Chapter 15 Darian #2
Just like that, she invites me into her mind when I’ve seen others break into a run to try and escape. “I didn’t come for that, as it happens. I came to see if you needed anything.”
Her brows crease, as if in confusion. “Why?”
Shrugging, I dig through the contents of the box, glad that I took some extra supplies from the kitchen before coming down. I duck out to retrieve the bowl and place the sliced meat pie inside it, snagging a waterskin before offering them to her.
She seems far more discomfited by the offer of food than by the idea of me flicking through her mind. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a trick.” I eye the way she cradles the bowl, not reaching for the food. “If I wanted to kill you, I have better ways than poison. You should eat.”
She doesn’t move. “Tell me why they don’t like you, first.”
Instead of answering, I lean back against the bars, crossing my arms. “This place looks far better than the last time I was here. I’m surprised Eres hasn’t placed you in the castle.”
“He tried. Duskbane refused.” She takes a small nibble of the pie, testing, and then a bigger bite. “I don’t care where I sleep. It’s not much different from what I’m used to.”
Twisting, I stretch my neck out. “Where exactly did you stay in Solvandyr?”
A brief hesitation. “With the lieutenant.” For the first time, her voice stumbles on her words.
I regret asking. Whatever she’s lying about, it’s not that. “Is he still breathing?”
She looks away. “As far as I know. You did see it, then. I wondered if you had. You didn’t mention it.”
“I did.” I examine her skin more closely, while she’s not paying attention.
The riftlines gifted to her through the Binding aren’t dark like mine, but a pale silver, almost invisible against her golden hue until they catch the light.
“I saw no reason to give details that should remain private. The confirmation was enough. You don’t have any scars. ”
“Lightbringers have good healers.” I’ve touched on something valuable, or perhaps vulnerable. Her tone sharpens, words coming a little faster.
“You were trained.” I change tactics, moving away from those thoughts.
I have no desire to make her relive those memories.
Only to find the truth. “Trained to give only the memories you want to. There are too many gaps in your mind, and despite my words to Council, I don’t think you’re empty-headed at all. Who trained you, and why?”
“Nobody,” she snaps immediately. “If my mind is different, it’s a quirk and nothing more.”
She meets my gaze fully, as if daring me to argue.
It could be trauma. It’s the only close explanation, though every case I’ve ever seen presented those memories differently. Even the thought of some of them makes me want to be ill.
But nothing has ever come close to what I saw in her head.
Turning, I dig through the box. Lyra squints when I turn. “What are those?”
“Gloves.” Her eyes widen as I cross the cell, taking hold of her bandaged hand and nudging the leather gloves I took from my own chambers onto her swollen fingers. Her hand must be small enough normally that mine just about fit, even with the swelling.
“It gets very cold in here at night,” I say quietly. “Even with lanterns. You need to keep those warm.”
She doesn’t move as I gather up her other hand. “Why did you bring these?”
She doesn’t trust me. And while I know some parts of her story to be true, I don’t trust her either.
But perhaps I can offer her an exchange.
“My father was the dreamwalker representative on the Council before me. There is always one. He tried to make a deal with the Lightbringers to broker peace between Solvandyr and Umbraxis.”
Her eyes tighten. “I haven’t heard of such a deal.”
My response is sharp. “Should you have?”
When she doesn’t respond, I continue, pushing out the words around the lump in my throat that appears any time I think about it.
“It was a trap, and nothing more. The ones he met never intended to offer peace. My father was slaughtered, along with the unit he took with him. In the aftermath, I spent a significant amount of time here.”
My smile holds no humor. “Believe me when I say that the gloves are needed.”
“I don’t understand.” Lyra’s eyes crease. “If he was trying to achieve peace—”
“He left me a note to explain.” I step away and turn my back.
“Many thought it was a lie to cover the truth, that he was colluding with the enemy—sharing information. There were things the Lightbringers couldn’t have known unless someone had told them, and he had that information.
Most still believe I had some knowledge of his actions, although I was cleared of any involvement. We were… close.”
Lyra straightens. “If a deal was offered, they would not have reneged on it. Our word is our honor.”
