Chapter Twenty-One

I dream of blackness, pure and sweet, a darkness that seeks to devour all. It is angry, it is vengeful, it is everything it should've always been, and it wants me. It's not the first time I've felt it reaching out to me, to the dark corners of my mind while I'm trapped in dreamland, but it is the first time I almost let it in.

Almost.

"Rey, are you still asleep?" Frederick's voice brings me out of my dream, and I moan as I force myself to sit up.

"Ugh, what time is it?" I wipe at my eyes, trying to blink away the grogginess, but it remains. My arm is sore, and if I move it a certain way, it hurts, but I'm mostly okay, so I swing my legs off the side of the bed and stand.

I was so tired I slept in my shoes. Gross.

"Nearly midday," Frederick says. "I came earlier, but you seemed… sleep had its hold on you still, but there's something you should see. It can't wait." He gestures for me to follow him, and as I do so, I see he still wears the same clothes he wore last night, and it makes me wonder if he got any sleep himself.

Through the upper district, we travel down the main street. We pass groups of people who fled the lower districts, and I spot Aolia kneeling beside a group of dirty children. When she sees me, she gives me a smile and a nod.

If she's out, then the others must be out. I can't wait to have Ravenno and Hazor yell at me for shit I can't control and blame me for things that aren't my fault.

"Where are we going?" I ask. Down the street, I see the giant wooden doors that divide the upper district with the marketplace are still closed. We make a left turn once we reach them and head down another side-street.

"The ramparts," Frederick says with a glance in my direction. "There's something you must see."

If it's something I must see, then it can't be good.

We go to a part of the upper city near the prison, where Prim broke me out all that time ago. A set of steps leading up to the wall that surrounds the upper city, where the ramparts are. From there, you can overlook just about any part of Laconia.

Kretia, Ravenno, and Hazor are up there, staring at something in the distance. A pair of guards stand ten feet away. When Frederick and I arrive, all eyes turn to us, even the guards', and I note the hatred boiling on Ravenno's face first thing.

"You," Ravenno hisses as he whirls and points at me. "This is all your fault. We were perfectly safe here in the city before you came!" Beside him, Hazor nods in agreement.

Kretia speaks with an authority neither councilman has, "Perhaps what transpired last night involves Rey, perhaps not. Regardless, we know it is connected to something else—or perhaps someone else."

"I don't understand," I mutter, and Frederick guides me to the stone wall on the outer edge of the ramparts.

Lifting a hand, Frederick guides my eyes on the horizon. "There," he says, "over Acadia. Do you see it?"

I squint. In the far distance—the far, far distance—a shadowstorm rages. "Yeah, I see it. What about it?" If it's in Acadia, that means it's not here, so what's the big deal?

Kretia is the one who answers as she steps beside me, "A guardsman discovered it last night, just before the storm grew and claimed the lower half of the city. It did not touch the farms or the fields, so we were fortunate. However, until that storm is taken care of, we cannot be certain it won't be back."

"Wait, wait, wait. You're saying the storm in Acadia is the same storm that was here last night? I've seen more than one shadowstorm, and that's never how they work. They don't move. They come and then they disappear." I look at Frederick and find he's lost in thought. "What is this about? What are you…"

And then it hits me, why they're all gathered here, why they're bringing this to my attention.

I frown. "You want me to go back to Acadia."

Kretia nods once before she says, "You brought us news that Empress Morimento is dead, that her son is trapped on her throne. Aolia wished to help the common folk of the city, so she is not here to ask, but she—" A pause as she glances at Ravenno and Hazor. "—we would like you to return to Acadia's castle and see if perhaps her son yet lives, if he survived the shadowstorm or…"

"Or if he started it," Ravenno snaps. "And if the young lord is the reason our city was decimated last night, kill him." The man finds it easy to make demands of me even though he hates me. Figures.

"Didn't you not believe me when I brought back that hilt?" I ask. The hilt that still rests in the bag that's permanently attached to me. I slept with the dang strap of the bag around me out of habit last night, thanks to how exhausted I was. "What makes you think you can order me around like I'm some servant?"

