Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ALLERIA
Don’t reach. Listen.
I breathe in through my nose, taking in the smell of wet earth and crushed leaves. Somewhere beneath it lies a cloying sweetness that reminds me of fruit left too long in a bowl.
I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension there, and attempt to calm my thoughts, then search for the threads connecting me to Cairn. I can’t find either of them.
“Sometimes visualizing helps,” Maerwyn suggests when I sigh.
I nod, and focus on the Nightwild bond, building up the image of a silver rope reaching out from my chest to … somewhere. To Cairn, if I’m doing this right. To nothing at all, if I’m not.
Still nothing.
I let out another frustrated sigh.
“Try again.” Maerwyn’s voice is soft.
Taking another breath, I turn my focus inward, searching for the specific place inside my chest where I’ve felt Cairn before. The other bond he made. The one that started with the cut he opened across my palm.
I know it’s there. I remember what it feels like, how his presence flowed down it when he reached for me while I was a prisoner in the palace.
For half a heartbeat, something stirs deep inside, and a faint warmth spreads outward that makes my breath catch. I don’t know which thread it belongs to, and when I reach for it, it vanishes.
Of course. Of course the moment I feel anything, I ruin it by trying to grab hold of it. I’m doing the very thing Maerwyn said not to do!
I stop what I’m doing, one hand lifting to rub at a spot between my brows where a dull ache is forming.
I try once more, repeating her words to myself.
Don’t reach. Just listen.
But the problem is that I am pushing. As soon as I turn my mind toward the bond, everything in me leans aggressively after it. It’s as though my mind thinks it can force Cairn to appear at the other end of the thread simply by wanting it hard enough.
I know that’s wrong. I just don’t know how to stop myself from doing it.
“I think that’s enough for today.” Serath touches my arm lightly. “It could be that your connection is still too new and the distance is making it harder.”
“I’m fine. I just need to—” The ache behind my eyes increases and I press both hands to my temples.
“You are not fine.” She moves around until she’s in front of me. “You have been through a lot recently, and while we might have healed your body, your mind still needs to rest. You haven’t slept properly since we arrived here.” She glances at Maerwyn. “I will see you at dinner, yes?”
“Maybe.” The other female is already returning to the vines she was tending when we arrived. “It was nice to see you, Alleria. And please don’t worry. The Eldráfn will return soon enough.”
Her words are a clear dismissal, leaving me with little choice but to follow Serath when she turns to walk back the way we came.
The wind is stronger as we cross the bridge that leads back to the keep proper, cutting straight through the layers of my dress and whipping the fabric violently around my legs.
The drop to the courtyard below seems far worse than it did when we first walked over it, and I try to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, instead of what might happen if I fall.
By the time we’re back in the hallway that leads to my rooms, my head is hurting so much I’m seeing double. Serath pauses, pressing a cool hand against my forehead, and her brow furrows.
“You’re burning up. Go inside and get into bed. Sleep is the best thing for you right now.” She glances back toward the staircase, her frown deepening. “The brownies will watch over you, and I will check on you later.”
I open the door to my quarters and step inside.
The door has barely closed before I hear her striding away.
A fire is already crackling in the hearth, filling the sitting room with a comfortable, welcoming warmth, yet a violent shiver wracks through me.
My teeth are chattering so hard my jaw aches, even though it feels like my body is trying to boil me alive from the inside.
How can I be hot and cold at the same time?
I force my legs to move, stumbling blindly across the room and through the door that leads to my bedchamber.
The layers of my gown cling to my sweating skin, and I want to strip it off, but my arms feel like lead and my fingers are shaking so much I’m scared I might tear the material. I don’t even bother to try and unlace my slippers. I just crawl onto the mattress and pull the blankets around me.
I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.
My eyes snap open, and for one wild moment, I think I’ve gone blind. I can’t see the ceiling, the walls, or even my hands. My heart slams against my ribs, and my pulse roars in my ears.
What was that?
I sit bolt upright, eyes wide and searching in the darkness, ears straining to hear any other sound. When I don’t hear anything, I sag back against the pillows.
It must have been a dream. It must—
There’s a soft thud from the other room.
No. No no no.
Cold crawls up my spine.
Is it the Sluagh? Has it somehow got in?
I twist toward the window, trying to see through the darkness.
Did I sleep through the entire day, and now it’s nighttime?
What do I do? Do I hide in the dark under the covers and hope it doesn’t come in? Or do I face it?
Serath assured me it couldn’t get inside unless I invited it.
Did I? Did I somehow invite it while I was sleeping? Does that count?
Another sound reaches me, sending my pulse into overdrive. Whatever it is, it’s moving across the room.
