Chapter 30 #2
He bowed and left, shutting the door behind him.
The crackle of the fire was the only sound as I stared at Anya.
She looked sick with regret, but also more alert, as if the violence had shaken her out of her delirium. “Kenna, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
“I know you didn’t.” The words tasted bitter. The burns on my palm and the pain in my skull were already gone, but there was an aching wound inside me that couldn’t be fixed by magic or immortality.
“I dream about fire,” Anya said, eyes beginning to glisten. “I drown, and I burn, and I die, over and over, and then you burn and die, too.” Her voice rose in pitch. “And now I did burn you, like he showed me I would.”
There was only one he she could be speaking of. “What do you mean, he showed you?”
“I saw you die a hundred times,” she whispered. “Most of them my fault. And he was right, because look what I just did.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed.
I wanted to kill Osric over and over again, every day for the rest of my life.
He’d seen us running through the bog together; he’d either guessed or learned what I meant to her and used it as a weapon.
Crimson magic flickered at my fingertips and wound around my forearms, and I closed my eyes, grappling with the flare of rage.
I wasn’t just furious with Osric, if I was being honest with myself. I was angry with Anya. For refusing to sleep, for drinking too much, for going on a rampage, for hurting me. For hurting herself most of all. But shame rode with the feeling, because she didn’t deserve that anger.
I just didn’t know what to do with this hate now that Osric was dead.
I breathed deeply, willing the magic back beneath my skin, then looked at her again.
She might not deserve my anger, but she couldn’t continue like this.
No more giving Anya space. I needed to take control of this situation, and that started with summoning the right words to get us from this moment to the next.
Second by second, breath by breath, because some destinations had to be crawled to.
“Osric lied,” I told her firmly. “You aren’t going to kill me.
” She started to say something, but I talked over her.
“Whatever he showed you, it didn’t happen just now, and it’s not going to happen.
I’m fine. See?” I held out my arms, willing her to see the physical reality in front of her.
“And now we’re going to go upstairs, and you have to get some sleep, Anya. ”
“I don’t—”
“No,” I said, raising my voice. “No arguments. You’re a danger to yourself in this state.” A danger to others, too. The nightmares would come, but they were coming no matter what.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders curving inward like a vulnerable creature protecting its belly. I ached with the urge to hug her, but she didn’t like being touched anymore, so I clenched my fists and waited.
Finally, she nodded.
We passed Wilkin on the way out, though the rest of the hallway had thankfully been cleared. He seemed surprised to see Anya walking beside me. I dipped my chin as we passed, and he bowed in response.
Upstairs, Anya’s room had been recently cleaned.
It smelled like gardenias rather than body odor and spilled wine, and the bedding piled on the floor was fresh.
I walked Anya to her nest of blankets, standing over her with my arms crossed until she crawled into them.
A volatile mix of grief and fury still roiled inside me, threatening to send magic spilling out of my fingertips, but I kept it tightly contained. She needed me to be strong.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, fingers digging into the pillow.
“I know,” I said, crouching beside her.
“What if it’s worse next time?”
“There won’t be a next time, because you’re going to sleep. I’ll find out if there’s anything that can help with the dreams—something that isn’t wine. A tonic.”
She was silent, staring at the far wall.
“Close your eyes,” I ordered in the same firm tone that had gotten results thus far.
She did, though the frown remained etched between her brows. Her fingers were white-knuckled where they gripped the pillow.
She would hate what I was about to do, but I didn’t see much of a choice after what had happened—and what could have happened if she’d managed to get that axe off the wall.
I closed my eyes, matching my breathing to hers.
Then I imagined my Blood power drifting gently between us and sinking behind her eyes.
Her brain felt unfathomable and terrifyingly complex.
I could understand the heart because it beat and the lungs because they filled and emptied, but I couldn’t understand the processes of that dense, complicated organ inside her skull.
Intention seemed to matter most when it came to my powers, though, so I focused carefully on one goal.
Sleep , I whispered mentally, imagining a gentle tide carrying her out to sea. Sleep.
Anya’s breathing shifted into a slower rhythm as exhaustion took her. I pulled my magic back carefully and waited for a few minutes to make sure she stayed asleep.
I was going to fall apart soon. The pressure was building, like water behind a dam. It couldn’t happen where anyone might see, though, because princesses didn’t break down: they did what needed to be done.
I walked downstairs in a haze and found Nadine to tell her I was attending a meeting and Lara was in charge. Then I walked out of Blood House, found a door to the catacombs, and let myself inside. Cocooned in the dark, I sank to the floor and finally let myself weep.