Kretia moves to stand between me and Ravenno, blocking my sight of the man. "Forgive Ravenno. Forgive all of us, Rey. We are not ordering you to do anything. We are asking. We are pleading. We are praying." She takes my hands in hers, her black skin a stark contrast to mine. "You are the only one who can provide us answers. You are our eyes and ears out there. You are our blade, our vengeance, our retribution. You have proved your power to us, and now we must ask you put it to use."

I pull my hands out of hers and start pacing. Everything Frederick said to me last night rises in my head, the memory too recent, his words combining with what Kretia just said.

I don't want to. Of course I don't want to. But what I want to do—kick back and zone out while doomscrolling social media and listening to whatever stupid show Netflix put out lately—won't be possible until I get back home, and if I have any hope of getting home, I need to pay a little visit to the Emperor again.

Kill two birds with one stone and all that. I can do what these people are asking of me, and I can hopefully get the Emperor off his throne, assuming he's still alive and the scourge didn't take him.

"All right," I finally say as I stop pacing. "I'll go. No promises though. I don't know what I'll find out there."

"Make haste," Kretia says.

Beside me, Frederick grins and says, "I knew we could count on you." I have to roll my eyes at that, but I stop myself from any smart comments when he adds, "Come. Let's get you prepared for your journey back into Acadia."

If they want to load me up on stuff so I don't have to eat out of the rivers, I'm all for it.

Frederick loads me up. Once I'm ready, he walks with me to the doors that let out into the marketplace. We stand before them, hiding in their shadow as the sun burns over our heads. In the daylight, his eyes take on a more amber color. His brown hair is dirty, greasy after a long night of helping people.

See? He's better than I am. He doesn't need me. If I was in his place, I can't say I'd want to help anyone. I probably would've given up already, years ago.

"I'm sorry you have to go out there again," Frederick whispers. "I know you don't want to, so thank you. On behalf of Laconia, thank you."

"Yeah, yeah." I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder. The satchel is now heavy, loaded up with food, and my canteen now has fresh water. The hilt is still in there. I don't know what to do with it. It isn't like leaving it here would do any good, since no one else can pick it up. "Here's hoping I don't have to kill the Emperor."

"He is no emperor," Frederick reminds me. "Laconia does not have emperors. Only empresses. Simply being an empress's son does not make him Laconian royalty. You are more royal to us than he will ever be."

I blink. "Right. On that note, I'll see you later. Bye." Awkward as it is, I don't care. I get the guards' attention for the doors and they start to heave them open for me. I want to get this show on the road.

The doors open, and I take my first step toward them—but Frederick's hand grabs me by the arm, the uninjured arm, and stops me. Even though I've already said my goodbye, I turn around and meet his stare.

"Be safe," Frederick tells me, his head angled down toward me. He is slow to release his hold on my arm, as if he doesn't want to let me go. "Come back to us, Rey."

If I was someone else, those words might've made my stomach flutter, but I'm me, so it takes a lot more to make me feel butterflies. Hell, I don't think I've ever really felt butterflies in my gut for any guy, ever. No offense to Frederick, but the guys in my world are just…

They're dumb. I learned young to never get my hopes up, to never truly let my guard down. I don't plan on starting now.

So I smile and tell Frederick, "You know I will." And then I turn away from him and venture onward.

Through the markets, through the slums that are eerily silent after last night's shadowstorm. Out the front gate of the city—which takes a blast of magic to move on my own since I have no muscles to speak of. I emerge into the abandoned farmlands that surround the main road out of Laconia.

I don't even need a map. Not really. The castle in Acadia was easy to get to. Easy enough, I should say. All I have to do is get to the Southern River and follow it through Acadia's fields, retrace the steps I took when I first left Laconia on the hunt for Fred and his research.

And now that I know I can surf on water pretty much as fast as I want, it'll be an even quicker journey. It took me days to realize I could do that last time.

Time wears on. Days pass. I don't come upon the scourge until I hit Catarin Tower—which I decide to bunk in for the night. If the storm is big enough to swallow up the area between the tower and the castle… it's a big freaking storm. I don't see how the Emperor could survive it.

