Chapter 5
To Share a Nightmare
The tremble sank deep into my marrow, making the wobble of my fingers the least of my concerns as my knees threatened to buckle under terror’s breath-stealing weight.
Face forward, arms splayed like a common scarecrow, I locked my focus on the only face who cared whether I lived or died.
Tears welled in Tarrin’s eyes, the light teak of his irises already dark with unspent sorrow.
I offered him a sad, fleeting smile while silently cursing the Ancients for damning me with the burden of the spark.
Then I turned inward, to the well of power that had brought so much ruin, and readied myself to relinquish every last ember I had to give.
A strange peace washed over me, knowing it would all be over soon. At least until Thaddeus and Wymond began to drink down my power.
Agony, blinding and absolute, ripped through me as each ruler fought to outpace the other for more.
Tarrin’s desperate cries of my name sounded as if they came from underwater.
I fought to focus on him as my vision ebbed and flowed in fractured bursts.
In a lucid moment, my focus flickered to Nevander, whose lips curled into a feral grin, and a strangled sob tore free from me before his hand even moved.
In a blink, Tarrin’s eyes widened in shock. Then pain.
“No!” I screamed, the word somehow shattering my tether to Thaddeus and Wymond.
The bond snapped with a sound like cracking glass, and a powerful blast of energy hurtled through the cavern, plunging it into darkness as it tossed me across the room. I hit the ground hard, my head striking something unyielding with a sickening thunk.
“Tarrin!” I cried out. “Where are you? Tarrin!” My voice broke on his name.
Panic clawed through me as I scrambled to orient myself.
He was dying. I knew it. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him die alone.
My hands fumbled uselessly through the dark, catching only fabric.
My legs tangled in my skirt, slowing me further.
“Tarrin, please.”
“Nyleeria,” a voice reached out to me, calm where mine was chaos—and my panic doubled.
I jerked toward it, but warm hands closed around my arms, holding me firm.
“Let me go!” I thrashed against the grip. “Please—Tarrin!”
“Nyleeria,” the voice came again, sharper now, commanding.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, struggling harder. His hands only tightened, and he shook me once, hard.
“That’s enough.”
The command cut through the haze, and my vision snapped into focus, finding Caius staring back at me. Power hummed around him, sharp and contained, as if he’d wrestled it back under control just to meet my gaze.
I blinked at him, dazed, my breath ragged as I tried to piece together what was real.
“Breathe,” he ordered—quiet but absolute.
“Caius.” His name on my tongue was like an answered prayer I hadn’t known I’d asked for. My arms darted out, my hands frantically feeling the truth of him, needing to confirm he was solid. Real. Here.
The heat radiating through the soft fabric of his stark-white shirt warmed the frozen tips of my fingers. A relieved sob escaped as I slumped forward, my forehead resting against his chest, fingers clinging to him like the lifeline he was.
“It was a dream,” I rasped.
“Yes,” he said, the deep, familiar rumble of his voice running through me.
As if conjured by the sound, Endymion, Artton, and Summer’s third—Sidrick—appeared.
Like the sun chasing the horizon, the instant my eyes found the autumn fae, my body moved around Caius toward him.
Endymion’s gaze swept over me, assessing in an instant as he closed the distance.
Emotions flickered across his face faster than I could name them.
Like I’d done with Caius, I gripped the corded muscles of his forearms, needing to know this was real.
That he was real. A deep sense of relief washed through me as my power vibrated the way it always did in his presence.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, eyes hard.
“I…” I croaked, swallowing as I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
His sharp gaze searched mine, as if weighing the truth in my words. After a moment, his features softened. Without looking away, his voice firm as he said, “Get them back up.”
Caius’ commanders bristled at the order clearly meant for them. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them glance toward their High Lord, who gave a single nod before they vanished to do as bidden.
“Endymion,” Caius said, his tone careful, “why don’t we get her out of here?”
“Get me out of—” My words were cut short as I finally took in the carnage that had once been a bedchamber.
Ash drifted through the air, settling over the remains of furniture—if the rubble could still be called that—like snow dusting the mountains.
Scorch marks marred the walls, the scent of char heavy in my nostrils.
My gaze snapped down. My night shift was untouched—not a single mark marring the fabric. Whirling toward the bed, I found it pristine amid the chaos, as if someone had outlined my sleeping form and cast a protection spell over it.