“Is it?” She says nothing when I sit on the bed beside her, keeping a distance. “Do you truly believe that? That none of your kind are beyond reproach? That they cannot lie, or betray?”
For a moment, I wonder if she’ll answer. An expression I can’t read flits across her face, gone too quickly for me to interpret. “You still have a seat on the Council.”
My voice rings hollow. “I am the only dreamwalker left. And Kaelen took steps to assure my loyalty.”
“How?”
“Another time.” I turn back to her. Waiting to see if this spilling of my own dark secrets might bring forth any of her own.
For a moment, I think it might. But then Lyra turns her face away. “I’m quite tired.”
My body stiffens. “I see.”
It shouldn’t matter. I’m nothing to her. Just another Darkwielder. But as I stand to leave, I ask her one more time. “What’s your plan here, Lyra?”
She lifts one shoulder, her braid slipping. “Who knows. Perhaps I’ll be dead soon, if Duskbane has anything to do with it. I doubt most will accept my presence here, if today has shown me anything.”
“Kaelen won’t hurt you.” Although I can’t argue with her other point. “And right now, they do not trust you. If you truly intend to stay, then help us.”
She snorts. “Help you win and betray my own people? I’m flattered that you think I have that ability.”
I debate my next words. “We don’t want to win. We haven’t thought of victory since before my lifetime.”
When her eyes lift, I meet them.
“We just want to survive.”
***
The floor of this place is as damp as I remember. Pulling up my knees, I balance my wrists on them and lean back against the wall as I listen.
I haven’t heard any noise from Lyra’s cell since I left. Perhaps she’s still sitting there, bolt upright with military posture and swollen hands.
Or perhaps she’s sleeping.
Despite my Council duties to assist in meting out justice, it’s rare that I enter someone else’s dreams. And never without preparation. Never without someone close by. A rule that my father instilled into me from birth, preparing me for the day my erevas would emerge.
The Veyr bloodline has always borne walkers.
Twisting my wrist, I run my thumb over the deep riftline that covers the inside of my left arm. Eres will be waiting in his chambers. Kaelen too, if he persuaded him to stay. It won’t help the friction between us if I don’t show up.
But I’d feel better if I could give him something useful, instead of speculation and suspicion. There’s been more than enough of that, between us.
Perhaps this will be enough.
Perhaps I will finally be enough.
But that all depends on what Lyra dreams about.
I listen again. Nothing. I’ve been here for just under two hours, so if my calculations are correct…
I close my eyes. My father would be furious, but he’s not here. And I have nobody I can ask, thanks to him.
For the love of Erevan, let me fix this.
It takes me a few moments to find the strands. Mental erevas is a different beast to our physical manifestation. Tricky, almost sentient. When I find them, I nudge them outward.
If Lyra’s mind is open to me, if she’s unconscious and unguarded, the connection should be quick enough.
There.
The flickers of movement at the edge of my vision are muted, as if I’m watching them through water.
My erevas reaches for them, catching on to the threads Lyra casts out without knowing.
The shadows wrap around those threads—one, then a second, then another, building a link I can use to slip inside.
I breathe in.
And then I let go. Let go of every panicked, agonized, pathetic thought in my own head, and I reach for Lyra’s. The threads grow darker, stronger, weaving together into a rope between the two of us that I use to pull myself closer.
It’s harder than I anticipated. I can feel my breathing deepening, becoming jagged and uneven to anybody who might walk past.
A sliver of panic slips in. I’ve left myself unguarded. Undefended.
Stupid—
But I’m there. So close, that all I have to do is push a little more—
For a moment, everything vanishes. The feel of the damp, stone floor. The harsh noise of my breath in the cold air. And the pain, that goes too.
I lose all sense of myself in entering Lyra’s mind.
And the moment I do—the moment I open that eye, buried inside my own mind, and see what Lyra sees—I realize that I’ve made a mistake far greater than any my father warned me about.
My mind scrabbles for the rope, to pull myself free. Take me back, take me—
Gone. The rope is gone. Frayed and scattered beneath the weight of my panic as I try to yank myself free.
Somewhere, in another place, I begin to scream. To claw at the ground, to beg for help that isn’t coming.
Because nobody knows that I’m here.