Then again, he's survived this long against all odds, so what's a bit longer?

The inside of the tower is near pitch-black, but I light up the way with my tattoo as I head up to the top, where the beds are. Wind howls outside, whipping at the stone tower's walls, raging on its own. I don't know how I'll sleep with that going on, but I should try. If the storm is constant from here to the castle, I don't know how much more sleep I'll be able to get before I see whether or not the Emperor is alive or if, somehow, he caused this.

I lay on the bed, the same bed I chose the last time I was here. The light from my tattoo fades, and I'm surrounded by blackness.

Rune and I… we haven't really talked since Laconia. I don't really know what to say at this point. We argued, and neither of us thinks we're wrong. I don't see Rune leaping to apologize to me, either.

Still, I don't know what I'm going to find in Acadia's castle, and I don't want to go into it being pissed at the only company I've had in this crazy world.

"So," I say, "you've been quiet." A part of me wonders if he'll even respond, or if he'll ignore me as he obviously has been doing. I try to roll onto my side, but my arm is still a little tender, so my back it is.

Rune doesn't say a word, which makes me chuckle. "Are you really going to ignore me now? After everything we've been through? Come on, Rune. I know you have something to say. You always have something to say, so let's hear it."

I know Rune's going to respond because the tattoo on my arm lights up before he replies. "I assumed you didn't want to hear anything I have to say. You made it quite clear you don't care, Rey."

I close my eyes and sigh. Admitting I was wrong was never something I was good at. If anyone's stubborn, it's me. My dad always told me I got it from my mom, though I never understood how he could say that. I mean, if my mom was stubborn, why didn't she try to stick it out with my dad? Why not stay with us and work on being a family?

It takes me a while to whisper, "I might've said some things I didn't mean."

Rune makes a thoughtful sound, but he doesn't say a word.

"I'm not… good at things like this," I say. "I'm not good at talking about emotions and keeping myself calm. I've been alone for so long. Maybe I got used to letting my anger guide me—I don't know."

"Perhaps that is something we have in common, then."

His admission makes me smirk to myself. "Oh, really? You're saying you have an attitude problem, too? Gee, I never would've guessed." Maybe I pile on the sarcasm a bit too much, but oh, well.

"That is, in fact, not what I said." Rune's snippy tone is back, but compared to his silence, it's welcomed. "You have a habit of hearing things that aren't there, Rey."

"And you have a habit of getting under my skin. You're pretty good at it too, for a tattoo—" I smile harder because I know he's seconds from correcting me, as he always does when I call him a tattoo.

"Rune," he mutters with a sigh.

I chuckle to myself. Can't help it. "I know you don't remember what you were like before, when you had a body, but… do you think we'd get along if we weren't connected? Do you think you'd even pay me any attention?" Please don't ask me why it matters. It doesn't.

Not really.

He's silent for a moment, and I'd give anything to know what he's thinking. Without seeing his face, he's so hard to read.

Now that I'm thinking about it, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost say I have a crush on Rune. Which is just ridiculous. Even if he did have a body, there's no telling what it'd look like. He could be old or hideous or something.

"I…" His reluctance to answer makes me think he doesn't want to say. "What do you think?"

What do I think or what do I want to hear? The answers to those questions might be different, or they might be similar. Again, it's impossible for me to pick up any context clues when it comes to Rune and his outlook on things. On me.

When I don't say a word, Rune admits, "I think things would be very different if I had a body. Very." He puts a lot of emphasis on that last word, which causes my thoughts to branch off in many directions.

How the hell am I supposed to take that? What does he mean by it?

"How different?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Rune sighs, and it's like he's right next to me, sighing into the crook of my neck. I shiver in spite of myself, unable to control the mirrored sigh that escapes me seconds later. His voice comes out low, his accent making each word sound a strange mix of irresistible and dangerous, "Perhaps that is a question we can revisit after we figure out what's going on over Acadia. For now, I believe it's best if you try to get some rest."

I don't want this conversation to be over, but he's not wrong. Even with the storm outside, I am inexplicably tired. Even my bones are tired.

"Fine," I mutter with a yawn. "But we will revisit this conversation later."