Iroll over in bed, blinking out of sleep. As I do, I notice legs at my eye level, standing right in front of me. I look up.
The fisherman is standing there. His eyes are wide open and he stares at me with hatred. His hand reaches down to grab my face?—
I bolt upright in bed and scream.
“Rhagos’s tits? What’s your problem?” Kalos’s bored voice cuts through some of the terror fog.
I glance over at him, my thoughts scattered. I can’t focus. I’m terrified. Why isn’t he afraid? “Fisherman. Awake.” I grab the thin blanket on my body. “He’s going to kill me.”
Kalos grunts and moves to stand next to the bed, where the fisherman was just a moment ago. “He’s very dead.”
Shaking my head, I’m on the verge of tears. “No—he’s going to get me.”
“Look.” Kalos moves to the far side of the hut and stands over the dead, covered body. He kicks it. “See?Dead.”
I try to hear what he’s saying, but I’m still in fight-or-flight mode. He’s dead. I tell myself, over and over again. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.
“Has your mind cracked?” Kalos asks.
“I…I think I’m dreaming,” I manage.
“You’re not sure?”
I lie back down. “Dreaming. Goodnight.”
And I go back to sleep immediately.
When I wake up in the morning, I stretch in bed, not quite ready to get up and face the day. I yawn and smack my lips, and then I frown when I notice that Kalos is watching me intently, a vaguely amused expression on his face.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
He points at the dead body across the room. “You woke up screaming about him. Said he was going to kill you.”
I digest this. A vague flash of memory echoes in my head, like a slip of a dream. “Oh. I must have had one of my night terrors. Sorry about that.”
“Night terrors? What’s that?” He takes a step toward me, interested. “You know I don’t dream, so you’re going to have to tell me more.”
Fiddling with the frayed hem of the blanket, I try not to feel embarrassed. “It’s something I’ve dealt with all my life. Sometimes my brain doesn’t recognize the difference between being asleep and awake. If I have a nightmare, I can wake myself up with screaming, but I’m notreallyawake. It’s like my mind is still asleep. I don’t remember it when I wake up.” I smooth my hair back from my forehead. “It happens sometimes when my sleep schedule is messed up, or I’m stressed.”
His brows shoot up with disbelief. “What could you possibly be stressed about?”
“You’re kidding, right? We just killed a man.”
Kalos doesn’t even blink. “He was going to die anyhow. That’s what mortals do.”
He’s not getting it. I can’t believe we’re even having to argue about this. “Yes, but we were responsible. We deliberately caused his death.”
The god doesn’t seem bothered by me pointing this out. “So now you’re a martyr in addition to someone who spouts platitudes full of sunshine. I see.”
“I’m not a martyr,” I huff, offended. I push the blankets back and swing my feet over the edge of the bed, and then don’t step down, because the floor is still wet and mucky. I cross my legs instead.
“Yet you blame yourself for something inevitable,” Kalos points out.
“We did it. We literally killed him. Wasn’t inevitable.”
