisible binds had been holding me down.
Silent screams had echoed in my head.
The cloaked person had put their hands on my bare chest, their nails digging into me like claws. The head priestess slammed her dagger into my shoulder.
Time had grown hazy, but everything came into focus when she laughed and yanked out the dagger.
I had watched through a veil of tears and pain as she stabbed me repeatedly, using me as a pincushion. My stomach. My arms and legs. My chest, although she was careful never to get too close to my heart or my neck. She kept going until black spots overtook my vision, and every single breath felt like it would be my last.
The last time, she’d grazed the side of my neck with her blade. I’d screamed and screamed, the silent sound echoing in my mind.
Only then had the nightmare finally released me from its grip.
If it was a nightmare. My body still aches with phantom pains, and I can still hear the cloaked person’s chanting in my mind.
After a long moment, Kadyn slowly removes his hand.
“Thanks,” I whisper, pressing my palm that isn’t holding Father’s knife flat against my chest and willing my heart to slow. It’s beating so hard that I’m afraid it’s going to break my ribs.
Thank goodness for Kadyn’s quick thinking. If he hadn’t muffled my cry…
I shiver, my stomach cramping. It was a nightmare, right? It had to be.
But something warm is trickling down the side of my neck, and there’s a niggling in the back of my mind telling me to pay attention. Slipping the knife into its sheath, I lift my hand to my skin.
My fingers come away warm and bloody.
I stare at the blood for so long that my vision blurs. Was it real? Were all the things the head priestess said true? If that’s the case, who are the Blessed and Inherited she spoke about? What is a Harvest?
Confusion swirls in my stomach, and long minutes pass without any answers. Either I scratched my neck, or the nightmare was real. A premonition? A warning? I’m not sure.
Eventually, I wipe my hands on my cloak and shudder. Nightmare or not, it has convinced me that we need to get out of this gods-damned country as quickly as possible.
Needing to get my mind off the head priestess and her strange words, I tilt my head to the side. “How long was I out?”
“Hours,” Kadyn replies.
Considering how tired I was, that’s not a surprise. Even now, bone-deep exhaustion pulls at me. It doesn’t matter how tired I am; I won’t fall asleep again. Not now, when that nightmare is still present in the recesses of my mind.
Eventually, Kadyn succumbs to the wagon’s steady rocking. His eyes droop, and I tell him to rest, promising that I’ll keep watch. He sleepily nods, and soon, he’s out cold.
This is what I’ve been missing—a companion on my trek, someone with whom I can share the burden of being on the run. Kadyn and I can look out for each other, protect each other, and keep each other safe.
Hours pass, and it doesn’t take long to remember how boring waiting can be.
I count the slats above me, and when that gets tiresome, I wiggle my entire body. I start with my toes, working my way up to my head. After having been immobilized in my nightmare, being able to move is a relief.
When that grows tiresome, my mind wanders back to the Hunter. I’m not entirely sure what it is about Gabriel, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.
Chances are, he’s awake and better now.
Someone else might hope that, since they saved the man’s life not once but twice, he’d leave them alone, but I know better. If Gabriel still lives, he’ll resume his hunt. I know that just like I know that winter follows the giving season.
The Hunter will never let me go.
It doesn’t matter that we seemed to have a natural connection before he found out who I was. It doesn’t matter that I’m drawn to his handsome face, chiseled jaw, and emerald eyes. It doesn’t even matter that sparks jump between us like embers in a crackling fire when we touch.
None of that matters because his job is literally to hunt people like me. I would do well to remember that.
I’m so focused on banishing thoughts of the Hunter that the slowing of the wagon doesn’t register at first. The wheels, which have been churning steadily beneath us, turn less frequently. Fewer rocks fly up and hit the bottom.
And then the air shifts.
It was already stale, but now…
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and goosebumps pepper my arms. My Mark burns. Awareness slithers over me like a snake.
Something is happening.
If I could sit up, I would. As it is, I take out my blade and pass it from one hand to the other, wiping my sweaty palms on my cloak.
Then, the wagon stops completely. The lack of movement is sudden and unwelcome.
Kadyn jolts awake beside me, his eyes flying open as he draws in a deep, gasping breath. His Mark pulses on his neck, dark green filling the space as he turns his head and meets my gaze.
“What’s happening?” he mouths.
