My vision swims strangely as I trace the woman’s face with my fingers. With a start, I realize it’s the bond—Anassa comes to life at the other end of it, her attention shifting to me, full of curiosity.
Why would this carving be hidden in the castle? Andhereof all places?
I touch the carving again as though to confirm its existence. I’m not imagining this, am I? Like the whispers?
As though in response to my thoughts, the whispers surge again. My hand trembles against the woman’s crown and the voices press against my skull like a physical weight.
My breath hitches. My vision darkens. As if from somewhere far away, my legs start to buckle.
The last thought I have before consciousness fades is that Killian will be waiting, wondering what’s become of me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Consciousness returns in bits and pieces. Sensations float around me, disconnected from each other. Warm silk against my skin. The scent of burning oils. A face hovering over me, painted with warm lamplight.
I blink slowly, struggling to focus on those familiar sharp features, drawn tight with worry.
Killian.
With a gasp, I snap back into full awareness.
“Thank goodness you’re awake,” Killian says as I struggle to sit upright. “No, don’t move. You’re safe, everything is fine.”
Reluctantly, I settle back against the velvet pillows and look around. We’re in Killian’s quarters, I think.
His bedchamber is a study in royal luxury. Silk and satin and velvet everywhere. Crystal lamps and elaborate tapestries. Enormous paintings with gilded frames. It makes the Bonded areas seem modest by comparison.
But I’m not interested in cataloging the details right now.
“What happened?” I rasp, trying to shake off the disorientation. My head is still swimming.
“I was about to ask you that,” Killian says, reaching for a bowl of water on the bedside table. He presses a cool damp cloth tomy forehead. “You never showed up, so I went searching for you. You were unconscious when I found you in the passage.”
It all comes back to me in a rush.
The passage. The carving on the wall…
The whispers.
“Kitten?” Killian says softly, concern evident in every line of his face.
I shift away from his touch, smarting at the familiarity of it even as I crave it.
I can’t tell him about the whispers—the growing fear that I’ve inherited my mother’s madness. As much as I’d love to unburden myself, I still can’t trust him that way.
“I don’t know,” I say, forcing a dismissive laugh. “I guess I passed out from exhaustion. The training has been intense the last few days.” I look around for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Late,” he says. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”
That gives me a chill.
Shit. This can’t be good.
“When you found me in the passage…”
His brows rise when I trail off. “What?
Dammit. This might be a bad idea—but I have to know.
