13. Things of nightmare and heartache #2
But, good fucking goddess, he looked real. Like he had stepped right out of a lifetime of fond memories I’d tried not to think of in recent months. His hair—short and neat, sandy brown. His eyes—bright blue with the first traces of wrinkles framing them. And, goddess help me, his smile.
An ache in my chest built abruptly. He’s not real, I told myself again.
But my father spoke. “I’m so sorry, Ennie,” he said, and nothing could stop the whimper that left me at hearing his voice and the nickname only he ever called me. “You know I never wanted to leave you, right?”
I must’ve made another awful noise, because Gallan called out my name in concern, and the apparition of my father vanished.
“What?” I croaked.
Gallan shook his head.
It took some time before I saw my father again.
Another member of my group had taken so ill, they were escorted out, but the rest of us kept pushing through.
I resorted to taking one other sip of my water to stave off a bout of nausea.
Aside from the unrelenting heat, the hardest part was not knowing how much time had passed.
At first, I counted how often Gallan would add another ladle of water to the steaming coals, but I lost track after an hour.
All I could hope was that sunrise would come soon.
I thought a change in position might help the time pass a little more easily, because the stone seat was doing my back no favors.
I lowered myself onto the floor, propping my head up on my folded, sopping wet towel.
Within seconds, my father was beside me again, but he was no longer the healthy man from my most precious memories.
No, he looked as he did when I arrived late to his deathbed.
Skin sallow. Lips blue. Open, unseeing eyes.
“No. No. No.” My voice was hoarse, and the stone bit into my shoulders as I shrank back against it.
He opened his mouth and elicited a dull, agonized moan.
I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to rid myself of his image, but it was infinitely worse the next time I braved a glance.
My father was even closer, crouched in front of me, in a horrific state of decay, his funeral-painted flesh half-rotted and hanging off his bones.
I clasped my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my ragged gasp, and tossed my head back, fixing all my attention on the domed stone ceiling.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
“Ennie, look at me,” the delusion of my father called out in a wet rasp. “Sweetheart, please. Don’t you want to see me again? Isn’t that what you cried about, night after night? Just one more chance to talk to me again?”
“No,” I whispered, pressing my palms to my eyes and digging them in until my eyes ached. “Not like this.”
Despite my protests, the cruel figment of my mind kept goading me, calling out in that wretched gargle of a tone.
Over and over and fucking over. It would briefly abate every time Gallan did his rounds, forcing me to drink more of that terrible water with a look of unmatched concern, only to come rushing back the moment he stepped away.
Even when the heat finally got to my stomach, and I found myself with my head in an already sullied bucket, heaving up every ounce of water I’d drunk, my father was there, calling out to me.
“Ennie, please,” he’d call out. “Look at me. Look at what I’ve become. Why weren’t you there? Why didn’t you come for me? I gave you everything!”
It went on endlessly.
Drinking tainted water. Berated by my dead father. Hanging my head in a bucket.
Over and over and over.
I only knew I cried because of the way my eyes ached—the wet saltiness of tears was indistinguishable from the sweat beading down my face. At some point, I curled up on my side, finding the stone to be half a degree cooler than the air.
We lost another two in my room, and the building commotion coming from some of the other rooms had me desperate to believe the end of our initiation neared. They had been eerily silent all damn night—not that I should’ve been surprised, seeing as most were tenured Elixia members.
Who knew how many times they had each been through this?
Hell, who knew how many of them had access to the tonic Maksym had tried to force me to take?
They’d already proved their worth before, already had their position secured.
I’d known plenty of people who would have cheated with even less at stake.
But what did catch me by surprise, sometime after my tenth or maybe hundredth drink of the tainted water, was who I saw being hauled out of the sauna caves.
The disruption had grown so loud, I braved opening my eyes, looking past the hazy image of my father, decayed and rotted, and I glimpsed an Elixia I had not anticipated being carried out by two others.
He was one of the two Maksym spoke with in the atrium the day before, and who had also seethed some unpleasant sentiments in my direction in their language at the feast.
He was screaming, utterly distraught, arms and legs fighting against the two dragging him out.
I couldn’t fathom what he was seeing—couldn’t fathom the stores of horrific memories someone of his age and position held—but a pleased smile tugged at my otherwise flushed cheeks, and I closed my eyes again.
The next time someone touched my face, I expected to see Gallan, ready to assess my state and force me to drink more water. Or maybe the figment of my father had grown brave and passed right through the boundary of my mind.
I did not anticipate Maksym.
I blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the false image of him crouched beside me, but the strikingly handsome Umbrite king would not dissipate. Why I felt so much relief to see him, I refused to question, but I pushed myself upright and almost lost the fight to a wave of brutal dizziness.
Maksym held me steady by my shoulders.
“It’s over now,” he said. “You did it.”
“Over?” I stared at him, blinking more, as if that would help.
But I slowly realized there were more people down in the sauna caves, filtering in and out of the rooms, helping the Elixia and prospects up. The room had also cooled dramatically, and it took me a few very delayed seconds to realize I was shivering.
“It’s sunrise?” I asked in an awful rasp.
Max grinned and nodded. “It is. Very well done, Miss Wynn.” He extended a vial to me next, a waterskin ready behind it.
I regarded the milky substance inside the glass with heavy trepidation. “And this is…”
“It will neutralize the effect of the toxin. And this is just clean water, I promise you. Drink them both, and then we’ll get you upstairs to rest.”
Well, it wasn’t like I had anything left to lose.
I uncorked the vial and drained it in one gulp, clenching my teeth at the overt sweetness. Thankfully, Maksym was right there with the waterskin. After I took a couple of careful sips, Maksym said he’d return and left me to drink the rest on my own.
He ambled from person to person, in and out of my room, checking in and having hushed conversations, playing out his kingly role of concern so well, I had a hard time taking my eyes off him.
When he returned to me, making sure my fresh water was drained, I didn’t hesitate to take his offered hand to help me up off the ground.
Verticality, unfortunately, was not yet my friend.
The dark stone walls around me swam, and I cursed, planting my hands against Maksym’s chest as he gripped my shoulders again and held me steady.
“Just give me another minute,” I said, even though I was desperate to get out of that cave. “I don’t think stairs are a good idea just yet.”
“No, they definitely aren’t,” Maksym murmured from above me. “Hold on.”
“Hold on to—oh,” I squeaked as Maksym shifted, slipping his arm under mine and hooking me behind the knees.
He lifted me up with ease, and I’d never been so mortified.
From head to fucking toes, I was dripping with now-icy sweat, but there I was, pressed against my future husband and his impeccably clean clothes.
Goddess, he smelled incredible.
And I was so bone-deep exhausted, I didn’t protest, or even say anything. My fleeting resolve folded entirely, and I rested my head against his shoulder, shut my eyes, and let him carry me out of the caves.