Wide-eyed, I clutch my knife against my chest and shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Whatever it is, it can’t be good. I don’t think we’ve reached Mivat yet. The suns are still shining, and the silence surrounding us is incongruous with a city.
Footsteps crunch on the ground, simultaneously far too loud and too quiet. My back stiffens, and the urge to flee pulses through my veins.
But I can’t run or hide.
We’re literally boxed in. All I can do is stare at the ceiling, regretting ever agreeing to get into this moving coffin.
Running doesn’t seem so bad now. At least then, I was in the forest. Sure, I encountered the panther and the bear, and I nearly drowned, but I was never trapped and waiting helplessly for my death.
“Name and identification, please.” The gravelly voice comes from outside the wagon. Even though the wood slightly mutes the voice, I still shiver. There’s a warning in the man’s voice, an edge of violence I recognize far too well.
I crane my neck, wincing as I unnaturally contort my body so I can peer through the slats behind my head. I can barely make out the driver’s shadowy form as he sits perched above us. The brilliant blue sky is a backdrop to his lanky form. He’s wearing a cap, and wisps of forest green hair fans out beneath it. He appears to be in his fourth or fifth decade of life.
“George Lovitt, sir,” the driver replies, handing something over. I can’t see what it is. “I’m headed to Mivat.”
“Is that so?” The dangerous man hums, and a pit yawns in my stomach.
I glance at Kadyn. He’s as pale as snow. His hood is back over his head, hiding his glowing Mark.
Stones crunch as footsteps circle the wagon.
“Yes, sir.” George sounds unperturbed, which is unrelatable. “I’m delivering fabric to Ivanna Bell.”
The crunching stops. “The seamstress?”
“The one and only.” The driver sounds proud, and his shoulders straighten. “She’s been tasked with making a gown for Queen Lucille to wear at the Winter’s Eve Ball.”
My eyes widen. The ball. How could I have forgotten about that? It was always a topic of discussion at school near the end of the giving season.
The first time I learned about it, I was around Nakisha’s age.
Mistress Fyona stands in front of our classroom, her hands perched on her hips as she studies our class. Amelia and I are sitting in the front row—her choice, not mine—and the temperature is dropping. It’s going to snow soon; I can feel it.
“Who can tell me about the Winter’s Eve Ball?” Mistress Fyona asks.
Amelia raises her hand, waving it frantically in the air. “Me, me!”
My best friend loves school, and she’s good at it. Honestly, she’s good at everything she tries. It doesn’t surprise me that she knows the answer.
A smile stretches across Mistress Fyona’s face, and she dips her chin. “Go ahead, dear.”
Amelia grins, folding her hands on her desk and straightening her back. “The Winter’s Eve Ball takes place on the last day of the giving season, and it’s hosted by the royals every year in Rosebridge.”
I’ve never been to the capital city. No one in my family has. It’s so far! I can’t imagine traveling to the other side of the country—I’ve never even been to the other side of River Bend Forest.
“That’s correct. What else?”
“There’s an honored guest.” This comes from my oldest brother, Markus, who is leaning back in his chair several rows behind me.
“Yes, you’re right.” Mistress Fyona’s dress rustles as she strides across the room, picking up a piece of chalk. “The honored guests are different every year. They’re chosen to attend the ball because one of their family members was Given to the gods.”
“Like Amelia and Wren will be?” The question comes from Yvan, the tailor’s son and Markus’s best friend.
“That’s right.” Our teacher beams. “Perhaps one day, when our own gods-blessed are Given, someone in this room will be chosen to go to the capital. Wouldn’t that be special?”
At the time, I thought being chosen as an honored guest would be a blessing. That’s what it sounded like.
But now?
Now that I know what happens to the gods-blessed, I can’t help but think that it isn’t an honor, after all. Pity unfurls in my stomach for the people the king selects to go to the ball. They’re unknowingly celebrating their family member’s death.
There’s a pause from outside the wagon and then more footsteps. That fist is back, compressing my lungs, as a shadow falls above my head.
A man is leaning against the side of the wagon, his uniform marking him as a Watcher. I clamp my mouth shut, breathe through my nose, and tighten my grip on my knife.
Mere slats of wood separate me from the Watcher. This man could discover us at any moment—all it would take is a too-loud breath or a cough that can’t be covered.
