A hand wrapped around mine. “Are you alright?”
The world changed before I fully grasped it. Water spread beneath my body, extending as far as the eye could see. Thunder rumbled above, buried within a ceiling of black clouds and violet lightning.
Ferris knelt beside me, holding my hand—skin on skin. Shadows darkened his eyes, and his steel curls were messy. He wore only a thin white undershirt, one sleeve rolled up.
Had I woken him?
“It's not like you,” Ferris said. “To call out in your sleep like that.”
Pulling up my knees, I wrapped my free arm around them. “I’m fine.”
“You didn’t sound fine.” Ferris shifted closer to me, hand tightening around mine. “Was it a nightmare?”
“Yes. The same I’ve had for five years.”
Ferris’s emerald eyes flicked across my face, but he didn’t press. “I have a recurring nightmare, too,” he said quietly. “You think with how often I dream of it, I’d get used to it. But it feels real, every time.”
“So does mine,” I murmured. Lifting my head, I studied the prince beside me. “What do you dream of?”
He looked away. Every muscle in his forearm tensed, his fingers curling tighter around my hand. “Someone who hurt me.” His voice cracked. “Someone who died.” Sitting up, he pulled the collar of his shirt down, revealing his chest.
Thick scar tissue ran from beneath his collarbone toward his side.
“This is my memento of the real thing,” he said with a smile.
Whatever had left such a deep scar must have been a nasty wound. Pulling back my sleeve, I showed him the faint burn scar on my elbow.
“For how much fire there was,” I said. “This is all that I was left with.”
“Makes it harder to forget.” He pulled his tunic back into place, eyes gazing forward into the endless sea.
Silence hung around us, broken by the gentle thunder.
“Who hurt you?” I asked.
Ferris hesitated to answer. He gazed ahead, eyes glazed over. “I don’t know who my real mother is, but I have a guess. I confronted my father about it, once, and . . . ”
I waited for him to finish, but he never did. Sitting forward, I stared at his chest. “Your father did that to you?”
His throat bobbed, his eyes fixed on mine, and the world spun out of control.
Suddenly, I was somewhere else, looking through eyes that weren't mine. Pastel green walls wrapped me in their cozy embrace, potted plants cluttered an oaken desk. But for its comforting appearance, this place set my heart racing.
The king of Aenir stood over me, steel curls loose and disheveled, mouth twisted into a snarl. His fingers tightened around my collar, drawing me close to him while his other hand hefted a broken bottle.
A bottle whose razor edges were already stained with blood.
He brought it down toward my head. Raising my arms, I tried to shield myself from the blow, but I only managed to knock his strike off course. The bottle shattered against my side,
Blood spurted from the wound, and pain lashed through my body. I looked down to see a shard of the bottle stuck in my flesh and white bone gleaming beneath the red.
The world grew hazy and dark. Blood pooled beneath me, soaking my clothes. A red-haired man knelt above me, light streaming from his fingers. Reese.
The world spun, and I was slammed back into my own body. Ferris gasped, fingers strangling my hand.
We gazed at each other in confusion. Ferris stuttered out a few words. "You . . . that was . . ."
A rethaite. Our people could share memories through an intimate ceremony they said could only be performed when genuine consent bloomed between two souls.
