Chapter Five

Farren

M y magic is prickly at best, and the fact that it's simply allowing his magic to heal me and behaving like a purring kitten while doing it is weird as fuck, and it makes me wonder if some of those spells that are holding it hostage are actually changing its personality. Although, I didn't notice anything before now and I would have.

I'm putting it down to us being in a dream; I mean, it's not like he's real. He's too sinfully and darkly delicious to be real.

"Come into the light?" he asks, just as gruffly as he demanded the first time.

That settles it then, he can't see me.

"From where I'm standing, I am in the light," I reply.

His eyes widen at the sound, and I don't miss his throat bob as he swallows thickly. Well, that's a curious reaction to have. The tattoos covering his large arms writhe and move, prompting me to get closer. As soon as I try to take a step though I hit a brick wall and the shock sends a fresh wave of pain through my body, his magic has been healing me, but I am so damaged that its barely scratched the surface.

Winged and tattooed hisses sharply as he also tries to step forward and has the same thing happen to him, "You are in immense amounts of pain, how can you speak with such an even tone?"

I figure since he can't see me and therefore harm me, and because we're in a dream, I may as well answer him honestly, and since my body is exhausted and hurting, I allow myself to slide down the wall and plonk my arse on the floor. His blazing eyes follow my movement but I know he can't see me. He confuses me when he looks slightly panicked for a second before the clank of my sword and my heavy sigh seem to relax him again. He surprises me when he takes a seat on the floor as well, not worried about the grime and making his giant figure only slightly less imposing than it was a second ago.

I sense that if he were real, he would strike fear into everyone that he meets. He's got an unhinged feel about him, which quite frankly just intrigues me more, and it makes me smile that my mind has created someone unhinged to keep me company.

It makes sense. I mean, it's not like I'm completely sane.

"It's not the first time that I've been in this much pain, and I highly doubt that it will be the last. I learnt a long time ago that it pisses them off more if I don't react. Plus, I'm too stubborn to show that they're actually hurting; I will bend, but I will never break."

The corner of his lips tilts up slightly and is gone before it's really there. "Strong." He then carries on, "My magic seems to want to help you, and I don't like it."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my magic is allowing it, and I don't like it either."

"Hmm," he replies, the hum strangely soothing.

"What's your name?" I ask him since he doesn't appear to be going anywhere, and I don't know what the purpose of this dream is. I'm not stupid enough to think that I'm going to wake up even close to as healed as I am right now, but it is allowing me to feel a modicum of relief for now, and for that reason alone, I want to prolong it.

"H," he replies, and I instantly know that he's given me a fake name for whatever reason; he also looks puzzled by this but asks, "Yours?"

"Ren," I reply; if he's not going to give me his real name, I won't give him mine.

I find it amusing that even my subconscious wants to keep shit from me.

He smirks, "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but for some reason, I don't like that you're in pain, and usually, I couldn't give a fuck."

"Charming," I reply with a chuckle.

He chuckles and says simply, "Always." We're quiet for a moment before he asks seriously, "Why are you in pain?"

"Torture."

"Do you deserve it?" he asks me.

I pause, "I think that the answer to that is complicated. There are things that I have done in my life that would warrant my torture, but for this instance, I would say that, no, I don't deserve it. I haven't got the information that they want. Having said that I wouldn't give it to them if I did, they are the fuckers who the information needs to be protected from."

He's silent for a moment as he thinks over my confusing reply; speaking softer than he has since he got here, he says, "I think you're wrong. I don't think you deserve to be tortured. We've all done things to survive that we wouldn't do under any other circumstances."

Taking a chance because it's my dream, and what the fuck is he going to do? I reply, "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

He sighs, his whole body slumping, and for the first time since he appeared in my dream, I feel like I'm seeing behind his mask. He's damaged and maybe a little bit broken, but he so fucking strong; for some reason, I think that he's had to be strong for so long, and no one has actually been there for him.

"It's a part of my job," he replies, "a job that I love, but until recently, one that I thought I had failed at."

"I get that," I reply. "What did you do?"

"I was an enforcer of sorts," he replies, and I know that there is a lot that he's leaving out."

"Me too," I reply.

"You were?" he asks, sounding surprised at my reply.

"Of sorts," I grin, knowing he can't see me.

He chuckles quietly, the sound somehow soothing the frayed edges of my soul, "Touche, Ren."

