The sigils central symbol was a tree, four branches stretched upward, its roots spiraling downward into glyphs of an ancient language.
“When the nightmares come,” it said in a blurred tone,“You must find the Crown. An ancient relic made from the bones of Eiren's mortal form. Woven from grief, laced with mercy and dreams. Only with it can you become the reckoning, it will ground your power. Use your light and restore the order.”
Maris clutched the sigil. It burned her flesh like a brand.
“Where do I find it?” she asked desperately.
But the dream was already fading, her voice echoing like wind over a grave.
“Look where the rivers run dry and the sky forgets its name…”
The lakebed cracked beneath her. The stars above wept.
Only darkness remained.
Chapter thirty-nine
Wake of a Goddess
-Maris-
She woke choking on stars.
A scream echoed through the marble halls of Nerium, bouncing from carved sea-snake pillars and gray warped stained glass. Her body arched off the bed in a violent jolt before she slammed back into silk sheets drenched in sweat, chest heaving. A bright glow emanated from her palm.
Alarik dropped to his knee beside her bed, breath ragged, golden skin gleaming with exertion. His bare chest heaving with panic, a sword haphazardly strapped at his hip as though he hadn't spared a second to dress. His pale hair was tousled from sleep. His eyes searched her face for any signs of injury.
“Gods,” he breathed, his voice torn. "You screamed so loudly, I thought —" His words broke off, choked by terror, as if he had visualized her slipping from his grasp.
Her breath was logged in her throat, the fragments of the dream coming back in unwelcomed flashes. The goddess's gaze, the cloaked figure ushering in her destiny. The message etched into her very being. The relic she needed to find.
“I came as fast as I could,” he raked a hand down the nape of his neck. “The guards thought you were being attacked.” His voice cracked. “I thought he had reached you somehow.”
“No,” she rasped. Her voice felt wrong in her throat, thick and raw. "It wasn't Kael."
Quick steps echoed down the corridor. Serenya appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. She saw Maris taking in her state offering her a relieved smile. She looked to Alarik, giving him a nod of acknowledgement and disappeared back down the hall.
A flush painted her cheeks, heat racing up her neck as her eyes dipped against her will to the lines tracing his stomach, the way the trousers clung low to his hips, the deep V peaking out, the gleam of his muscles in the candlelight.
She remembered all of him. How he looked inside her, the sound of his voice whispering her name. What started as a fantasy poisioned by prophecy and warning. It made it worse knowing the goddess had observed quietly from the edge of her dream, watching her come undone between the two males.
Alarik saw the shift in her expression. The tension flickered. “You were dreaming?”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Not like before.”
He moved to sit at the beds edge cautiously, as if approaching a creature ready to shatter.
“What did you see?”
Her hands fisted the sheets. She didn’t trust her voice yet. Not after seeing Eiren and the hooded figure, not after being kissed by both males and warned by stars.
“I—,” she whispered, eyes meeting his. “she was a harold of warning.”
His expression shifted — understanding washing over him.
“Eiren?” he breathed.
Maris nodded once.
