28. Dark and Light
Dark and Light
M y eyes flew open. The air of my room was stifling, though a draft swept through, and the fire had grown low in the hearth.
I found myself sitting up in bed, unaware of how I’d got into that position.
Everything was quiet. Even the Shadow remained dormant.
There was only the beating of my heart and the suffocating heat.
I threw back the covers, swinging my legs out and drawing in a few deep, steadying breaths. My mind spun and my body ached. I dragged my hand down my face and neck, wincing as my fingers landed on a tender spot beneath my jaw.
Trygg’s face flashed in my mind.
How… How was that possible? How could I feel where he had bitten me in a dream? It was like the nightmare of Lukas, and the strange dream of Corbyn. Everything was so real . I had tasted the ash of Lukas’s fire—felt the tingle of Corbyn’s kisses on my lips. And now…
There was still a dull throbbing in my core, slowly fading to nothingness. The sting of his bite on my neck and the delicious pain of his hand fisting in my hair were ghostly whispers, trailing off into the darkness on misty tendrils.
Hot… It was so hot in here.
I had to get some fresh air. Had to breathe—clear every last trace of the carnal fantasy that had invaded my sleep.
Launching off the mattress, I hurried to the large window beside my bed, the only one in the room.
I loved that it faced east and allowed the morning sun to warm the queen’s chambers.
But right now, my only thought was of flinging it open as wide as I possibly could.
The latch groaned as I scrabbled at it frantically, pushing against the double paned glass.
It resisted the pressure, hinges screeching in protest, and then stopped completely when it was open but a few inches.
The faintest whisper of a night breeze swept in.
Not enough.
I whipped around, fleeing from the damn window that hadn’t been opened in the gods knew how long. Sweat beaded on my forehead, running down my face in little rivers of salty panic. My cloak lay draped over the trunk at the foot of my bed. I pulled it on, quickly followed by my calf hide boots.
Get out. Get air. Get free.
I wrenched open the door to the corridor, praying to the Mother that I would get lucky. Praying that I would not come face to face with the person I dreaded most.
“Your Majesty?”
Trygg stared at me, wide-eyed and cautious where he stood flanking the corridor, perfectly positioned to see a threat coming from either end. The breath stilled in my chest.
Great, I thought bitterly. But the Shadow stayed quiet. She was doing that a lot more lately, and the fact she wasn’t awake right now, on the heels of another of these strange dreams… It was disconcerting, to say the least.
He stepped toward me, one hand braced on the sword at his hip and the other reaching out tentatively.
Hair a disheveled mess, scruffy beard, plate armor, and a black cape in place of magnificent wings—he looked much the same as I’d last seen him earlier in the day.
Nothing like the dark, deadly prince of my dream.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, eyes darting surreptitiously to the outward door of the antechamber. “Do you need anything?”
“No.” I took a sharp breath. “I’m fine. No need to wake him.”
That was the absolute last thing I needed. Facing down the man I’d unwittingly fantasized about was bad enough. I couldn’t bear to draw Corbyn into the mix.
Trygg was still staring at me expectantly, his outstretched arm falling to his side. But the hand that gripped the pommel of his sword did not move an inch.
What should I say? What excuse could I give?
If there was ever a moment I craved the Shadow’s guidance, it was now. But even quietly calling for her, she did not stir.
“I… um…” I bit down on my lip, searching for the words. “I couldn’t sleep,” I finally said. It wasn’t entirely untrue.
His shoulders relaxed, but my cheeks were still hot.
Gods above, I was only in my nightgown under the heavy fur cloak.
I hadn’t bothered to even finger brush my hair.
I wagered I looked positively frightening.
What he must think of me. I had to say something— anything —to keep him from asking another question.
“I need fresh air.” Also not a lie. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ? —
That playful smirk made an appearance. “Your window broken?”
A fresh wave of heat flooded my face. “It… Well, yes, actually,” I said quietly, shifting on my feet. “But I…”
Fuck, I didn’t know what to say. The ghostly traces of his mouth pressing against my neck made it impossible to think clearly. A shiver wracked my body, despite the heaviness of the fur draped over my shoulders.
“Did you”—he motioned down the stretch of corridor before me—“want to take a walk?”
Breath flooded my lungs, loosening the knot in my chest. “That’s an excellent idea, thank you,” I said, closing my door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“I, uh…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. I’d never known him to stumble so much. Perhaps our earlier encounter affected him more than I thought. “I should come with you,” he continued, shrugging. “You know, what with the assassin still on the loose.”
Fool. I was an absolute, utter fool.
Maybe it would have been better if I’d faced Corbyn after all. Then it would be him taking me on a walk through the garden, not the man I couldn’t seem to get off my mind. But the garden… the other dream… Gods, was there no end to this nightmare?
“Right,” I breathed, twiddling my fingers at my waist. There’d be no escaping him, as I couldn’t escape him in the dream. I hadn’t wanted to escape him, though. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Stop, stop , you idiot.
