Chapter Thirty-Eight
Penn aimlessly wandered the dream halls of Causley Estate.
Only those rooms he’d visited himself seemed to exist: the guest suite, the drawing room, the dining room, Lord Edgar’s office, and the cellar.
The hallways were an endless stretch of the same painting, the same side-table, the same rug, repeated in an infinite loop.
Only those details his mind had noticed and filed away.
With Alistair absent, the house was empty. Even when Penn invaded Lord Edgar’s study and focused on his memories of the man—pouring himself drink after drink, proudly boasting of how he served his kingdom—the lord himself never appeared.
Restless, Penn stopped in front of the study’s bookshelf, thinking he’d find a book to pass the time.
But when he tried to focus on the titles, the words became illegible squiggles.
As he stroked a finger over the words, trying to chase the lines into something recognizable, the texture slowly shifted from worn leather to cold metal.
The books faded away, offering a glimpse of the steel wall beneath.
My mental shield, Penn realized.
The more he focused on it, the more solid it became under his hand. The estate disappeared piece by piece until the only thing surrounding Penn was his own shield. Once the dreamscape fully fell away, he could see the giant gash in the metal wall where someone had ripped their way in.
How the hell am I supposed to repair this? he wondered as he approached the breech. Steel curled outward, as if someone had grabbed the edges and pulled them apart.
Beyond the gap he glimpsed a forest, ancient trees towering toward the sky, reminding him of home. Yet there was something odd about the trees—an unnatural stillness and quietude.
If he stepped out into the forest, would he return to the real world? Or walk deeper into his own mind?
Penn turned his back on the trees and focused on the gap. Building a shield was as simple as picturing it into existence, so perhaps repairing one worked the same way?
He imagined the steel folding back in on itself, closing like flower petals during a downpour.
Except steel wasn’t soft and delicate. It was tough, forged with fire.
He adjusted the image in his mind until heat basked his face and the steel glowed orange.
Once it was malleable, he bent the steel inward, toward the ripped away pieces of himself.
Sweat dripped down Penn’s brow from the heat and exertion. He ignored it, refusing to let his attention falter as the gap slowly closed.
Finally, the steel cooled, and Penn examined the results. Once smooth metal was now covered in a lumpy mass, clearly marking where it had been repaired. He raised a hand and brushed his fingers along the seam, marveling at the way the steel melded together.
For now, his mind was safe from intruders. All he had to do was wake up—
A jolt went through Penn as he startled awake.
A dozen sensations assaulted him at once—the trees moving in the background.
Gravity weighing on him as he slowly rose up an incline.
The soft clop of horse hooves on a dirt path.
The familiar ache in his muscles after riding horseback for hours.
The leather reins clutched in his hands.
He’d woken up in the middle of riding up the mountainside.
Niall rode ahead of him on one of the horses that had been pulling the carriage.
Penn blinked and looked over his shoulder at the man riding behind him.
The man’s head was tilted slightly back.
Sunlight streamed through the trees, illuminating golden skin on an unscarred face.
As if sensing Penn’s gaze, the man lowered his head and stared back at Penn with two perfect hazel eyes.
The breath caught in Penn’s throat. “Val.”
The rider’s lips spread in a familiar smirk, and he nudged his horse forward. The path was barely wide enough to fit two riders, and their knees brushed. “Everything all right, darling?”
The endearment, the eyes, the unmarked face—everything signaled Valerian’s victory.
Except the grumbling old man leading their party. Niall scoffed and huffed and did everything to make his annoyance known without directly addressing his master.
Penn’s gaze shifted from Valerian to Niall’s back, noting the subtle changes in the man’s appearance he’d missed before: darker hair with a gleaming bald spot and stooped shoulders, shrinking his frame.
The glamour was smeared over Niall like poor face-paint, merging his real face and his stolen identity.
“Not the most pleasant company,” Valerian said, annoyance mixed with amusement. “But it’s difficult to tell him to find his own way when we’re all headed in the same direction.”
“Same direction?” Penn repeated, feeling off-kilter, and not just because of the steep incline. Didn’t I wake up? He remembered the forest he’d glimpsed through the hole in his shield. Am I still dreaming?
“His master is sending him to Castle Arn on some business,” Valerian explained.
“What business?” Penn asked.
“None of yours,” Niall snapped.
Penn opened his mouth to retort, then decided he didn’t really care about arguing with the man.
He returned his focus to Valerian, drinking in every detail.
The golden stubble lining his jaw. The crinkles around his hazel eyes, giving him a hint of mischief.
The way he kept leaning closer to Penn, casually touching him, as if he refused to spend a single moment apart.
An ache spread through Penn’s chest as he realized how easy it would be to step into the trap and let it snap shut around him. If Alistair’s acting had always been this good, I never would have known the difference.
Something had changed while Penn was trapped in the dreamscape. Before, Alistair had been an actor in an ill-suited role. He knew his lines, understood the character’s backstory, but he couldn’t convince the audience. Now, he so fully embodied the character that the stage itself disappeared.
For whatever reason, Alistair wanted Penn to believe he was Valerian. Penn forced his mouth into an imitation of his usual easy, laid-back smile. “At least we won’t have to travel with him long.”
“I can hear you,” Niall muttered.
I might have fallen for your master’s trap if you put in a little more effort. Penn snorted and rolled his eyes, sharing a secretive look with Alistair.