And then, as if things can’t get any worse, my Mark starts burning.
I want to scream.
No, no, no. Not now.
Why does this keep happening at the worst possible moments? Which god thought it would be funny to make our Marks glow? I’d like to have a word with them.
Reaching up with my free hand, I tug my hood further down. The rustling of fabric sounds like a blustering wind to my panicked ears, mocking my efforts to remain as silent as possible.
And then, a woman in Watcher’s garb steps into my view. Because, of course, there are two of them. Suns fucking help me, why can’t I catch a break?
I wiggle around, moving until I can make out her face. She’s scowling at the driver, staring up at him distrustfully. “What do you know about the ball, Mr. Lovitt?”
Her derisive tone makes it clear that she doesn’t believe a delivery driver could ever know anything about the royal ball. My hackles rise, but George doesn’t seem bothered.
“I know all about it, ma’am,” he says in a relaxed voice. “You see, my family has been making and delivering fabric for the Winter’s Eve Ball for over a century. Moran silk is the best in the land, as I’m sure you know.”
His pride is evident, reminiscent of the way Father glows when he speaks about the butcher shop.
The female Watcher nods. “I have heard that, yes.”
“Would you like a sample? I have a few spare yards with me, if you’re interested.”
Even from my awkward position, I can see the spark that enters the soldier’s eye.
“I’d love that,” she says.
Several minutes pass in silence as George turns around and rifles through a crate. My shoulders are so tense that it feels like they’re made of steel.
“Here you are.” He hands a roll of purple silk to the Watcher, who smiles and runs her hands over it. He leans over, his arm resting on the back of his seat. “You know, I heard this year’s ball is special.”
Something about his tone snags my attention, and I roll onto my side. The Watcher leaning against the wagon shifts. “Oh?”
George nods. “For the first time ever, there will be two honored guests who were specially selected to represent the families of this year’s Given.”
Two guests.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and my stomach twists into tight knots.
Something is wrong , a voice whispers in my mind. Pay attention .
I know the voice is right, just like I know that my Mark is a death sentence, the sky is blue, and I was never meant to reach my twenty-first birthday.
The next word out of George’s mouth confirms my worst fears. “Twins.”
Ice sweeps through me, encasing my chest. If I could draw breath, I’d use it to curse the gods who put me in this fucking position. Except curses won’t help me with this situation. Nothing will.
The chances that these twins aren’t my sisters are so low that I can’t even calculate them. Twins are rare in Myreth—so rare that it was more shocking when Mother gave birth to the girls than when Amelia and I were born in neighboring villages.
George adds, “King Andreas hand-selected them himself.”
A roaring like a blistering wind fills my ears. A tornado would be quieter.
“Twins,” the male soldier muses, his voice barely audible over the roaring. “Fascinating.”
“Very,” the driver agrees. “They’re a blessing from the suns. Esyn is surely smiling down on us.”
They continue speaking, the Watchers having apparently decided the driver isn’t a threat, but their words don’t register.
Horror has me frozen. Why would the king choose the twins?
You’ve been a very bad Given.
The head priestess’s voice echoes through my mind, the answer to my question. More voices join in, repeating the refrain. My parents join in. My sisters. Even Amelia speaks from beyond the grave.
They continue until the awful words are all I can hear. They’re shouting at me, reminding me of all the ways I failed.
And then the voices shift.
This is your fault, Wren , Mother says.
The king took the girls because you ran away, Father adds sternly.
James sighs. What were you thinking, Birdie? You’ve endangered everyone with your foolish, selfish actions.
The head priestess laughs. You thought you had escaped your fate, but you were wrong. The gods-blessed must be Given .
The next voice makes my stomach cramp.
Why did the king take us? Violet asks. She’s always been the louder of the twins, more outspoken than Marie. What’s going to happen to us?
Moisture dampens my cheeks, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to answer these questions. I don’t know anything at all.
The unknowns are millstones, crushing me as I wrack my brain for more information about the Winter’s Eve Ball. Now that I’m thinking about it, no one ever talked about what happens to the honored guests after the Winter’s Eve Ball. Are they returned to their families? Or do they disappear, like the Given?
I don’t know. All I know is that everything I’ve been told about being Given is a lie. Our society’s foundation is built upon falsehoods and death.
