It began as I stepped out of the apothecary, the night sky above washed in shades of silver, with only a faint sliver of moon overhead. I let the darkness swell, overtaking every part of me.
I shut my eyes. Then opened them.
Each time, a new vision awaited. There was a fresh perspective to take in.
One blink, and I was in the forest, high in the branches of a tree.
Another, and I stood on an empty road, its surface scarred by deep cart ruts, the stench of day-old carrion hanging in the air.
A third blink, and I was soaring, above it all, surrounded by stars.
With each blink came another, and another.
Until, in one, I hovered over an old alehouse, its walls rattling with the sound of drunken voices spilling into the night.
Here, I kept my eyes wide open, unwilling to let the scene shift again.
There, lurking in the corner of the dark, were a pair of yellow eyes. They were watching me. But, as always when I was in this state, I paid them no mind.
Instead, my focus shifted to the group gathered near the bench, four figures speaking in hushed tones. I couldn’t make out their words.
I needed more.
More to hear. More to see.
I drifted closer, stopping just within reach of their conversation. One of them lit a pipe, inhaling deeply, and this time the words came clear. The weight of them hung in the air.
I blinked. The scene shifted.
I was in the loft of a ramshackle barn now. More voices. Men. A lot of them. And a horse, strong, beautiful, with a rich brown coat. Then a surge of anger, sharp and sudden. The horse was afraid. Laughter followed, cruel and taunting. Shouting, jeering. The horse tossed its head, nostrils flaring.
And there, in the corner, on a table, strips of metal caught the firelight. Rough hands moved over them carelessly, touching what wasn’t theirs. Men bartered like thieves, laughing, sloshing ale across splintered wood. Torn pages curled at the corners of books pried open, some nearly split in half.
Vengeance stirred. Wrath followed.
Another blink, and darkness swallowed the scene.
My eyes snapped open and I was running. Wind whipped through my hair, pushing me forward. Faster. Don’t stop. Breathe in. Breathe out. I tore through the forest and onto the road, the cold air biting like ice. Still not fast enough. A weathered barn came into view at the top ofthe hill. Almost there. Darkness closed in. Quiet. Then the voices of men. Low, tense. A horse whinnied, uneasy.
Fury burned through me, wild and rising. Then it broke loose.
In a blink, a man appeared before me, my hand locked around his throat. Fear, deep and consuming, pooled in his eyes. His lips moved, words spilling out. Empty prayers. My eyes were hollow. No mercy. Tears spilled, dark and endless, as his pleading cries drowned in the air. Yellow eyes watched me, cold and satisfied. A body dropped. One by one, they fell until none stood.
And what remained?
Satisfaction bled into ecstasy, and ecstasy bled into euphoria.
The yellow eyes flickered in the shadows. Then disappeared.
The world came back in fragments. Branches rushing past, the steady rhythm of hooves on packed earth, the wind curling through my hair. We were moving fast, weaving through the trees as the forest thinned. Then a clearing opened ahead, an apothecary just visible in the shadows.
But the moment slipped through my fingers as blackness fell hard and sudden.
Then everything went still.
21
I woke in the infirmary,head heavy and foggy. My eyes shifted to the chimeglass across the room. Its sand had nearly run out. I got up quickly, grabbed a spoon, and fetched the jar with the remaining syrup of poppy.
