Kilkenny stalks off with Ghendor after handing me a bedroll, and Osheen approaches with something like hope written all over his face. But he turns to Alys instead of me. I tilt my head into his view, and I’m not prepared for the question he asks. I stare in shock as he asks without signing, “Can you fix her? Can you make her normal again?”
Heat claws into my chest, and Kilkenny whirls toward us from where he’s standing.Can you fix her? Make her normal again? What’s worse is that Osheen asked as if I’m not standing right here.
He blanches, glancing between the three of us as he notes our stares. Chiyo turns our way as she struggles to unload the bedrolls from their horse, Ffion. Kilkenny now stands near me, his unsettling glower boring a hole into Osheen.
“I… didn’t mean that,” Osheen says.
I cross my arms over my tightening chest. “Whatdidyou mean then?”
“I meant if Alys couldcureyou. Your deafness. Don’t you want that fixed?”
“She doesn’t need curing or fixing,” Kilkenny says before I can. “She isn’tbroken. Make yourself useful and go help my sister with your bedrolls.”
Osheen’s lips part a few times as though he wants to say something. He turns to me as if for help, but I can only frown at him.
Is that what he thinks about me? That I’m broken?
“Durvla, I only meant… Alys is a healer, and if she can make your life a little easier. It’ll help… it’ll help all of us.”
Chiyo appears, placing her small hand on his shoulder. “Mate, your foot is halfway down your throat. Quit prattling already.” She shoves a bedroll into his arms as I turn to storm off.
I take only a few steps before he rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. I whirl to face him, shoving his hand off and ignoring the dizziness from the sudden movement. “Can’t talk to you now,” I sign sharply. “Give me space.”
He draws in a small breath and rubs a fist over his heart—“Sorry,”—before he walks away. Darkness swirls around the edges of my vision, and I shut my eyes.
Something cool presses against the back of my fist and I unclench it to take the cool waterskin offered to me. “Drink,” Kilkenny says. “Then rest.”
I nod, but I meet Osheen’s gaze across the clearing. He thinks I’m broken. After all this time. After everything we’ve been through together. His father’s death, my parents’ deaths, health issues, Taig, struggling to put food on our tables, raids… Still, I never wanted to appear like someone who couldn’t handle things; this is why I never liked asking for help.
Hurt by yet another crack chiseled into our fragile friendship, I try to swallow the cool water around the lump in my throat and then wordlessly retire to my bedroll for the night.
Carys is standing on the shore of the loch, staring out into the vast water. Beneath my feet, the grass is cool and slightly damp. A gentle breeze blows through my curls and through Carys’s unbound hair, which sways below her knees. The glint of the setting sun reflects off the golden strands in her raven hair as she stoops to remove her shoes.
She’s in a simple charcoal-colored gown. She stands and toes off her shoes, nudging them aside with her bare foot. Sadness and hopelessness roll over me in waves that are almost nauseating. I clutch my stomach as Carys steps into the coldwater. She bites back a yelp, and the sting of the cold water catches me as well. Another step. Then another.
Carys is submerged up to her waist as my heart hammers erratically in my chest. I gravitate toward the loch against my will. There’s a pull from the water, luring me in, promising peace. Behind me looms the Fortress on the Mount, but it’s ominous. Dark. It promises nothing but misery and torture.
As I turn back toward the loch, Carys is slowly sinking into the dark water. “Carys!” I hear myself scream, and I clap my hands over my ears. The scream echoes, and Carys stands upright, splashing water as she does so.
She whirls toward me and blinks. Just… blinks. As if she’s unable to register anything. When she speaks, her voice comes out whispered and broken. “Durvla…”
“Carys, come out of the water.”
Her internal struggle is visible, but she slowly makes her way to shore again. She’s shivering, drenched up to her shoulders. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she regards me with confusion. “How are you…?”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s… a dream.” I glance around, hugging my arms across my torso as well. “Your dream.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m… a Dreamwalker, apparently.”
She takes my hand. Hers is cold and wet, much like her neutral expression.
“Are you alright?” I ask her.
“No.” She’s shivering now, and I’m sure it’s not just from the cold. She starts rambling about Iywan working with someone to possibly open the Veil at Fiada Purlieu. That the fairytale book she’s been reading is in an extinct, ancient language, and that there’s a prophecy that has something to do with the goddess Agryna.
Her words muddle up my mind, but I pull my focus to her and force myself to commit what she says to memory.
