Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MISERY

I dreamed of the Fords that night, a lavish feast under glittering torches and a gilded ceiling that had been torn down in present day, replaced by a practical wood panel. The vast dining table was covered in platters of food, a whole roast hog the centrepiece as my family hosted dinner for the power players of the village.

She came to Ford because the veil between life and death was thin here, but I only found that out when it was too late. It was why Death's domain spat me out on this island, why eerie things seemed to happen, why mist wrapped the hills and houses and I saw spirits wandering the cobbled streets.

I could have gone anywhere, could have taken a boat to the mainland and left Ford's End, but it was Rosalind and the Fords that kept me there. The family I'd never had before, that was too precious to leave even to explore the world. By the end, I wished I'd travelled as far away from Ford's End as possible.

It was a name I came to hate, a name that reminded me of everything that happened—the accursed island where the Fords met their end.

In my dream, it was the banquet again, and Baldric sat beside me boasting of the deer he'd hunted in the woods, Theodore on my other side rolling his eyes as he drained his wine and reached for the jug to refill his goblet. Across from me, Rosalind wore a secret smile as she cradled a small, leather bound red book in her hand.

"I don't know how you can smile while reading Beowulf," I said, scanning the table full of family, friends, and familiar faces before returning to my sister.

We'd all dressed in our best clothing, the women in gowns made of the finest imported materials, details painstakingly embroidered, and the men in tunics fit for King Edward's court. It was an impressive show of wealth, but the strip of fabric that held my stocking in place was itching like crazy and my tunic was so heavy my shoulders kept slumping before I threw them back again. I couldn't wait to go back to my room and throw all this finery to the floor.

"If you can't smile while reading Beowulf," Rosalind said, flicking me an amused glance over her book, her blue eyes glittering, "you are reading it wrong."

My brow furrowed as I remembered the subject matter of that particular book. "Are you sure you aren't holding a book bound in the wrong cover?"

"Funny," she drawled and went back to reading.

The banquet hall smelled of roast hog and vegetables, but for a moment the scent of cloves and copper overwhelmed the fragrant food, and I frowned, glancing around. My eyes fell on a woman taking a seat beside the local clergyman, her dark red dress cut scandalously low and her features unlike those of anyone else in Ford's End. Like mine were unlike anyone else's. She glanced up, sensing my attention, and smiled. My stomach knotted, but I smiled back, the very beginnings of a friendship.

Within four weeks, everyone I loved in the mortal realm was dead.

I woke up drenched in sweat, gasping, shaking. The image of Nightmare was so clear, the memory so ruthlessly sharp that I had to wonder if she was placing these dreams in my mind. Torturing me with my worst mistake—meeting her.

I scrubbed my hands down my face and forced myself to face the truth. I was her puppet, and I couldn't be trusted even a little bit. If she was in my dreams, she was everywhere.

I remembered the blood and foam that poured from the mouths of my family, remembered Rosalind's silent scream as she drowned in the lake, and I threw myself out of bed.

My legs were weak as I crossed the moonlit room to the cabinet where Peach's enclosure sat. I hadn't told anyone about this plan, mostly because Tor and Death would talk me out of it, but I couldn't go on like this. I wasn't in control of myself; I was in her control, and Nightmare plus the power to inflict misery on every living being was a dangerous combination.

I thought of the way Cat had hunched over herself, arms around her middle, and true suffering in her eyes when I slipped and my power hit her. I wouldn't do that to her again. I'd done enough. I guided the heavy drawer open, wincing at the low groan the old wood let out, and removed a small leather box. It had always been a last resort, a contingency plan in case Nightmare came back.

Well, she was back now, and inside my head. She had always been inside my head. I'd never been free, just a ticking time bomb.

"It won't kill me," I said out loud, manifesting those words into truth. My heart hammered, more sweat beading on my forehead, but I eased open the leather box and took out the ampoule within.

Peach ventured out to see me, blinking luminous eyes at me like she knew what I held, what liquid glowed silver inside the vial.

"I have to, Peach," I croaked, swallowing the lump in my throat. I would be powerless, and I risked permanent damage, but if it kept the people I loved alive, it was a price I'd pay. "I'll be fine," I murmured, convincing myself.

Pain said it wouldn't kill me. Probably. But Pain had been known to lie, and he hadn't been forthcoming about where he'd sourced the ampoule.

"Too late to worry about that now."

I flicked up the filigree metal stopper and tipped my head back, emptying its contents in my mouth. The silver liquid tasted like a fragrant cocktail of ditch water, blood, and rotten apples, but I choked it down. Two swallows and it was done.

Nothing happened for long moments. I stood there, my hands braced on the cabinet, watching Peach watch me, and I decided Pain must have conned me. That would be like him—to take what I so desperately needed and deprive me of it to cause maximum damage. It was his nature after all.

But I should have known better. The sadist god would love the suffering of me drinking this potion more than depriving me of it.

Pain hit with the swiftness and ferocity of a lightning bolt and my knees buckled, sending me to the floor. I grunted at the impact, but the pain in my chest, slicing through my soul, was so much worse. I clutched my chest, panting, wheezing, as a vital part of me severed itself from my soul. The fibres of the rug scratched my cheek as I fell onto my side, struggling for breath.

A door slammed somewhere in the castle, but noises were blurring into a distorted mess in my ears, only Peach's alarmed calls making any sense to my addled mind. Scents swam around me: the familiar jasmine and wood shavings scent of my room, the blood and cloves scent of Nightmare, the amber and sandalwood or Tor, and Death's burned sugar. I didn't know if any of them were real, didn't know if any of them were here, and it hurt most that I couldn't smell Cat's peaches and cream even as a delusion.

The dream closed around me again, blurring my room with the vision of the banquet, the smile on Rosalind's face, the good humour and teasing from my brothers, the watchful amusement on Nightmare's face as we met for the first time. That was the last banquet I had with my family, and it was all my fault.

All your fault, all your fault.

Something rocked me, and my head lolled, a groan ripped from my lips as the dream images blurred into my room, the golden light fitting above my head swooping and curving like the long dragon I grew up hearing fantastical stories of. If only dragons could reach into the mess I'd made of my life and use their powers over the weather to set everything right. I was a disastrous flood that would sweep away everything that mattered.

"Not anymore," I slurred, my eyes half-shut. The scent of burnt sugar intensified and I realised I was cradled in Death's lap, his beautiful face hovering above mine, frantic eyes roving across my features.

"What did you do, you stupid bastard?" Tor demanded, dropping to his knees beside me, his golden skin wan with panic, with fear.

"My magic's bound," I rasped, trying to reach for him but too weak. "You're safe from me."

"You idiotic fucking—"

I passed out before I could hear the end of Tor's rant.