Chapter 43
Forty-three
James
“James. James! Wake up!”
My eyes snapped open as someone shook me awake. I lay on my side, desperately sucking in heaving breaths, and my cheeks felt wet?
Edwin wiped my cheeks with a thumb, blue eyes on mine as if trying to divine whether I was truly awake or not. He also looked wide eyed, alarmed, and—fuck, this was the first nightmare he’d witnessed. I’d wondered a few times what my nightmares looked like from the outside.
Fucking terrifying, apparently.
“Was I crying?” It felt strange to ask the question, but all I remembered was dreaming a memory I’d do anything to forget.
“Yes.” Edwin cradled my face with his hand, brows compressed into a single line of worry.
He hadn’t even put his glasses on, so I had an unobscured view of his eyes, and they were red rimmed.
As if my nightmare was contagious and had scared him, too.
“You cried and spoke my name multiple times. I could tell the nightmare was a terrible one.”
I turned my face into his hand, covering it with my own, and breathed in his scent. Such a relief to have him here, with me, when awakening from that awful dream. It made the pain so much more bearable.
“You’re dreaming of your first life, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question, he clearly knew. I gave a shallow nod.
“Specifically of the night I died?”
“That’s the memory that features the most prominently.” Nothing else I had survived had been worse than that night. Why my subconscious chose to torture me, who knew, but it wasn’t nice at all.
“Was the nightmare because of our discussion?”
I could tell he blamed himself. Luckily, I could answer him honestly. “No. Talking about it doesn’t always trigger a nightmare.”
In fact, being away from Edwin was the only sure trigger.
I wasn’t sure about other reasons, as I wasn’t tracking the nightmares carefully enough to figure it out.
Rather, I just kept hoping they’d stop. Actually, I’d been around Edwin most of today; I shouldn’t be suffering from night terrors right now.
Or had the fear that I might have to let go of him, again, been enough to sink me into the dreadful landscape of fears and memories?
That felt like the right answer. Just the concept of being separated from Edwin again was enough to still my beating heart.
Edwin’s eyes searched mine and he spoke slowly, putting one word in front of another.
“James…tell me if I’m wrong, but I have the gut feeling that if I’m away from you for more than a day, you always have this nightmare.
The few times we were busy on different things and I hadn’t seen you for a day, you always looked dead on your feet the next morning. ”
So observant, my Edwin. I considered it a blessing because it saved me from trying to explain things without feeling stupid. “Days I’m away from you are harder.”
“So I’m right. Shit.” Edwin pulled me more snugly against his chest and smoothed a hand up and down my spine. “Does sleeping next to me help?”
“So much. You’ve no idea. This is the first time I’ve ever had the dream while with you.”
“And likely the dream’s brought about because of the stress of the situation you’re in now,” Edwin muttered, almost rhetorically, as if speaking more to himself. “Because you’re afraid of losing me again. I’m almost sorry I brought it up now.”
“You’re right, though. Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.”
“Still, I hate triggering your bad memories. What can I do? There must be something I can do to help you through this.”
I snuggled into him more. I could hear the frustration and concern in his voice, knew he worried about me, but I didn’t know the magical answer either. I could only tell him what I yearned for the most. “Stay with me. Just stay with me, Edwin.”
His arms were strong as he held me to him. “I’ll do that. No matter what happens,” he said softly.
Tonight, his promise was enough.
Edwin
James’s nightmare—memory, really—had been bad enough he hadn’t wanted to go back to sleep.
I understood in a sense; I never wanted to go back to sleep after a nightmare either.
Fear of being sucked back in often kept me awake until I fell into a fitful dose.
Still, I knew James had a full schedule he must be awake and alert for, so I’d insisted he try.
In the end, I’d pulled my book out from my bag and read to him. James insisted it would be the only thing that could possibly get him back to sleep. Turned out, he was right. In three pages, he was once again passed out.
Thankfully, he slept peacefully at my side until daylight woke us up.
James seemed a bit off this morning over breakfast, so I kept my promise to stay with him by following him out to the training yard.
