I did not really deserve what they had, after all. Happiness. Joy. Pleasure.
Ulrika falling into a fire and Linnea’s dead eyes flashed through my mind and a wave of coldness swept over me. No. I didn’t deserve what they had.
I turned my back on the sight of the lovers.
The trees began to thin as I left the woods behind. I would take supper with Da tonight—always a cheerless affair. The years had taken their toll on him, but I refused to abandon him for better company. He was my father. He belonged to me and I to him even if he was unaware of my presence.
After supper, I would return to patrol the woods like I did every night. I ignored the little voice snaking through me reminding me that I felt the witch less and less lately. Ever since Linnea died, ever since I took to training and armed myself with my dagger and sword of iron.
It was almost as though my sudden competence had run her off. As though she was afraid of me now that my fear of her had been replaced with a thirst for vengeance.
Unlikely, I knew, and I gave myself a little shake. That was giving me far too much credit.
All the times I had sensed her presence, I’d never felt her fear me. On the contrary. I’d felt her watching me with curiosity, with interest...bemusement. Always I had sensed that she enjoyed the evidence of her evil deed...that it made her feel good, strong, powerful.
I didn’t know why she never revealed herself to me.
I didn’t know why I suddenly felt less connected to her, but this was not over. She would be back.
I would not give up. I would return to these woods tonight.
And the next.
17
Dream
Day 3,350
Idreamed of a storm.
Wind and ice and snow. So much snow. And heat. Impossibly, heat.
A contradiction, but anything was possible in a dream. I reminded myself of that and let go, surrendering to it, to the fiction my mind had conjured.
Fiction was safe, so I let myself feel all the impossible things—fear, dread, desperation, exhilaration—knowing I would wake in the dawn, unscathed from the storm surging around me.
None of it was real. Not the scream of wind. Not the cold bite of snow. Not the blinding surge of white.
And not thatotherthing.
The thing that lived in the storm, moving like a twisting shadow in the rush of falling snow, teasing in and out of the torrent, gliding closer to me.
I stood in the fury of wind and snow, holding a hand over my eyes, trying to shield them from the stinging pelt as I peered into the storm. Whatever was out there...it moved too quickly for me to track and identify.
I could not name it as it encroached, but it was big.
Dream or no, a wave of unease rippled through me.
Grabbing on to my courage, I called out, but my voice was lost in the howl of air.
I glimpsed prismatic black. Dark flashes as iridescent as the sheen of a crow’s wing amid the frenzy of white. Flickers of sleek skin. Not human. Something else. A predator.
I tried to track the body as it moved closer. So close. Too close. Fear cut through me like a knife. I turned and ran.
My legs pumped as I worked through great drifts of snow.
It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.
