12. A Crimson Premonition
A CRIMSON PREMONITION
GAbrIEL
There is a special kind of pain that comes from knowing that your parents—the very people meant to love you unconditionally—harbor hatred for you in their hearts. It twists you up inside, making it difficult to see things properly.
When I was a young boy, crying out as my father’s whip left the skin on my back in tatters, I wondered why he despised me. He seemed to love Severus, my half brother, but he never extended that same sentiment to me.
The whippings were punishments, according to him, but I had no idea what I’d done to deserve them or his wrath.
Even with blessed salve, I’d have to spend a few days on my front after his brutal visits, letting my back fully heal. On those days, Grandmother Marilla used to come and sit on the edge of my bed, softly stroking my arm as she filled my ears with stories.
Sometimes, her tales were of this land. She’d talk about old magic that used to exist during times long since passed, when Esyn and the other gods and goddesses walked the land. Other times, her stories were more fantastical in nature. They involved mythical creatures and were dark in tone.
Even at my young age, I didn’t mind the darkness. After all, Grandmother’s tales reflected the world in which we lived. Finding light and joy in King Andreas’s court was a difficult task on the best of days—and I didn’t have many of those.
Grandmother Marilla had a favorite story she came back to again and again, one of dark, flying beasts that spewed fire from their mouths.
The monsters had crimson eyes that were embers of wrath and enormous bodies the size of houses.
Their talons could skewer a person with a single touch, and they were feared all across the land.
Dragons.
I used to think Grandmother simply had an active imagination and she was making up stories to help keep my mind off the pain. After all, the beasts she spoke of couldn’t be real, could they?
But now . . .
Now I’m not so sure.
I open my eyes, finding violet pools of panic and concern peering into them. Wren’s Mark is a brilliant blue sun, and it’s directly in front of my face.
“Little bird,” I breathe, trying to get my bearings and remind myself what’s real and what’s not. “You’re not in bed.”
She is on the floor, stretched out beside me. Her hair is disheveled, and her blanket lies discarded behind her. Her curves press against me in a way I can’t ignore. Soft compared to the hard lines of my body, she fits perfectly. As though she were always meant to be at my side.
“No, I’m not.” Her hand tightens around mine. I didn’t even realize we were touching. “You were having a bad dream.”
Under normal circumstances, that would explain everything, but this . . .
I’m not sure this was a nightmare.
“Was I?” I scrub a hand over my face, and even though I hate moving away from Wren, I sit up.
“You were screaming.”
I suppose that explains the rawness in my throat. I don’t usually cry out during my nightmares, but this was different.
“It felt so real,” I say quietly, more to myself than Wren.
More real than the nightmares where the king would rip away my bond with Mist, or any other dream I’ve ever had.
She places her hand on my knee, and for a long moment, we sit in silence. Then, she asks, “What happened, Gabriel?”
I rub Grandmother’s amulet through the fabric of my tunic. It’s supposed to stop the king from finding us, but it’s not infallible. I already knew that, but the nightmare confirmed that for me.
“The king is . . . searching for us,” I say slowly, working the words past my dry throat as I fight to comprehend the nightmare.
“I know. I saw the crimson ember.”
“Yes, but this is worse than that.” This is magic I’ve never seen, that I never even knew the king possessed.
A crease forms between Wren’s brows. She removes her hand from my knee and shuffles beside me. Leaning against the wall, she sits cross-legged. There’s something so natural about being side by side and talking with this gods-blessed that the knots around my heart loosen.
“Your dream was worse?” she asks quietly, eyes sweeping over mine.
“That’s not what it was,” I murmur.
“Then what . . .”
“The king sent it.” Just like he sent me warnings about breaking my bond with Mist.
I reach inside myself instinctively, searching for my connection with my familiar, and exhale when it’s there, alive and well.
Wren’s Mark flares. “He can do that?”
This sweet, na?ve gods-blessed. Sometimes, I forget how little she knows about this world. Because she, like the rest of us, was lied to about what it meant to be Given. Hers isn’t a na?vety brought about by willful ignorance, but one that was forced upon her by the way she was raised.
We are alike, in a way. Shaped by our upbringings, different though they were.