Maybe it’s just Serath. She did say she would come back. But wouldn’t she have spoken by now or come in to check if I was awake?
I can’t just sit here and wait to be found.
I ease the sheets back, and slide around until my feet touch the floor.
I hold my breath at every noise the mattress makes, but nothing appears in the doorway.
Pushing to my feet, I creep across the room, one hand outstretched in front of me to search for anything that might trip me.
My fingers touch the wall, and I move along it until they find the door. My palm is slippery with sweat when I grip the handle and slowly open the door.
The sitting room beyond is not as dark as the bedroom. The curtains at the window are pulled back just enough to let a single slant of light fall across the floor. Standing in the middle of that light is a figure with its back to me.
It’s not Serath.
My fingers clench into fists, nails biting into my palms.
I won’t be trapped again. I won’t let someone take away my freedom.
I need a weapon. I force my eyes away from the intruder, scanning the room for anything I can use. The only thing within reach is the water pitcher on the table near the fire.
Maybe I can blind them with the water, and then hit them with it.
Inching across the room, keeping my focus on the shape near the window, I reach out and grab the pitcher, tilting it so the water doesn’t slosh and give me away.
Raising it above my shoulder, I take a step toward the figure.
He turns, and the thin sliver of light catches the sharp angles of his face.
Cairn.
Gold eyes drop to the heavy clay pitcher trembling in my grip, then lift back to my face. One dark eyebrow arches upward.
“What did I tell you about hesitating?” The low, dry drawl cuts straight through the ringing in my ears. “What exactly was your plan? Were you going to drown me into submission?”
I stare at him, my breathing coming in slow, shallow gasps. Then what I’m doing slowly comes into focus.
I’m holding a clay pitcher above my shoulder like an idiot.
“I … I wasn’t hesitating,” I stammer. “I was aiming.”
That eyebrow rises higher.
“I see.” He moves toward me slowly, almost gliding across the floor with silent, predatory grace. When he reaches me, he lifts the pitcher gently out of my hands and sets it down.
My arm drops to my side. But my body still hasn’t caught up to the fact that I’m not in any danger, that the Sluagh isn’t here. My heart is racing, my breathing ragged, and my vision swims in and out.
A warm hand cups the back of my neck. “Breathe, Alleria.”
“I thought … I thought that you—”
“Serath told me about the Sluagh. I may be many things, but a mind-leech isn’t one of them.” His thumb strokes along the side of my throat, then his hand falls away and he steps back.
His eyes drop, sweeping over the rumpled dress, my hair, and the pendant resting against my chest. A muscle jumps along his jaw, and he turns away, facing the window again.
“How are you finding Nightward?”
I draw in a steadying breath, filling my lungs before releasing the air. “It is very different to what I’m used to.”
“And other than the Sluagh, has anything else tried to harm you?”
“No … at least, I don’t think so. Unless … has Serath or Vessara mentioned something?”
“Is there anything else they should be telling me?”
“No. When did you get back?” I change the subject, reaching for the threads that should connect me to him, but there’s still nothing there. Not even with him standing right in front of me.
“I’ve been back long enough to bathe, eat, and change clothes.” He reaches out and opens the curtains wider, flooding the room with light, and I get a proper look at the male standing in front of me.
He’s dressed in a tunic made from a shimmering midnight-blue material, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and open in a v-shape at his throat.
The pants he’s wearing are made of the same fabric, loose and flowing down to his feet, which are clad in dark boots.
His black hair is pulled back from his face, and tied loosely at the nape of his neck, leaving his throat bare.
That’s where my eyes pause, lips parting.
The last time I saw him, the marks covering his body were black against his tanned skin, but now intricate patterns in vibrant colors weave between them, shimmering wherever the light catches them.
Jerking my gaze away, I meet his eyes—gold and glittering.
“If you stare for much longer, I’m going to assume you disapprove of my clothing.”
“I … what? No!”
“Are you sure?” His lips curl.
“Yes! You just look …” I trail off, at a loss for words.
“I look how I am meant to look.” The amusement drops from his voice, leaving it quiet and steady. “Instead of the iron-dulled shadow of what your world forces us to be.”
He closes the distance between us again, stopping just out of arm’s reach, and his head tilts to the side, those golden eyes sweeping over me. “You should change. I thought we might take a walk and that …” His hand lifts, waving toward me. “That dress is not adequate for what I have in mind.”
I become suddenly, horribly aware of the rumpled dress, my loose hair, and my still-racing pulse, and my cheeks heat.
The amusement returns to his eyes.
“Oh, Moirthalen. That is most definitely what the dress makes me think about, and the very reason why you should change out of it.”
I flee to the bedchamber, his soft laughter following me.