I had no intention of picking up a weapon—that would only lead to an injury, likely mine—but I sat off to the side on a bench and watched him tear up training equipment.
His strength never ceased to amaze me. He could slice right through the training posts, and those weren’t dainty little things, either.
When he sparred with one of the knights, the knights were hard-pressed to fight back.
James was one of those disgustingly natural athletes who made the rest of us look bad even when we were trying.
He had, from the time he was born, been raised like a little prince. Which was partially why he’d been adopted into the palace. He’d had all the education and military training a prince would. It was easy to see in moments like these.
I let the clang of metal on metal ring across the yard and wash over me.
My eyes were not on the fight itself, but on James, his expression.
He did not look his cheerful self. His mouth stayed pressed into a flat line, and the hint of dark circles under his eyes emphasized his restless night.
His movements lagged, not sharp and precise like usual.
Dammit, I didn’t know what to do.
I felt wholly responsible for his nightmare last night, no matter what he said.
My stomach churned from guilt for pushing him back into a dark headspace.
I didn’t wish this on him, but I didn’t know the right path.
Too much of what I saw, the possibilities before us, hinged upon him seizing responsibility before someone else could.
Was I wrong to push him?
But if James was not made king, I could only see the country burning.
No one else would do the job he would. No one else would even let him stay in the palace as support, as the risk was too high.
The majority of the citizens wanted James on the throne, and any rival would see James as a threat.
He’d either be removed from the palace by force or assassinated before the coronation.
I couldn’t let such a dark future play out. I didn’t have all the answers, but neither did James.
There were other factors, too. James had told me everything he could, of course, but even he admitted he was an unreliable narrator at best. There were things he just didn’t know.
Some, he hadn’t had a chance to learn. Others, he’d never been sure of, or he hadn’t realized something’s importance until well after the fact, so he didn’t get the details.
It left many a plot hole for me to somehow fill in. I didn’t have the slightest clue on how to go about filling those holes, either. I must, though, because we might both be doomed otherwise.
James felt certain he could bring me along with him to Paradise.
The more I sat on this, the more sure I became that I couldn’t just tag along with him.
After all, I’d done the same work alongside him in the first life, hadn’t I?
And I hadn’t attained Paradise then. Doing the same thing and expecting different results was insanity.
No, I’d failed to do something in my last life. Something crucial.
It might be why James had died tragically.
A crash alerted me and I blinked, looking up to find James had lost the sparring match and was being pulled back up to his feet.
Oh? He was truly not in good form today.
It wasn’t like I’d never seen him lose—he had, but he generally won against Sir Pedan.
Even Sir Pedan looked somewhat baffled by the win.
My James was worried. Incredibly so. I couldn’t blame him; I was just as worried. I didn’t know the right answer, but just letting things abide seemed the absolute worst choice to make.
James loved to brag about my intelligence (which was rich, coming from him). Time to see if I could put my so-called intellect to use and think up ways to make sure I got into Paradise. I couldn’t leave him alone. James apparently didn’t function well without me.
I paused, sending up a quick prayer to Nimus, as I could use some divine help right then. On second thought, I added Vuheia to the prayer, because I knew for a fact she was invested in this situation. Perhaps she’d show some mercy and throw a few hints.
All right, I’d start with the series of events from James’s previous life and see if that didn’t spark something.
First, James became king.
I still felt like he should become king again, but since he did that the first time without my help, that clearly wasn’t my Task.
The second thing he’d done as king was marry Princess Valentina.
Who, by his account, was the worst choice ever.
Knowing she had seemingly purposefully made every possible wrong move in helping her new country—had almost destroyed it despite James’s efforts—it seemed obvious to me that keeping her from being queen again was to our benefit.
Plus, I just couldn’t let a bitch like her marry my James. I’d kill her myself first.
What else?
I wished I had his notebook on me; it would help me go through things chronologically. Thinking not-chronologically, I had to wonder: Why was I killed? That singular event destroyed James. Even with me alive and breathing at his side, he still had nightmares about it.