The theory I’d once shared with Tarrin was holding true; that I couldn’t be harmed by my own power. Had I not known the devastation around me was at my hands, that truth alone would have confirmed it.
I surveyed the damage beyond the layers of ash, my focus snagging on the framed windows that adorned the far wall. The now windowless walls.
Eyes wide, I shifted to Endymion.
He lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “It’s nothing magic can’t fix,” he said, echoing his words from before.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, lowering my gaze to my feet.
“It’s of no consequence,” Caius said, waving away my apology. “What matters is that you weren’t hurt. Come—let’s go to the sitting room.”
Endymion gestured toward the doorway, and I followed Caius through the archway. Thankfully, the only damage it had suffered was a charred door lying across the tile and a faint haze of smoke clinging to the ceiling.
I sank onto the long sofa while Endymion, as before, perched on the table across from me.
Caius pulled up a chair, pausing only to pour a glass of water and offer it.
I accepted with a small smile and tried for a sip.
The instant the liquid bottomed out, I regretted it—the knots in my stomach were too tight.
As if sensing my discomfort, the commander wrapped his large hand around the cup, setting it down beside him. He leaned forward, forearms resting atop his knees, hands clasped loosely. “What happened?” he asked, his voice as gentle as the look he gave me.
I swallowed and reached for the light throw blanket at the edge of the sofa. Tucking my feet under me, I wrapped myself tight in the down-soft fabric and sank deep into the cushions—wishing to hide.
“Would it be easier to show me? Like before.”
From the corner of my eye, Caius stiffened, but he stayed silent.
I searched Endymion’s face for the truth behind his offer, wondering if it was even possible. I’d unwittingly pulled him into a dream before—could I actively choose to show him?
As if sensing my doubt, he wiggled his fingers and raised a brow in that almost playful way of his. Though I doubted anyone raised in a militant court truly understood playfulness.
Shifting forward, I let my gaze drop to his open hands before meeting his eyes again. The truth was, my pain had become his last time—and I didn’t want either of us to relive it.
“It’ll hurt,” I said, voice small. “I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t,” he countered without hesitation and leaned closer. “And I won’t let it hurt you either. I promise.”
My mind wanted to protest—vehemently. But the instinctive part of me that had trusted this fae before—forcing him into a dream—hummed at the thought of sharing the memory with him.
And I’d be lying if I claimed the burdens I carried hadn’t been a little lighter after that.
Perhaps that was the most important consideration of all.
Then again, wasn’t it possible that it hadn’t been a dream at all, but a vision spurred by magic?
What if being on fae land—while being fae—had changed something in me?
I knew little of magic, and even less about the fae.
But Endymion… knew far more. Surely, he could discern the truth when I couldn’t.
That notion clenched my resolve. Pain or not, I had to show him. Because if something happened to Tarrin that I could’ve prevented, I’d never forgive myself.
Mind made, I met the intensity of his cobalt eyes and shifted closer. “Last chance,” I said, offering him an out.
His mouth ticked up in a mischievous grin. “And lose the chance to feel your hands in mine? I don’t think so.”
A half-scoff, half-laugh escaped me as I shook my head at his ridiculousness. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, Commander.”
“Do I strike you as someone who breaks his promises?”
“Well, you also promised to follow the orders of your High Lord, and yet here I am,” I teased, gesturing around me, the blanket slipping from my shoulders with the movement.
Caius barked a laugh, which cut off abruptly at Endymion’s sharp glance. The summer lord lifted his hands in mock surrender, humor lighting his strong features.
The full weight of the commander’s focus was back on me. “Nyleeria,” he said after a pause, my name laced with the faintest trace of desperation.
The silent plea in his voice—his expression—sobered me. “No, you don’t,” I said on a rasp, finally answering his question.
“Then trust me when I say there’s no need for your warning. I’ve got you. I’ve got us.”
His certainty settled over me, and gods above, I wanted to cling to its edges. Wrap its warmth around me. Get lost in it. But no. I would not anchor to him. This was strictly academic, for him to know what happened. Nothing more.
Pulse thrumming in my veins despite myself, I nodded, unable to trust my voice, and forced my focus onto his hands instead of the damn warmth begging to shroud me.