His heart beats steadily in his chest, anchoring me to this reality for a bit longer. Despite how safe I feel in his arms, I know it’s a farce, the magic playing tricks on me. But in this moment, I don’t want him to let go.
“You hate me,” I mumble, in a state of complete delirium. My head seeks comfort on Wrath’s shoulder. I wish I could keep my eyes open to look at him as he carries me down the hall, but they feel so heavy.
“You think I hate you?”
“Yes…” I flicker between consciousness and awake.
Because I can’t do anything.
My father's words echo in the back of my mind. All of his mistrust and lectures come flooding to the surface. I’m a liability. It’s why I deserve to be locked up. It’s for the realm's good. I only make things worse. All I do is leave a path of destruction and chaos in my wake, just as my father has always said.
“You make me feel many things. Hatred is not one of them,” Wrath says as I drift away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I feela sharp pain across my hand as I write, causing the quill to scratch across the page. Before I can brace myself, Margaret strikes me again.
“Start over!”
Flipping over the parchment, I start at the top. Even though I had nearly finished the last page, something erased all my progress. Sighing, I write again, but this time the quill in my hand has iron barbs that dig into my skin and cause my fingers to bleed.
“Start over!” She strikes me again.
I can’t see the parchment—the desk is slick with my blood. With my left hand, I drag through the liquid, searching frantically as panic rises.
“No, no, no…” I whisper, knowing this torment will never end unless I find that page.
“Start over!”
I gasp, startling awake. My eyes dart around the dark room, looking for danger, but there is none. I glance down at my hands, expecting bruises and blood, but they are clean and dry, only the scars to remind me. I sit up, taking a few slow, frazzled breaths as I wait for the fear to subside.
A nightmare.
The last thing I remember is Wrath carryingme after I hit burnout. How long have I been out? It took Rowena a week to wake up after the festival. Every muscle fiber in my body complains as I lower myself back down.
I lie in silence, staring at the ceiling to steady my breath. The walls inch nearer, closing in like a vise as panic threatens to swallow me whole. I stand and toss my cloak around my shoulders like a shrug and slide into slippers to enter the hall.
When I had nightmares back home in Cathros, I would go out on my balcony to get some fresh air. The view of the sea always calmed me down, and although there isn’t any ocean here in the North, perhaps a view of the mountains could ease my weary soul.
I open the door to a random balcony, closing it softly behind me. It’s dark outside, and I have no idea what time it is. Above me, stars glitter against the mountain peaks like tiny spectators. It is a sight I never tire of. Khalessor looks carved from a dream, every color too vivid to belong to the waking world. It’s snowing, a light dusting of flecks falling from the sky around me.
The frigid air makes my nose run, and my body has a slight chill that won't go away no matter how tightly I pull the cloak around me. Using my pointer finger, I draw swirls and other small designs on the frosted railing to distract myself. Despite my shivering, I can feel my body relax. Small flecks of snow cover my hair, the waves still flowing loose down to my waist from sleep.
The balcony door behind me opens, causing me to glance over my shoulder. I see Wrath dressed in a thick black coat with a fur collar. His face is slightly displeased by the cold as he steps out to join me. Snowflakes nestle in Wrath’s dark hair like glittering stars. His magic skates across my skin, and I realize how accustomed I’ve grown to the sensation of it.
“You’re awake,” he comments.
“How long was I out?” I ask.
“Three days.” Wrath’s eyes scan my scrawlings. “How do you feel?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
“Thinking,” I reply plainly, inhaling a deep breath. “I know, dangerous.”
His brows lower. “Who said you’re not allowed to think?”