He was still staring at me, thinly veiled worry etched into his face. “My lady?”
“Let’s go,” I stammered, striding down the corridor without waiting for his reply. The sudden billowing of his cloak and hasty scraping of his plate armor was answer enough.
There were three entrances to the Citadel gardens.
One from the entry courtyard, another from the section of the servant’s quarters belonging to the groundskeeper, and the last one was at the end of this corridor.
A pair of glass doors with winding wrought iron details that opened into a glass-enclosed atrium leading into the gardens.
This far into winter, the groundskeeper—Master Jaan—didn’t keep many plants in the atrium. Most of the low tables within lay empty. Only a few along the outer rim held several small pots, their shoots and stems unidentifiable in the darkness.
Trygg followed behind, pulling the doors closed with a quiet click.
Through the walls of glass, moonlight faintly illuminated the shadowed garden paths. But the atrium had been baking in the sun all day, and the air in here was as stifling as my room. I kept moving forward to the set of doors identical to the ones behind us.
Out, out, out.
I shoved the doors harder than was necessary, a welcome wave of frigid wind enveloping me as they clattered against the outer walls.
Blessed, crisp, fresh air flooded my lungs, and I gulped it down greedily, chasing away the oppressive heat that still clung to me.
The frozen night swept over my clammy skin, chilling down to the bone.
But I didn’t care if it was cold, or if I looked a mess and the dragon prince thought me mad. The last traces of the dream ebbed away, even as Trygg moved uncertainly behind me.
I staggered onto the gravel and shell path, breathing in more precious air. Trygg followed along, his worry constricting my chest. The connection between us was growing stronger by the day. It seemed strange that he never appeared to sense it, or at least, not as strongly as I did.
I tried to ignore him, continuing down the moonlit walkway that twisted through the rows of bushes, barren trees, and empty bulb beds.
My pulse steadied with each step, though I couldn’t completely shake the unsettling awareness of Trygg’s gaze fixed on my back.
The ghost of his hand sweeping down my spine sent a shudder through me.
That had been real. He’d almost kissed me, and I’d almost let him.
Almost almost almost ? —
The word clawed beneath my skin like some ravenous creature looking for a way out.
Perhaps the dream was the tunnel it dug in my mind.
But as Trygg said, dreams were empty. They were cold and dark and wanting .
My gut clenched with that hunger he’d spoken of.
Hunger for him and the release of whatever force drew me toward him.
Almost…
“What was that, Your Majesty?” Trygg called from his position behind me.
I whipped around, halting my steps. “What?”
“You said something.” His gaze was cautious as he strode up to me.
The fear must have shown on my face, because he took another few steps forward, until we only stood a hand’s breadth apart. I shook my head, unable to find my voice. I hadn’t actually said it out loud, had I?
Dappled moonlight filtered through the branches above, illuminating a sliver of his face and leaving the rest steeped in shadow.
Though his smoke-swirled eyes glowed through the darkness.
My hair, laying messily over my shoulders, shone like starlight.
I probably well and truly looked like a ghost, sapped of all color.
We faced each other, light and dark, veiled under the cloak of night.
Something tickled at the back of my mind, like the Shadow was finally rousing from her slumber. But I could not hear her voice, nor that prickly feeling I got whenever she awakened to our shared consciousness. It was a creeping sense of awareness—sunlight dawning on the horizon of my mind.
I felt it chipping away at my fear, calming my nerves as they shuddered against the truth I could no longer ignore.
The truth about the dragon prince I had known from the first moment we met but couldn’t give voice to until now.
Whatever twist of fate the gods had handed us, our lives were entwined.
Even if Freya Anja hadn’t seen it in her Flossing of threads, it echoed in my bones.
Not merely lust—“base attraction” as the Shadow liked to call it—nor some twisted vengeance against Lukas’s accusations. There was something else there. Something ancient and unyielding that wrenched at my very sense of self, seeping into the hollowness I’d always carried within me.
As the thoughts solidified in my mind, I felt it take shape, crossing the small, empty space between us.
An anchor, finding its hold. It jerked in my stomach, pulsing lightly.
And an overwhelming sense of stability overtook me.
Like I’d never trod upon level ground in my life but had finally found a center of gravity.
He flinched, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.
And then I knew.
“You feel it too,” I whispered.
It was not a question, nor a condemnation. There was no nervousness or attempt to ferret out information. No preconceptions, or carefully placed masks. The hnefatafl board sat empty, save for our two queens, facing each other and finding their mirror staring back.
“Yes.”
A single word, brimming with a mixture of emotion I couldn’t even begin to decipher. But whatever he was feeling or thinking, the darkthread sat unmoving, wholly still.
And the Shadow… Finally, she stirred.
“What does it mean?” I questioned slowly. Was this a kind of drakonian instinct?
He shook his head, as if reading the unuttered question written in my eyes. “Vor,” he rasped softly, leaning in closer. “Please?—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush echoing in the silence of the night-dark garden.