No. No. No.
Lika waving at me from the ship my father sailed.
“Get out of my head,” I cried. “Stop this!”
Stop thinking about them. Stop. Stop. Stop.
“You get out of mine,” Darcke gritted. “Stop making me relive this!”
“I can’t!” I shouted as me killing the karl that first day was replaced by an image of warships heading to an island where people screamed as they scrambled to get down from the mountain.
I could hear Darcke’s heavy breathing—feel him trying to figure it out.
“Enough!” My nails dug into his leather tunic when Geord and his friends chasing me through the woods came next, followed by Darcke falling to his knees by the ocean. “Stop!”
His hands found mine again, and he pulled me to him.
“Breathe,” he whispered. To me or him, I wasn’t sure.
“It’s too much,” I cried, choking on the emotions that weren’t mine but filled me all the same.
“Breathe.” His hands slid up my arms, over my shoulder and neck, until they settled across my cheeks. “Just breathe. You need to calm the fuck down so we can figure this out.”
“Youcalm down. You’re doing this to me!” I pressed my hands against his chest. “Stop it!”
“I’m trying to calm too,” he hissed. “But you need to help. It’s quite fucking hard when you’re used to fighting it like this.”
“Fighting what?” I screamed as the pounding intensified. An image of Darcke dipping his hand into the ocean filled my thoughts, making me feel like my head might burst open. “What is this?”
“My mind,” Darcke said through his teeth. “It’s my mind.”
I huffed a breath. This was his mind? All the time? It felt like I was about to go mad—as if I was trapped in a loop of violent thoughts that wanted nothing more than to crush my mind and me with it.
“Yes,” Darcke replied. “All. The. Time. Now, breathe!” His chest tapped against mine, and when his hot breath rushed out, I tried to make mine follow.
“Again,” he ordered, his thumbs brushing rhythmically over my cheeks.
We took a shared breath. The hammering quieted a little, the urgency softening.
“Good,” he said.
It didn’t feel like the thoughts mightfight their way out of my skull anymore—as if they’d rip my skin to pieces in their panic to escape their hold.
“What happened to you?” I whispered.
The images making bile build at the back of my throat slowed, but it was like Darcke’s mind fought against it—as if there was something he was trying to show me, but that memory hid amongst the rest, seeking refuge in the chaos. Finally the onslaught of thoughts cleared enough for me to make separate ones out.
Darcke stood beside the king, his face pale and gaze hollow. He didn’t want this, but he was going to do it anyway.
“Now,” the king ordered. “Do it now.”
The shaman appeared.
I bit back a bout of nausea when that strange leash tightened around Darcke’s mind, forcing thoughts and memories and magic back until they hammered against an invisible wall, like a prisoner screaming in an empty dungeon.
The image vanished instantly, disappearing like a ship cresting a tall wave. Darcke’s hands fell to my shoulders, and my stomach knitted when a shudder went through him.
Darkness still surrounded us, but as Darcke’s thoughts calmed—as they tired from the fight they had put up against the magic leashing them—I could see his eyes in my mind.
