Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Just when I think he won’t reply at all, his voice breaks through the darkness. “I can’t imagine what that would be like. The few times I’ve had to avoid using mine, I felt like I was holding my breath. Magic is life. Suppressing it feels like death.”
I close my eyes. I’m afraid to sleep. Afraid that I’ll open my eyes and discover this is all just another illusion planted by Konner. Or worse, that sleep will bring visions of blood pouring from Orlen’s lips when I pulled my sword from his chest.
“Why you?” I ask, if only to avoid my own thoughts. “Why not send a sentinel or one of my brother’s team?”
The silence stretches. I hear him shifting on his bedroll and wonder if he’s rolling toward me. Wonder how much of me his keen fae eyes can make out in the darkness. Wonder how much of him I could see if I had the courage to look.
“We needed someone powerful enough to get into the prison and break into the minds of those who guard the wards,” he says. “Only once the wards were down could I portal in and out. I had the gifts we needed to do the job, and since we don’t know who we can trust, it made sense for me to come.”
I don’t know what I wanted him to say. That he couldn’t handle knowing I might be in danger and he insisted on coming for me himself? That there was nothing so important as saving the woman he loves? I am ridiculous. My relationship with Misha was as fake as the one in my dreams.
But then something he said clicks and my breath catches. I sit up in bed. “Misha.”
“What?”
“You said you met Hale and his group?”
“Yes. They found us.” A beat. “Why?”
“Who . . .” I press my hand to my chest to steady my racing heart. “Who was with him?”
“I don’t remember all their names. A female, a couple of males.”
“Just two males or three?”
“Just two,” he says, and my pounding heart steadies.
“No one named Shae? Green eyes, scars on the side of his head?”
“No. Their friend Shae disappeared the day Jasalyn did. I don’t know any more details.”
Shae wasn’t with them. I can only hope that since he disappeared, Hale found him out and knows what a traitor he is—knows he wanted me to die. “Good.”
“Why?”
I focus on keeping my breathing even. “Shae tried to get me killed. I think he’s working with Erith.”
“We all thought Erith was behind your abduction. Your brother works for him, right?”
I hesitate, recalling my conversation with Konner. You are assuming so much. “I think so.”
“And he didn’t kill you. They had you for eight months and kept you in stasis rather than ending your life the way legend says your father always planned to. So if Shae wanted you to die when you went after my Hall of Doors, if he was trying to get you killed on behalf of Erith, but then Konner kept you alive all these months . . . what changed?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Konner told me he doesn’t want the same things as our father.”
“And you trust him?”
My heart aches in my chest. Yes, I trust Konner. But I trust the Konner from the dreams he planted. Which means I can’t trust the real Konner at all. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll figure it out. What matters is that you’re with us now.”
I force myself to lie back down. “Good night, Misha.” Emotion surges in my chest as I whisper the next words. “Thank you for coming for me despite . . . everything. I’m lucky to count you as a friend.”
He grunts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, shifter.”
Chapter Eight
Jasalyn
The cottage is empty when Gommid brings me back. I’m already feeling weak in a way I can no longer blame on the long night, but I can’t bring myself to hunt the creature Fherna showed me.
I wish she were here so I could warn her away. I don’t know what will happen and I don’t want to endanger her if she returns while I attempt to tap into Mordeus’s consciousness. Unfortunately, waiting isn’t an option when I don’t know if she’ll be back in minutes or days.
Unwilling to waste more time, I settle right in to my conscious dreaming efforts—lighting a candle, pulling the curtains to block out the midday sun, and making a comfortable place for myself to sit in the middle of the small cottage living room.
The truth is, I was never very good at conscious dreaming. The two times the instructor successfully pulled me down into that state of consciousness, I clawed my way back out. I didn’t like what was lurking in my head. The shadows. The darkness. The pain. The rage and the fear.