The suns may cast their light upon our kingdom, but darkness is hiding in plain sight. If the Giving Ceremonies are lies, then nothing can be trusted.
What if being an honored guest isn’t a blessing but a curse? What if my sisters are in danger?
The Watchers leave, but their absence doesn’t ease the panic rooted in my chest. The wagon starts moving again, and the twins’ smiling faces flash through my mind. I can still hear their voices, asking me why this is happening to them.
I don’t know. A cry rises in my throat, and I shove my fist against my mouth, stifling the sound that threatens to reveal our location.
I could be wrong. Maybe they’re not in danger. But Amelia’s scream and the phantom ghost of a dagger being shoved into my stomach tell me I’m not.
Several minutes pass before I ease my fist away from my mouth.
Kadyn meets my gaze, concern flickering in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, I consider not telling him my suspicions. After all, we don’t really know each other. But what would be the point of keeping secrets?
We’re both Marked, both on the run, and both in this together. He might as well know what has my heart trying to escape my chest.
“You know the twins the Watchers were talking about?” Just saying the words hurts.
His brows knit together beneath his hood. “The king’s honored guests?”
I nod, taking a deep breath. “I think… I think they’re my sisters.” I squeeze my eyes shut, but that sick sense of unease remains. “I think the king took them.”
Speaking those words out loud and hearing them for the first time has ice wrapping around my heart again.
“That’s… fuck,” he breathes. “What do you think it means?”
That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?
“I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling.” It’s like my gut is coiling in on itself.
Kadyn’s eyes widen. “Like a sixth sense?”
I pause, considering the question. “Actually… yes. Just like that. But I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
There’s no way anyone could forget a sickening feeling like this. It’s like my stomach has fallen to my feet. It’s twisting in tight knots, a warning so severe that no one could ignore it.
Kadyn hums, and he appears deep in thought for a few minutes. “Has anyone in your family ever had a… stronger sense of things?”
The question strikes me as odd.
“No…” I start shaking my head when a memory pops into my mind. “Actually, yes. My Nana, the suns be with her soul, used to get them all the time before she died.” I can’t believe I forgot about this. “She’d tell us about them, and I used to think they were an old woman’s tales, but now…”
Now, I can feel in the depths of my soul that something bad is going to happen to my sisters.
Drawing my arms around myself, I press my back against the wall. Despite the warmth of the day, I can’t stop shivering.
Is this how Nana felt when she got her bad feelings? She didn’t get them often, at least not that I can recall, but whenever she did, everyone always listened.
If Nana said a storm was coming, it would be devastating. If she gave you tea for your throat, you took it even though you didn’t feel sick. She just… knew things.
My sisters are the guests of honor at the king’s ball… but what kind of honor can a man who presides over the yearly slaughter of hundreds possess?
The twins are in danger. I can feel it.
Whether it’s a sixth sense, as Kadyn is suggesting, or something else entirely, it doesn’t really matter. If the girls are hurt because of something I did, a decision I made…
Rough sobs rip out of me. It takes everything I have to remain silent, my fingers gripping my sides as I shake. All the feelings that I’ve been shoving down and ignoring since I witnessed Amelia’s murder come pouring out of me all at once.
A heaving sob is wrenched from my chest, and rivers of hot tears stream down my cheeks.
I shove my fist back over my mouth, biting down on it. I can feel Kadyn’s gaze on me, but I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look at him.
I ran to save my life, but now I’m not sure it was the right thing to do. What good is being alive if my actions hurt others around me? What if the king does something to the twins because I ran from my fate?
The bad dream from earlier seems so far away now. Who cares about phantom pains and stab wounds that feel real but aren’t? This is the real nightmare.
My blood chills as another thought enters my mind.
What if the twins are Given instead of me?
Bloody hell. Is that even possible?
They’re not Marked, but maybe that doesn’t matter. I don’t even understand why the Given are being killed in the first place.
What do the Marks really mean? Why do the priestesses pretend to have Marks? Why lie to everyone?
The questions remain answerless, but I can’t focus on them any longer. My sisters need me. They’re in the king’s hands because of me.
As desperate as I am to escape the Kingdom of Myreth and never look back, I can’t go yet. I need to find the twins and save them, which means the Sapphire Coast will have to wait.
I have a ball to attend.