12. God of Dreams
12
God of Dreams
Calliste
She hadn’t expected much from the lodging in an inn on the mountainous fringes of the kingdom, yet it surprised her.
Not too spacious, but the room was clean, with a tiled floor and light oaken walls. A large, neatly made-up bed with a beige woolen blanket rested against one wall. Thick linen curtains concealed two narrow windows on the opposite sides of the room, one facing the inner courtyard, calm at that time of the day. The other window looked out at the sleepy street, which wavered in the sun-drenched afternoon.
Captain Lykos checked the room, then showed himself outside. “I’ll be on guard,” he said to the king before closing the door.
Calliste tried the bed with her hand. “Probably not what you’re used to, but comfortable.”
“Doesn’t matter.” The king watched her, weary, yet wary. “What do you want me to do?”
She took a deep breath, knowing how he might completely misinterpret her words and hoping he wouldn’t. “Could you take off your breastplate? And your belt. And your striders. And… the top of your tunic.” She let her words hang in the air as she waited for his reaction.
Surely enough, he raised his brow. “You’re asking me to bare myself in front of you.”
“I need you to remove all the points of pressure on your body, so you’re comfortable.”
“Ah. That makes sense,” he murmured.
“As a healer, I wouldn’t ask you anything to make you feel embarrassed.” She stopped short of reminding him that she had already seen him bare in the forest lake.
He watched her with a quizzical expression for another breath. Then he began unbuckling his breastplate. His movements were slow, as if ridding himself of physical protection was difficult for him, but eventually he undressed himself to her specifications. He rested his sword against the wall and swung his heavy belt with the dagger over the back of the chair. “And?” He crossed his arms across his bare chest. “I imagine you want me to lie down?”
She couldn’t decipher the note in his voice. It seemed teasing and guarded at the same time. “You’re very perceptive, Majesty.”
“I’ll humor you.” With something of a disbelieving snort, he lay down on the bed with his back against the headboard. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all.”
She shrugged, used to being doubted, and popped the cork of the phial with lavender-scented oil she’d already prepared. She rubbed the oil onto her hands and approached him. “Could you turn over on your stomach?”
He shot her a suspicious look. “Why?”
“Because I’ll start with a massage,” she replied patiently. “Is that fine with you?”
For a moment, it seemed that he was ready to fire a refusal, his eyes narrowed, as if expecting some kind of trick. “A massage ?”
“I’ll make it easier for myself if I relax your body first.”
“And this oil?”
“Infused with lavender. Aids sleep and makes it easier for my hands.” As he continued to scrutinize her, as if assessing her for bad intentions, she sighed. “Do you want to keep my knife to feel safer?”
He shook his head. “No. I understand why you pulled it out.”
“Then why do you hesitate?” She bit her lip. “This… isn’t an attempt to be overly familiar, if this is your worry.”
“This isn’t my worry.” A pale shade of amusement rippled in his eyes.
She had to put him at ease, somehow. “If you’d rather someone kept an eye on me, we can invite Captain Lykos back.”
“Gods, no,” the king groaned. “His ear is probably flat against the door on the other side, anyway.” He still didn’t turn over, his hooded eyes never leaving her face. “Why do you want to help me, Calliste? I thought you disliked me for what I did.”
That caught her off balance. “Dislike you?” She battled to keep her face expressionless.
He lay there, watching her: his face unreadable in the mellow shadows filling the room, wisps of winding dark hair caught in his stubble, his hands tucked beneath his head, his battle-scarred, sculpted chest shifting with unyielding muscles.
Less of a king now. More of an unapologetically attractive man.
Still, she had never been around a man half as attractive or a quarter as influential. If she were to evaluate her feelings toward him, she would not use the word dislike . “I never thought rulers paid attention to such details as to whether they’re liked or not.”
“I care on occasion,” he replied. “So why do you want to do it? Pity?”
“No. Healing is my gods-bestowed gift. I never use it out of pity.”
“Then there must be something else.”