For some reason, my made-up name on his lips gives me a sense of comfort that I didn't expect. This whole interaction is weird as hell, but then again, I don't really expect much else from my subconscious.

"You're hurting," I blurt out, some instinct making me say it even though I had decided to keep that innate knowledge to myself.

He tenses his head, slowly turning in my direction; his eyes search the area that I'm sitting in but never really lock on me, letting me know that I'm still shrouded in darkness for some reason.

He looks away from me, but not before I see a touch of fear and a whole lot of confusion in his eyes. I'm reasonably sure that he's going to ignore me after that tactless accusation I practically hurled at him, so it surprises me when he doesn't.

"I'm lonely," he says, "I'm not alone. I have people that I consider friends, some old and some new, but I'm lonely. It would take a very special woman to not only understand me but accept me. I'm just a bit bloodthirsty, and I love chaos, among other things."

"Until recently, I thought something similar, but I'm now starting to believe that the right person is out there for everyone. Sometimes, they're just in the weirdest places."

"Hmm," he replies, not really committing to what I'm saying, but that's okay. I wouldn't have believed me either. "I think I'll just stick to fucking and killing."

I burst out laughing, sending pain ricocheting around my body, but it's so worth it.

"Careful," he growls.

I tilt my head curiously, "Can you feel my pain?"

He hesitates but nods, "Yes, my magic is still trying to heal you despite the fact it's hitting a brick wall for some reason. Why aren't you healing yourself? Do you not have the ability?"

I sigh, "I'm in this cell. It's embedded with layers upon layers of spells that suppress and trap my magic. They've also wrapped my magic itself in spells. They don't want me to die, at least not yet, so they've allowed a small amount of my magic through to heal, just enough to keep me alive."

The muscle in his jaw pops as he clenches his teeth, "You sound far too calm about your impending torture and death."

I shrug, not that he can see, but then decide to answer honestly; he is my imagination, after all, and if I can't be honest with myself, then who can I be honest with?

"I am terrified," I start, "and I'm angry as fuck that this is how it's going to end for me. Just when my life was starting to look better, I'm going to die."

I watch as his throat bobs as he swallows back emotion; his voice is barely above a whisper as he replies, "You sound certain that you're going to die."

This time it's my turn to swallow back the knot of emotions in my chest, as I whisper brokenly, "I am, the odds are impossible."

I haven't admitted it to myself yet, but it's true.

He makes me jump as he suddenly powers to his feet, "No, I will not allow it."

Unfortunately, I can't reply because I feel my body being pulled back into wakefulness. Sadness consumes me.

"Thank you for being a bright spot in my dark; I will never forget the reprieve that you gave me," I will my words to reach him, and his head whips in my direction, the widening of his panic-filled eyes the only thing that I see before I'm painfully catapulted into consciousness.

*********

I groan. I can't help it. I hadn't realised quite how much pain that H's magic had taken from me in my dream, but I almost wish it hadn't because the flood of it now is close to unbearable. I have to take a few deep breaths, allowing the pain to flow through me so I can get used to it again, my tolerance heightening. I understand that my brain lowered my pain levels in my dream in order to help me, but the pain waking up almost wasn't worth it.

H's concerned face flashes through my mind's eye; I take it back, it was worth having that dream to see H, and I hope that my subconscious decides to allow me to dream of him again; he offered a level of relief that I didn't think was possible in this situation.

I have no idea how long I've been asleep or even whether it's night or day as there are no windows in here, but there's not a prince or Hellier standing outside of my cell, so I can't have been asleep for that long, I groan as I shift slightly, my hand still cradled to my chest, although it looks like its thankfully stopped bleeding. I'm hoping that the small amount of my magic that can get through the binding spells is enough to ensure that I don't get any sort of infection from the multitude of wounds that I am now covered in.

A sudden buzz of magic has me tensing, and I force myself to stand, preparing for another round of torture and impossible questions to answer. Not that I'd answer them anyway, I know firsthand how evil these fucks are, and I would die before I gave them the information that they wanted. My thoughts remind me of what I admitted to H, but I quickly shy away from the reminder. I know how this is going to turn out, but I'm not as comfortable admitting it during my awake moments.