Alistair smiled with Valerian’s lips, reached out with Valerian’s hand and brushed a strand of black hair off Penn’s brow. “Just a few more days. I’m excited to see your home.”
Home.
Castle Arn.
Penn was leading two villains right to his own front door. He could stop his horse right now, refuse to move another inch.
Or he could play along, pretend to still be under Alistair’s spell. Lead them straight to the heart of his kingdom.
Because at the center of the beating heart was Penn’s only hope to save Valerian.
Penn smiled at Alistair. Turned his head to brush his lips against the calloused palm. Slowly began weaving the threads for his own trap.
Val’s grand scheme to set fire to his own mind wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. He wasn’t sure if it was subconscious self-preservation, lack of skill, or Alistair working in the shadows, but the next time Valerian tried to set fire to a tree, it simply moved.
One moment, he was six inches from his target—the first clear memory of taking a beating for Maksim playing out in the mirror-sheen bark—the next, Valerian stood in a small, void-like clearing as the whole world pulled away from him.
Standing on nothing was an odd sensation. He wasn’t floating, exactly, but he couldn’t feel any ground under his feet. He stepped forward cautiously and his boot landed firmly on the nothing.
He allowed the fireball to dissipate, and the forest snapped back into place around him. Leaves and dirt appeared under his boots again, and the tree towered above him, cheerfully playing out his old miseries.
What had he done differently the first time? Allowed the memory to progress naturally? Valerian certainly did not plan to relive every nightmare from his past before burning them to ash. Experiencing them once was enough.
Perhaps he could sneak up on the memories, take them by surprise. Though he didn’t know how. Did the trees have eyes? Did they see his movements through their bark?
He carefully circled around the tree, searching for weak points. The scene moved with him, traveling slowly across the bark, never offering a new perspective.
If fire wouldn’t work, there were plenty of other methods to destroy a tree.
Valerian pictured an axe. How the polished handle would feel against his palms. The iron head weighing down one end. The freshly sharpened blade glistening in the low light. Without looking down, he trusted the axe to be there, hefted it, and swung.
The blade connected with a solid thump, burying itself deep into the memory.
The tree shuddered and squirmed under the assault, branches waving wildly overhead. The only sound it made was the creak of limbs and the rustling of leaves.
Damn, I wanted to hear it scream.
Valerian’s muscles strained as he worked the axe out of the trunk. For a moment, it remained stuck, and he wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to conjure a new one. Then it suddenly released, and in his surprise, he stumbled a few steps backwards.
Hefting the axe again, he brought it down a second time. Halfway through the arc, he paused. The wedge where the axe had landed was gone, leaving a wholly intact trunk. Did it already repair itself? If the trees repaired themselves faster than he could cut them down, this method would be useless.
Something shifted in the mirror-bark, drawing his attention to the scene inside. Penn grinned back at Valerian, arm held out, sleeve rolled up. He sat in the familiar dining room of the Rose and Thorn, Silas and Griselda sitting half-in-view.
Valerian lowered the axe, eyes narrowed. So, if I’m not fast enough, the trees will swap places. Switch the bad memories for the good. He searched the nearby trees for the one he truly wanted, but the images all blurred together, hard to distinguish from any distance.
He rested the axe across his shoulders and surveyed the forest. The spiders had moved on from this area, leaving him to his self-destruction, but traces of their webs were wound throughout the tree canopy.
Had there been webs on the one he’d burned down?
He couldn’t remember anything except the heat of the flames and the scratch in his throat from too much smoke and laughter.
Valerian strolled through the forest, his eyes locked on the canopy. Before, he’d always had to remain vigilant—ensure that no stray roots tripped him or trees appeared in his path. Now, every part of the forest gave him a wide berth, refusing to come within reach.
Except one tree. As Valerian walked toward it, he noticed it standing perfectly still, allowing his approach. Thick spiderwebs smothered the upper branches and stretched taut to the other trees. The little pests must have spent some time here, he thought as he sauntered closer, peering at the bark.
Olivia grinned impishly over her shoulder at Valerian as she dragged him through a crowd. If he squinted, he could barely catch the colorful banners on stalls, the decorations with half of their words cut off. A Summer Solstice Celebration, their first afternoon—and night—together.
No matter how badly their relationship ended, Valerian wouldn’t willingly sacrifice their beginning. But he still hefted the axe, still swung it toward his target, still took satisfaction as it sliced cleanly through—
Severing a section of spiderweb from the branches. The web shuddered, alerting any nearby spiders to its destruction.
A smile spread over Valerian’s lips. Let them come. He’d gladly meet them with his axe.
A few more careful cuts freed the tree from the web. It shivered and shook out its branches, dropping leaves and bits of shredded cobweb.
The memory continued to play out as Valerian cut.
At some point, Olivia had pulled him into a secluded corner.
If he’d been living that memory right now, he could have heard the band playing nearby, the excited chatter of festival goers, children screaming in glee.
Yet at that moment, it had been just the two of them.
The memory-Olivia reached toward Valerian, grabbed his face in both hands, and kissed him. A reward for freeing her memory from the pests.
Standing on the outside, Valerian couldn’t feel anything, not even the ghost of her lips.
It didn’t matter; she wasn’t the one he wanted to kiss anymore. But he would accept her gratitude. “Goodbye,” he whispered to her.
A better farewell then they’d actually gotten.
He left her tree alone and plunged deeper into the forest, looking for a fight and something to burn.