There was. By now, she had no doubt that he was the man from her dream. The same voice, the same aura of power. She still didn’t know what it meant for her—since everything else was different. But she couldn’t admit it to him, so she had to settle for something that sounded credible. “You challenged that man over his words.”
He watched her in silence. “He had no right to say what he did.”
“No. But you had no obligation to say anything.”
“So it’s gratitude?”
“Yes,” she lied, warmth shimmering and skipping in her chest.
He weighed her answer in silence, his distrust warring with another, nameless emotion. But then he relented. Without a word, he turned over and settled on his stomach, bending his arms so he could rest his hands under his chin.
Calliste sat down by his side. For a few breaths, she admired the disciplined lattice of muscles on the king’s back, convincing herself she was contemplating the beauty of a human body.
Except it was a glaring lie, especially when she inhaled the scent of his skin: a tantalizing blend of fiery spices and sea breeze, muddling her thoughts to the point where she had to remember her purpose. She placed her hands against his rigid back.
He flinched.
“Are my hands cold?” she asked.
“No.”
When he didn’t add anything else, she continued. “Your muscles are in knots,” she said quietly. “I’ll have to work on that.”
Calliste rolled her fingertips over the bunched sections to ease the tension, but a long while later, they remained tense. He refused to release his guard and relax. I might just as well be massaging a stone. She sighed. “Majesty, I understand why you’re worried. Someone once told me that worry is like a weed. Once you let it spread in your mind, it will choke out everything else, to the last bright thought. It will plunge you into darkness, but won’t let you sleep. It will burrow itself deep, poisoning every moment you would otherwise enjoy.”
The tension in his back lessened by a fraction.
“So the trick is not to let it take root. You’re doing the best you can, and if you fear that something terrible might happen if you let yourself fall asleep… things will happen regardless. The best we can do is face them prepared. Sleep gives your mind the edge.”
He sighed.
“You owe yourself some peace,” she added under her breath. “Try to hold it in your heart, even if only for a short while.” Calliste redoubled her efforts, waiting for him to digest her words and relax.
His back softened.
Finally. Calliste worked on the upper sections of his back until she reached his neck. Once she dug into the muscles there, he sagged, his body pliant. Heated afternoon silence infused with lavender and his scent drifted between them as she continued, blessing the countless hours she’d spent refining her massages. With gentle circles of her fingertips she worked on the back of his neck. Then she heard a quiet snort. Already? She continued in a lighter touch.
But he had been exhausted enough to drift off once he let go of the tension.
She knelt by the bed and concentrated. This was most likely his initial, light sleep, but she wanted to draw him far deeper into slumber before his worry woke him up.
Epione for healing. Hypnos for rest. Her hand on her pendant, she invoked Hypnos, the god of dreams—who had been continuously aiding her efforts, with sleep being the best medicine.
Her invocation threaded through the hot air, yet unlike any previous time, it seemed to carry a different resonance. Each word spun out like a tendril, drawing divine presence.
The pendant.
Even though Leontia had explained how the pendant worked, the sudden connection between her and the plane of the immortals stole her breath. If she had ever wondered what it was like to attract their attention, the answer left her dizzy.
Incredible.
Hypnos’ arrival cooled down the temperature of the room, brushing against her back like a breeze beside a waterfall. The air thickened with the scent of poppies and green apples. Her pendant blazed, as if responding to the Night’s son, Dream.
She closed her eyes, radiating gratitude, familiar with his soothing presence. But she had never glimpsed him. Curiosity made her lift her head. Leontia never said I couldn’t look… She stole a glance.
A luminous male stepped to the side of the bed where she knelt. It was hard to tell if he was physically present: it could be his reflection, cast from the distant Underworld.
Her gaze drifted up in increments.
The tunic he wore was woven from threads of moonlight, shrouding his tall form in a misty glow. His wavy, flaxen hair cascaded down his sculpted shoulders and chest. A glinting crown of scarlet poppies shimmered atop his head, their petals as though fashioned from thin glass. Behind him lay his majestic, mesmeric wings with feathers in shades of blue that transitioned from azure at the topmost curve to deep midnight at the ends.
