I opened my hand, dropping Lady Mary to the floor. The sound made Vidar jolt from the bed and into the rays of moonlight flooding the window. The shadows peeled away and I saw his face. His real face. He rushed toward me, surveying the cutlass on the ground. I held up my hand, staring at the way my blood began to slide down my forearm like a crimson waterfall. Vidar grabbed my wrist, pressing his palm over the deep gash in my hand.
“Am I awake?” I asked him, praying he would tell the truth.
“You’re awake, Dahlia,” he said, quickly grabbing one of his scarves from the bedpost and wrapping it tightly around my wound. “Why would you do that? It’s bronze.”
“I… I don’t…” I pressed the heel of my palm to my temple, trying to come up with an answer.
“Dahlia?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I…” I ripped my wrapped hand away, scraping my fingers through my hair. My heart was beating like war drums in my ears.
“Were you dreaming?”
“Is this not a dream? No, you said I’m awake. But a dream can lie.”
“Dahlia.”
“I shouldn’t be sleeping.”
“Dahlia,” he exclaimed, gripping my shoulders and giving me a little shake. “Look at me. You’re awake. I’m awake.” I closed my eyes, shaking the chaotic voices from my head. “Look at me,” he said again. I forced myself to comply, taking in his worried features. The way his breath shuddered with concern and the wayhis brows were pulled together so intensely was too unique. They were things Akareth couldn’t duplicate. “It’s me.”
“It’s you,” I nodded. “But what happens when it is not?”
He stepped closer to me, but rage burst inside me like a spark catching on oil. I turned from him, snatching the key ring off the table and ripping the door open with such force, I felt the hinges buckle. Hand throbbing, my blood soaking through the bandage, I descended the steps into the clearing. Half the men were awake while the other half slept in dreamless bliss no doubt.
Across the camp, Lyla’s cage sat beneath the sheet. I marched toward it, ripping the fabric away to find her slumped against the bars, unsurprised by my visit. I gripped the metal and sank down into a crouch.
“How do you know?” I demanded. “How do you know what’s real?”
She just stared at me, her eyes glassy. That furious fire was growing inside me, using every second of her defiant silence as fuel.
Slamming my hands against the bars, I said, “This is your fault.”
She answered only with muffled laughter.
“Dahlia,” Vidar said.
I revealed the ring of keys in my hand and jammed one into the lock. When it didn’t work, I tried the next, turning it until I heard it click. Without taking the keys out, I tore the gate open and reached inside, gripping the front of Lyla’s shirt and dragging her body out onto the ground. I ignored the spectators as I straddled her, tearing the leather straps and bit off her face.
“How do you know?” I asked again. “How do you live like this?”
“Live?” she chuckled. “You don’t. You’re his now.”
“No. The bond was severed when my heart stopped. I am free of him.”
“Are you? Look at you. How long do you think you can go without sleep? Even if he cannot walk your dreams, he’s in your head. He always will be.”
“No.”
“Planting seeds, sister. That’s what he’s doing. That’s what he always does.”
“Stop.”
“You asked a question. I’m answering. If you want to truly be free, simply stay dead,” she growled.
My hands surged forward, finding her throat. My thumbs pressed deep into the fragile column of her neck, yet she did not fight. Instead, she seemed to melt into the violence, as though surrender itself were her final act of defiance.
I drew breath through clenched teeth, pushing harder. Her lips curved into that same haunting smile, a quiet mockery even as the shadow of death brushed her skin. She offered no struggle, no plea, no proof that life still held any meaning for her.
