7. Kyros #2
My body is nearly as heavy as my mind as I make my way back to where Astraea still sleeps.
I am a glutton for punishment because instead of heading back to the chair I was sitting in before, I slide my arm right back under her head and let her body curl into mine.
I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't, but if this moment is all the peace I'm ever allowed with her, I will continue to be selfish and take it.
I am no stranger to sending people to sleep.
Even ensuring they are cast into a nightmare.
It was only recently that things began to change.
Since Astraea. That’s how I know I’m in a dream state currently.
My magick shivers deep in my chest as I glide through the umbra of sleep.
Just like it did when I cast myself through it before and stalked into Astraea’s nightmare.
The moment I feel it drawing my soul out of the dark, I follow the sensation, like being pulled along by a horse's lead. Though I’m not sure what it is that I'm being guided toward. I have to wonder if maybe this is my magick’s way of coming back to me after being drained more than ever before. I have to hope that’s what it is.
Although every time my foot lands, sending me forward, a feeling of a deep-seated foreboding fills my stomach. I stop when a chill scrapes down my spine like the bite of a steel blade, and I let my eyes fall closed as I focus on grounding myself where I am.
“Keep your focus open and alert. Never forget. If you don't know your surroundings, you’re already dead.” Shayd says as he presses the flat of his dagger into my bare back.
My breathing is labored, and sweat coats my body.
Mavros stands in front of me looking much the same, but a huge smile is brandished across his face.
I remember this.
“You should see your eyes right now. Those big black doe eyes were scared shitless,” Mavros laughs. I growl, shifting out from Shayd’s hold. When I turn, the man just holding me at the edge of his knife is smiling just as wide.
“Don’t take it personally, Ky. It's a training exercise for a reason.” Shayd grins.
“Again,” I bark. Lifting my sword and spinning it in my grip, I ready my feet.
This is a memory from when Mavros and I were barely men.
Only a year or two into the guild. My shadows quiver around my arms, just like they did that day.
Madness swirling along my skin and searching for release.
When Mavros laughs again at my expense, I let them have the freedom they seek.
They whip from my skin and wrap around my brother's throat.
I watch in silence as his icy blue eyes widen and lock with mine.
I close my eyes, both in the dream and in the memory. I squeeze them shut, unwilling to see what I’m doing.
“Please,” I hear through a choked sob, and my brows drop on my forehead.
This isn’t right—it’s not a familiar voice to the memory.
My eyes snap open, and I'm once again cast into the dark.
The cold dark of a dungeon. The metallic and earthy scent of chains coated in blood, dust, and salt accosts my senses.
The scraping voice sounds again. “Please, I don't know where she is.”
“Take another cut, my radiant prince.” My stomach flips, and I shake my head as I pedal backward a step. This can’t—
A scream pierces the air, and a ripple of energy strikes me like a lightning bolt.
Mavros pulls a woman's hand out to the side, pinning it to a wooden table, and uses his battle axe to cut it from her body in one swift chop. Even I flinch with the impact. I’m frozen watching the misery scrape the soul from my brother's usually bright eyes as confusion claws at my mind.
He stares down at the hand where it now lies palm-up on the stone floor at his feet, with shadows darkening under his eyes.
No.
The woman's head slumps, chin dropping to her chest as she passes out.
Mavros lets go of the woman's arm, and it falls to her side with a heavy thump.
Blood pumping from the stumped limb in steady jets of dark crimson to pool around the severed hand.
What is this? I shake my head in denial of what I'm seeing.
Why the fuck would Mavros do this? Then I hear that voice again—the one I recognize instantly, now that I'm paying attention.
“Show him what you’ve done to her, my radiant prince.
” She croons, “Show him how brutal you will be when you break the rest of them. What his silence has done. Show him what the fate of his family will be if he continues to keep his secrets.” Mavros shuffles across the dirty ground as though he has been at this for hours.
His arms, heavy with exhaustion, sag limply at his side, and his battle axe barely hanging from his fingers.
The grip of a man who has given up, not that of a warrior on a mission.
Mavros walks around a chair with another slumped form sitting on it, facing the center of the room.
A dark canvas bag covers the man's face, and his hands are tied, lying limply in his lap.
The umbra eddies around the scene like smoke, and I feel as though I am drifting further from the scene. No, no, no…
Shadows leak into my vision, clouding and obscuring the scene before me. I'm locked in place. My brows furrow deeper as I focus all my energy on my brother. Dammit, Mavros. What is she doing to you?!
I bellow into the darkness that has begun taking my brother away from me again.
All I can do is scream in despair as I can do nothing to get to him.
I dig deep into my chest. I need just a thread of magick to connect us.
I know that this was real. I did it again, this time unconsciously with my worry for my twin.
I somehow stepped into his dream… or reality.
Overwhelming desperation fills my lungs, but the darkness continues to engulf the scene before me.
MAVROS! Like the snapping shut of a portal, the vision of my brother, wrecked by his actions. A shell of the man I know him to be. It shrinks until the only thing I can see is his face. At the last moment, Mavros lifts his gaze to meet mine. Eyes wide, I know he sees me too.
Then there is nothing.
I’ve been paralyzed within the darkness of my mind for hours.
Swimming through the shadows, I try to find any semblance of that vibration within myself that I had before drifting into whatever that was with Mavros.
But I am awake despite my efforts and still haven't had an inkling of my magick. It felt so real.
It started as a memory; perhaps I was more tired than I allowed myself to believe, and it was just my worry for my brother that haunted my sleep.
I move to stretch and notice the warmth that clings to me.
Peeling my eyes open slowly, I squint into the low light that filters in through the heavy drapes covering the windows.
It's bright enough for me to want to close my eyes again, that is, until I see the outline of Astraea’s face where her head lies on my chest. Our legs are twisted, and one of her hands rests at my ribs, where she’s tucked it beneath my tunic.
Her skin on mine is scorching and perfect. A brand I’d gladly wear forever.