I dreamtof the forest tonight.
Of the lush pine trees and familiar birdsong. I dreamt of the dizzying crows cawing overhead. A sound I often took for granted, now I’m desperate to hear.
Every night is the same. The forest and the trees and the birds. An occasional nightmare and muddied images I can’t quite place.
But no matter how hard I try, my mother’s never there.
I haven’t dreamt of her in weeks, and I’m scared I’m forgetting. Forgetting her voice. Forgetting her touch and the magick only a mother’s comfort can provide. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try again.
Dark hair.
Silver eyes.
But that’s all I have.
Descriptors I’m not entirely sure are true. I wish I could see her. I’ve even tried to dream of the Wicked Wood, of the moment I got that final, false glimpse of her. But no matter how many attempts I make, she doesn’t come.
Rolling my shoulders, I move from my bed and slink onto the cold floor, stretching my legs out in front of me. I rub my shackled wrists together, desperate for a bit of reprieve from the iron.
A hint of wetness has gathered in the cracks between the stone walls. The rainy season must have started. I’ve been here already much too long. Sighing, I close my eyes.
“I should just tell Galen about the Stones,” I say aloud.
No.
“But Loxley—” I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from screaming. Galen’s threat to burn Loxley feels like a direct failure on my part. So many people are at stake and for what? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve failed to keep my loved ones safe.
It isn’t over yet, Enchantress.
I sigh again, resting my head against the wall.
I refuse to think too deeply about the voices I hear now. I fought them for so long in the Trinity Forest, and now that I’ve accepted them as a part of me, I don’t allow myself to debate how sane it is to have conversations with myself.
“How can it not be over? His men are near Loxley. If Alaric brought Sam the Stones?—”
Unless he’s bluffing.
I chew the inside of my cheek, careful not to bite so hard as to break skin. But fatigue outweighs my anxious thoughts, so I close my eyes and picture a face instead. One that has no resistance coming forth in my mind. His strong jaw. His dark hair and heavy lids after we’ve kissed.
I miss you, I want to say, but I don’t get the chance before the door at the top of the stairs swings open, and two pairs of boots come bounding down.
“Wake up.” Galen’s voice cuts through the thick silence that fills the darkness.
I’m already awake, but I may as well have been sleeping. There’s nothing else to do in this Mother-forsaken cell.
“This is your last chance, Elora.” He unlocks the cell and steps just barely inside. “I’m sure those in Loxley will be disappointed to hear their lives could’ve been spared had you cooperated.”
A feral growl releases from deep inside me, and if it weren’t for the restraints around my wrists, I would’ve found comfort in wrapping my hands around the delicate skin of his throat.
You need to keep it together, Elora.
A deep chuckle gurgles up my throat as I stare into the empty vats of Galen’s eyes. I force myself to stand, then hobble toward him. My knee, while mostly healed from the night on Kirsgaurd Mountain, hasn’t quite been the same.
He winces at the sound of my laughter. It’s slight, but it’s there, and I ready myself to bite.
“What’s wrong, Galen?” I grit through my teeth. “Guilt eating you up? You know where Loxley is. You don’t need me to?—”
The sting of his knuckles across my cheek is a nice distraction from the throbbing of my head.