She couldn’t help but look up into his face, no more than she could have stopped herself from plunging into the forest lake after she lost her balance. It was that kind of merciless, inevitable pull.
The serenity in his face wiped out every worry from her mind. Radiance swept through her heart.
He reached to his poppy crown, plucked one red petal, and held it above the king.
Hypnotized, Calliste watched the petal fragmenting into shiny particles to float down like a shower of gentle sparks. They extinguished as they touched the king’s skin.
The king’s breath deepened, his face smoothing into relaxation.
She blinked, then glanced at Hypnos again.
His luminous eyes were fixed on her. She couldn’t name their color; they were as if illuminated from within. “You must have wondered what I look like.”
She stilled, first incredulous that a god had spoken to her, then shocked at his voice: a blend of melody and whisper. Then she glanced at the door, remembering Captain Lykos.
“This conversation is ours, Calliste. No one else will hear it.”
She exhaled, a little dizzy from his presence. “Why… are you showing yourself to me?”
“You’ve received your pendant, and it’s given only to the chosen. Admittedly, I wanted to show myself a long time ago, but I told myself to wait.” His smile was a study in charm and calm before he added, “My brother sends his regards.”
A chill swept over her skin. “Your… brother?” And then she made a chilling connection. The god of death. She nodded stiffly, noticing how her pendant still blazed with otherworldly light and sensing a shift in energy between them.
“Thanatos,” he confirmed, the name she dreaded falling easily from his mouth. “He’s looking forward to meeting you when you reach Anthemos.”
“Anthemos?” Dread settled in her stomach. Meeting the god of death meant only one thing for the mortals. “Is this how long I have?”
“No,” he said, averting his gaze for a moment. “He, too, wants to see if you can help the prince.”
“This is what I want,” Calliste said. “But I don’t stand a chance if the Fates decide otherwise.”
“For now, concentrate on arriving to Anthemos. My brother awaits you for other reasons, too.”
Calliste stared at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. “Why would he? He’s not an ally of mine.”
“No. But we both need you.”
“Me?” She rubbed her eyes. Light swirled in her head. “Are you certain there’s no mistake? You know who I am.”
“I do, Calliste,” Hypnos smiled. “And you’re much more than you give yourself credit for.”
When she looked up again, Hypnos wasn’t there. Her pendant had dimmed.
The fragrant cool lingered in the green apple-scented air.
Calliste braced her hand against the bed and rose, her mind swirling. She covered the king with a thin sheet and dragged herself to the door.
Captain Lykos peered in as she opened it and left the room, his alert gaze softening at seeing the king sleeping. He clicked the door shut, lowering himself on the stool. “Gods, he’s actually asleep.” He shook his head. “Thank you, Calliste. I’ll stay here to guard him.”
Calliste leaned against the wall of the corridor, bracing herself for the energy slump that usually followed her every healing session.
This feels strange.
Instead of a mild fatigue she’d known, sudden numbness made her dizzy. She exhaled, trying to dredge up what Leontia had told her about the pendant, and then suddenly remembered: The pendant amplifies your power, but it will take its toll. The more complicated the treatment, the more draining the effects.
She had requested an instantaneous, divine aid. But she’d never thought about the cost. Her stone shone all throughout the encounter, probably draining her energy all along. “Is there anywhere I can rest for a moment, Captain?” she murmured, pushing back the overwhelming tiredness.
“You look pale.” He cut her a careful look. “Is healing taxing you?”
“I need to rest.”
He nodded at the room where the king slept. “This is the only room with a bed. Perhaps—”
“It’s fine.” She lowered herself onto the floor, embracing her knees and resting her forehead against them. “I’ll take a quick nap here.”
“This isn’t right.” The captain’s concerned voice whispered from above. “The bed where he sleeps is large enough. Go on, just use it.”
“No. This is ridiculous and inappropriate. I’m not sneaking into the king’s bed while he’s asleep there.” Her limbs were turning heavier.
“Needs must, Calliste. I understand your objections, but it’s just a nap.”
“No,” she slurred.
“Calliste—”
Darkness surrounded her and swallowed her up whole.