My eyes scan the area outside of the bars of my cell as I force myself to stand in the middle of the room and away from the safety of my corner. I frown when I can still feel the buzz of magic but can't see anything; it makes me feel a hell of a lot more nervous than if I could just see what was about to attack me. I really wish I had a couple of my weapons, or Poca or Meri, or the guys, or hell, my fucking magic.

I learned a long time ago that there was no point in wishing for shit because it never came true.

There's another surge of magic, and I reflexively drop down into a defensive crouch, even though I know in the long run it won't do fuck all to help me since the princes are all too cowardly to come in here and give me a fighting chance.

"Xerxes?" I whisper, as the familiar shape of him appears in the room.

"Farren?" he replies, "Goodness me, look at you."

I decide to ignore that because I know what I most likely look like, and I don't wish to dwell on it since it's only going to get worse, "What are you doing here?"

"I think I was sent here," he replies, not sounding too sure, and then adds, "This happens sometimes; I get sent where I'm needed."

"Who do you get sent by?" I ask curiously, keeping my voice quiet as I sit back down.

Now that I know that it is friend and not foe, I can allow myself to relax a bit, as I need to try and gain as much strength back as I can before the next round of torture. I'm actually healing faster than I thought I would, and although my mind tries to tell me that it's because of H and his help while I was dreaming, I know that would be impossible. I think it's far more likely that I'm stronger than I was when I was here the first time.

Xerxes comes closer and settles on the floor in front of me; I have to admit that it's nice to have a friendly face or er book to talk to.

"One of the gods, although I never really know which one has sent me and I don't think they all have the ability to utilise me. I must also have some kind of say in it because I wouldn't want to be out of your care. So if they tried to send me to someone else, I wouldn't appreciate it in the slightest." He explains.

"Wow, I don't really know what to say to that. I mean, that means that one of the gods has sent you to me, which means they know who I am, and that's kind of terrifying. I'm going to breeze past that and ask something instead."

"Fair enough," Xerexes replies, sounding somewhat amused, but there's also an underlying tone of worry, and I'm guessing that's because of what I look like and the situation that I'm in.

"Did you see the guys? Are they okay? Did they get out of the castle okay?" My string of questions brings the worry I have for them to the forefront of my mind, and up until now, I had been successfully blocking it out. "I can't feel them through the bond, and it's panicking me."

"They are okay; they are panicking about you, although they know that you aren't dead," he replies.

I frown, wincing slightly when it pulls open the cuts on my face. "How could they know that?"

"They . . ." Xerxes response gets cut off, and he makes a frustrated noise, "Apparently, that isn't something that I'm allowed to tell you. The fates insist that you find out on your own and at the right time."

"That's stupidly frustrating, but at least the fates allowed you to tell me that they're okay and they know I'm not dead. That's better than the information that I had a few minutes ago." I reply, knowing that I'm lucky to have the information that I do, "What can you tell me?"

Xerxes magic fills the air again, and I wait as his pages start to glow before they flip open, each page-turning rapidly until they finally stop moving and I look at the page that they've stopped at, reading through it thoroughly to make sure that I don't miss any information I have no idea if the words are going to disappear after I've read them or even if Xerxes himself is going to disappear.

"Huh, so there's a key fragment that's kept in Hades' personal vault, which is in this castle. Me being here is probably the only chance we're going to get to get it since no one living can enter the Underworld under normal circumstances, and I'm sure as hell not willing to kill one of the guys in order to get the fragment, especially since they wouldn't be able to get it out." I say to Xerxes, grateful that he's still here even though he's given me the information that he came to give me. "But why haven't the princes got it if it's in there? Surely they know it's there?"

Xerexes's pages glow again, and he hums with interest as he answers me, "Only Hades himself can enter the vault, and no matter what the princes have tried, they can't get in."

"Okay, that makes more sense, and that is probably why they want to know where he is so badly," I muse out loud. Refocusing on Xerxes I add, "I don't suppose whichever god sent you to me added how to get out of the cell?"

"No, that's not within my pages; I'm sorry, Farren, I want to help you, but I don't know any more than what they've allowed me to know." The pages take that moment to glow slightly, and he adds, "It says to use your magic."

"I know, don't worry," I reassure him and then add, "I don't suppose the wise ones have said how to use my magic since it's suppressed under at least one hundred spells all woven together?"

"I'm sorry, Farren," he replies regretfully.

"That's okay, it's not your fault."

I sigh and then admit quietly, "Without that information though I'm not sure that I'm going to be able to get out of here."