Chapter 19 Kailia
Kailia
With a deep breath, she released the arrow, feeling the familiar small whoosh of air on her cheek as the string snapped back into place.
She watched the arrow find its mark, the stag she’d been tracking dropping instantly to the ground.
If she’d been using one of Cethin’s arrows, it would have likely run off into the trees, and she would have had to follow a blood trail to its final resting place.
Her arrows with her magic made its death quick and merciful.
At least, that was the case for animals.
This also wouldn’t have taken so long if she’d been barefoot.
As it were, she had boots on, and they were anything but silent as she made her way through the small clearing where the stag lay unmoving.
Kneeling before it, she pulled the arrow free.
Not all beings dissolved into ashes with her weapons, but all of them crossed the Veil.
Placing a palm on the warm fur, she sank her fingers in, bowing her head to send a prayer of thanks to Temural.
But then she saw the Mark on her forearm.
The Mark that she could only see when she was dreaming.
Her head snapped up, and she scanned the surroundings, trying to remember.
But it wasn’t until the figures emerged from the trees that everything came rushing back to her.
These were magical beings, Fae or Avonleyan judging by their arched ears and primal grace.
They wore all greens and browns, colors that would blend in with the trees, and thick leathers added another layer of defense to their attire.
While there were weapons strapped to them, her concern was the power at their fingertips and swirling in their palms.
Kailia planted her feet, conjuring two daggers from her magic.
Briefly she debated attempting to move through her power, but when she’d tried last time, she’d still been stuck.
Unable to drift and find the freedom she loved.
Moreover, this was all a dream, a memory that could serve.
She could learn something here. That was what she’d discovered over the centuries.
Dreams were teachers if you let them. Dreams were places to conquer memories.
Dreams could be paralyzing or freeing, depending on one’s willingness to surrender to them.
The first person rushed at her, a female with bright orange hair and fire at her mercy. Kailia cocked her arm back, sending her dagger flying. It struck true, the female dropping before she could do anything more and flames winked out.
A male came next, his water winding up Kailia’s legs and torso, weighing her down as vines from another twined around her wrist, thorns sinking into her flesh.
She conjured another dagger in time to block a blade as the water wielder brought a sword down.
Her knee came up, connecting with his groin, and as the male groaned in pain, she struck out with her blade, sinking it deep into his gut.
The other was there, and she felt the air stir behind her. She ducked a moment before a hand would have grabbed her. Touched her. The thought alone had her spinning and swiping with her daggers in one fluid motion.
But then she couldn’t breathe as the air was pulled from her lungs. She gasped, trying to choke down any bit of oxygen.
A dream.
This was a dream.
Then the fire came, singeing along her flesh.
And the burning. The burning she could feel because Ash Riders might descend from Anala, but they couldn’t wield flames.
They weren’t immune to it like fire Fae were, and she couldn’t scream because she couldn’t breathe.
Not as the flames seared across her middle.
Then came the hands.
The hands that were touching her and trying to drag her somewhere.
The hands that were as torturous as the flames.
With a violent twist, she tore through the vines, the thorns sinking deeper. Smoke and ashes swirled around her, chasing the flames, tearing at her clothing to erase the touch. Pain lanced through her stomach, but it was nothing compared to the fire and the touching.
Suddenly able to suck in a breath, she screamed. Not in pain, despite that agony still tormenting her, but in utter rage. Her ashes burst out from her in a radius, dragging anything and everything back to her. Daggers in hand, she couldn’t hear them, but their mouths moved, screaming and pleading.
She didn’t give a single fuck.
She dropped to a knee between the two bodies held in place by ashes. She watched them convulse and choke as her smoke swirled along their noses and mouths and eyes. And in perfect synchrony, she brought her blades down, one on either side, and sank them into their hearts.
She pushed back to her feet, everything around her muted and moving as if in slow motion. Another scream ripped from her throat. The scent of magic hung in the air, all of it assaulting her senses, but the fire.
The fire.
And the burning.
And the touching.
She dropped back to her knees, the daggers clattering beside her, and she clawed at her arm, desperate to see that Mark.
A dream.
A dream.
A—
“Easy, tiny fiend.”
Her head snapped up to find Cethin slowly lowering to his knees before her. He’d been in her dreams more and more lately, which made sense, but he’d never interacted with her on a dream plane.
“I’m going to take your boots off for you, okay?” Cethin said, watching her and waiting.
This was a dream, and now that she was back in the right state of mind, she could remember that. She could take control. If she could do that, she could learn what her dreams were trying to tell her.
Nodding slowly, he reached for her foot. The leather between his skin and hers, the touch wasn’t as jarring. He didn’t speak as he deftly undid the laces and buckles, sliding off one and then the other.
“Would you like to handle the socks?” he asked, silver eyes meeting hers with an expression she didn’t understand.
Wanting to test a theory, she shook her head, otherwise holding perfectly still.
“You’re quiet today,” he said conversationally, slipping his fingertips into the top of the sock and peeling it down her calf and foot. It was the barest of touches, and a sound she’d never made before came from her throat at the cool touch to her burning skin.
He clearly noticed because his movement halted for the briefest of seconds before he continued removing the sock and then shifting to the other one.
“You were hurt,” he said, his tone low and menacing. “By our own people.”
“They’re not my people,” she said, her voice hoarse from the screaming.
He tilted his head as he watched her, hands resting on his thighs now. “They’re not?”
“Why would they be?”
“Because you are their queen,” he said slowly, as if this were obvious. “Are you sure you are all right? Did you hit your head?”
But she wasn’t the queen. Not yet. Right?
She lifted her arm, tugging on the torn sleeve of her tunic to see her skin clearly. The Mark was there, vivid black against her warm skin tone.
“We are married?” she asked, eyeing him.
“Of course we are married, wife,” he said, the corner of his lips turning up in a rogue smirk.
“I don’t have a Union Mark,” she countered, eyes narrowing as she studied her hand to be sure.
“We opted to do things our own way,” he replied, pushing to his feet and reaching for her. “Let’s go home, and we’ll have Niara look you over.”
She studied his outstretched hand, his fingers so close to her. Too close. But in dreams, it didn’t matter, right?
So she slid her fingers into his waiting palm.