Taking her hand, I lace our fingers together and wait for her eyes to meet mine.
“King Andreas is a rare man, Birdie.” Equally evil and powerful, I daresay there isn’t a drop of kindness in his heart. “There is very little he cannot do, and his magical abilities are far greater than that of the queen or the crown prince.”
He is in a dark, deadly league of his own.
Wren draws her bottom lip through her teeth. “So your nightmare was a message?”
“A warning, I think.” I suppose it was foolish to assume the amulet would completely stop the king’s messages from finding me. It’s a downright miracle that this is the first one I received. “The king wants me to know he won’t stop looking for you.”
She inhales sharply, and several beats pass in silence. I can feel her wrestling with this new information.
“Can you elaborate?” she asks.
A shudder runs through me as the nightmare-that-wasn’t-a-nightmare replays in my mind. “He’s searching everywhere for you. On land, but also in the skies.”
And that was perhaps the most frightening realization of the whole nightmare. Message. Whatever it was. I lean my head back and shut my eyes, my voice washing over us as I recount what happened to me.
Waking up on a snow-covered mountainside with Wren. Wondering why we were there. A speck, growing larger in the blue sky. The horror that filled me when I realized a dragon was approaching.
Made of the king’s magic, this beast was the single most frightening creature I’d ever seen.
In the dream, I told Wren to run, and she did, but . . .
“You weren’t fast enough,” I say softly, recalling the way she screamed as the dragon scooped her up in its talons. “Gods help me, neither of us was fast enough.”
The thudding of my galloping heart reminds me of my own mortality and of the fear that had coursed through my veins. I’d raced after Wren and fought for her, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered.
“He took you from me,” I growl, my fingernails cutting into my palms. “He fucking took you. Said he owned you, that all Blessed belong to him.”
“I’m not his, Gabriel. I’ll never be his.”
Strength fills her voice, a reminder of how much she’s already endured, this gods-blessed who fell into my life.
“You’re right, you won’t.”
No person should belong to another. It shouldn’t have to be said, should be something that each person innately understands, but people also shouldn’t be sacrificed for bearing a Mark on their bodies, and yet they are.
This world is such a fucking mess.
“He wants to kill me.” Wren’s voice is low, but the way she says the words—a statement, not a question—has my heart twisting.
She’s not wrong. I’ve never known him to be like this, never heard anything like the rage in his voice.
I open my eyes and meet her gaze. “He does, but I swear to you, I will not let the king have you.”
He could come for her with a dozen dragons, and I still wouldn’t let him take her.
Part of me thinks this is the moment to tell her who the king is to me, but I’m afraid that if I do, it’ll shatter the fragile trust growing between us.
It doesn’t feel like the right time, but I’ll have to tell her eventually.
“We’ll need to be even more careful.” I sweep my thumb across the back of her hand. “The king’s anger is unprecedented, and it’s more imperative than ever that we keep you hidden.”
The sooner we reach our destination, the better.
Wren sighs. “I wish I could say I was surprised by this turn of events, but honestly, I’m not.” She twists her hair into a loose braid, tying a piece of leather around the end, before looking back to me. “Your dream, or . . . whatever it was. You saw a dragon?”
I nod, and she licks her lips. “Will you tell me more about it? I don’t want to be kept in the dark, Gabriel. Not about this, or anything else.”
Not anymore.
The silent words echo around us, a reminder of her past and everything that she’s survived.
“Of course, Birdie. I’ll get us some food, and we can talk about it when I come back.” I rise to my feet, raking a hand through my hair. I’m still tired, but I won’t sleep again today. Not with the remnants of that nightmare running through my mind.
She smiles softly, thanking me.
“We’ll leave as soon as night falls.” I slide the key into my pocket. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone else.”
Wren and I might not have worked out what’s between us—and I’m starting to realize there’s a possibility we won’t ever get the chance to do that—but there’s no time to waste.
My father may have sent that message to frighten me into turning Wren in, but I will do no such thing.
Watching him take Wren solidified something I’ve suspected ever since Hedran found us: I will do whatever it takes to protect my gods-blessed, because the thought of the world existing without her in it is too much to bear.