I glare at it, refusing to back down.
Oh, Tempest. Someday I will tell you why I find such humor in this. Alas, your passionate defense has roused my curiosity.The Flame pulses.Choose a word. It will be your key to Noktemore. You will not remember it when you wake. I cannot have you telling your warrior.
Before I can ask what the point is, the Flame roars.Ask him about the healers who came before. Ask him about his debt. Tell him to bring you home, and I will give you my sister's scepter myself.
I hold my breath.
If he gives you those answers and still refuses to bring you to me, I will consider telling him your key. So you can find each other in my kingdom.The Flame dims slightly.When the time comes, I will tell you what to herald.
The Flame vanishes.
Darkness. Complete and absolute.
The air shifts. A crackling energy replaces it, raising every hair on my arms, making my teeth ache. I stop breathing when I feel something behind me. Something close. Its breath ghosts across my neck.
What is your word, Tempest?
I whisper my word. Then I'm falling. Careening through the cold, endless dark. I land hard on my feet and immediately collapse to my hands and knees. Darkness still. But different. This time, the air smells of petrichor and something ancient.
My fingers curl in damp grass. They snag on something soft. Spongy. Frowning, I push myself up and lift my hand.
A Shroud mushroom.
That's when I feel it.
The stillness. Absolute and wrong. A rush of cold air at my back. The whispers rise again, countless voices overlapping.
We claim you. We claim you. We claim you.
My eyes fly open. I shoot upright in bed, fisting the sheets, gasping for air. The lights around my room flicker wildly. A moment to feel the concern flooding the bond.
Another moment to register the figure standing in my doorway. By then, I've already screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Malachi storms through the doorway. All black. Vida strapped to his back. His expression is murderous as he scans the room for threats. When his eyes find my face, they soften.
But the Flame's words crawl back into my mind.He's spent the last two centuries sacrificing healers to the Bratus. Stasis has a way of obscuring memories. He may not remember. Or perhaps he does.
Countless healers have been sacrificed. The Flame said I need to understand what lurks within the Shroud. And I can't stop wondering if the Shroudmaidens were once like me. Healers led to slaughter.
Is that how Malachi sees me? Another sacrifice waiting to happen? I want to reject the thought. I can't. The Flame laughed at me, as if I were naive to think he could see me as anything else. When he discovers whose daughter I am, that's exactly what I'll become to him. A means to an end.
My stomach lurches. I scramble out of bed and barely make it to the bathroom before my knees hit the cold tile. I retch into the toilet. Nothing comes up, but my body heaves anyway, tryingto expel something it can't name. The thought of Cato makes me double over again.
I flinch when I feel him behind me. His hands gather my hair, holding it back from my face. My eyes squeeze shut. The gesture is so gentle. So at odds with everything the Flame told me. I want to summon Mortiana and curse her for what she said about him. I remind myself that she's a trickster. She lies.
For all I know, she was lying about the healers. She must know that's the one thing I could never forgive. I can't even forgive myself for the damage I caused unknowingly. How could I forgive him for doing it on purpose?
I sink back onto my heels. His hand moves to my shoulder, warm and steady.
"Better?" His thumb brushes the back of my neck.
I shudder. Not from disgust. From how badly I want to lean into his touch despite everything. I manage a nod. He backs away, giving me space, but I feel the weight of his gaze as I rise and move to the sink.
I brush my teeth. Wash my hands. Wash them again. And again. I'm stalling, hoping he'll leave. He doesn't. He just stands there, silent. Watching. It's unnerving.
"Does that usually happen when you dream?"
