Not a Dream

NOT A DREAM

W armth envelops me as consciousness returns. My head throbs, a dull ache pulsing through my skull.

My nose wrinkles at the unwelcome scent of antiseptic, and I pry my heavy lids open, squinting against the bright fluorescent lights.

The white walls and sterile equipment of a hospital room surround me.

For a brief, blissful moment, I wonder if the tribunal and my imprisonment were all a nightmare. If Tris will come through the door and scold me for doing something stupid that landed me at the clinic.

Then I turn my head and see the three crescent moons emblazoned on the wall, and my heart sinks.

It was all real .

The door opens, and Aspen steps inside, his blond hair glinting under the harsh overhead lights.

When he sees me awake, he rushes to my side. “Rowe! How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?”

I lick my dry, cracked lips, and my voice comes out hoarse from my parched throat. “The guards found me?”

Aspen nods, his brow furrowed with concern. “Owen shouted for help. When they responded, they discovered you unconscious in your cell.”

He pushes a strand of red hair off my forehead, his touch tender. “You gave us quite a scare.”

I swallow hard. Thank goodness I passed out in my cell and not Owen’s. That would have been hard to explain.

Aspen takes my hands. “You can tell me the truth. I’m on your side.”

Paranoid that we’ll be overheard, I shake my head. “It’s too risky.”

Aspen’s jaw clenches, but he nods in understanding. He knows the danger we’re all in. “All right, but you have to tell me everything later. Promise me?”

“I promise.” Earlier argument forgotten, I squeeze his hand .

Aspen leans in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Listen to me. Whatever you did, whatever magic you tapped into, you can’t breathe a word of it to anyone else. Understand?”

I nod, my throat tightening with unspoken questions. Worry tenses Aspen’s usually stoic face, and fear prickles across my skin. “Did you find out what they’re after?”

“There are whispers about the last Rothaven witch.” His gaze darts around as if the very walls have ears. “I fear you may have been right. The Northern Trinity has ulterior motives for bringing you here.”

I knew it, but hearing Aspen confirm my suspicions makes it all too real. “What do they want with me?”

Aspen shakes his head, frustration clear in the set of his jaw. “I don’t know for certain. But Mel’s moms have arrived for the tribunal.”

Hope sparks in my chest. While I don’t altogether like them, they’re on top of the food chain in the witch world, and they love Mel. “Have you spoken to them? Can they help us?”

“They’re being blocked from seeing you.” Aspen’s voice is heavy with implications. “The Northern Trinity is isolating you, us, cutting off any potential support.”

A chill runs down my spine. They’re trying to back us into a corner, strip away all our defenses. Why? What do they hope to gain?

I wish they’d just come out and state their intentions instead of going through this farce of a trial.

My arms shake as I push myself up, ignoring the throbbing in my skull. “What are we going to do? We need some way to level the playing field.”

Ideas race through my mind, each more reckless than the last. But reckless might be our only option at this point.

Aspen hesitates. “We could try to bargain, but it’s risky.”

“Riskier than going to trial?”

“Right now, they hold all the cards. They could demand anything with the threat of the trial hanging over you.” His lips purse. “I’m honestly surprised they haven’t already done so. If this goes to trial, it opens it up to all of the Trinities, and they lose their bargaining chip.”

“We could try to flush them out of hiding.” I lift a hand to my pounding head. “It doesn’t mean we have to accept their offer. ”

Before Aspen can say anything more, the door bursts open, and Ambros barrels into the room, his face pale with worry. He skids to a halt the second he spots me sitting up in bed.

“Rowe,” he breathes, the single word heavy with relief. He crosses the room in two long strides, taking my hands. “I came as soon as I heard. Are you all right? What happened?”

I smile to ease his mind. “Really, I’m fine. Just a little tumble off the cot, nothing to worry about.”

Ros’s brows shoot up in disbelief. “A little tumble?” He scans my face, his fingers gripping mine tighter as suspicion flickers across his face. “Do you think I’m going to buy that story? You were unconscious.”

His voice holds a sharp edge, tinged with something else—guilt. He glances over his shoulder, as if checking to see if anyone’s listening, then leans closer. “I should have protected you from this. Should’ve been there.”

Caught off-guard by the raw worry etched into every line of his face, I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “If you were, you would have been locked in a different cell and as helpless as Owen. It’s better that you’re on the outside.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he tries to wrestle his emotions back under control. “You scared me, baby. When I heard you were hurt, I thought my father…”

His words trail off, and he shakes his head, frustration flickering across his face as he straightens. “Never mind. The important thing is that you’re safe.”

I squeeze his hands. “The only thing Elias can do is stew in bitterness and snark at me. I’m good at ignoring him.”

“You shouldn’t have to. They shouldn’t have put you anywhere near him.” Anger flashes in his eyes. “They don’t get to put you in danger like this.”

Then his expression softens as he reaches out to touch my cheek. “I know you’re strong. Seeing you like this, hurt and locked up, is killing me.”

A lump forms in my throat. It hurts to see Ambros so worried. He’s used to being a protector, but we’re all at the mercy of the Northern Trinity right now.

“I’ll be fine.” I turn my face into his palm. “You know me. I always find a way through.”

His hand lingers, his thumb tracing a gentle circle on my cheekbone. “Just don’t scare me like that again. Please.”

I nod. “I’ll do my best. ”

Ros’s expression softens, but a flicker of the earlier anger remains. “We’re going to get you out of this. I don’t care what it takes or who I have to kill.”

“Maybe less talk about murder?” Aspen suggests, peering around at the white walls. “We have no way of knowing if they’re listening.”

“I don’t care if they’re listening.” Ambros gingerly checks my head, and pain flares from what can only be a bump. “At least your little mishap will give you a respite from the dungeon.”

I shake my head, ignoring the dull throb of pain the motion ignites. “I need to go back. Esme isn’t doing as well as the rest of us in captivity. She’s probably hysterical right now, which isn’t good for the baby.”

Mutinous, Ros’s jaw clenches before his shoulders slump in defeat. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

“Nothing will happen to her,” Aspen assures him, then shakes his head when Ros raises one eyebrow in challenge. “Rowe will find a way not to fall off her cot again.”

I cross my heart. “Promise to be less clumsy.”

The door opens again, this time letting in a man in a white robe. What is with the Northern Trinity? Don’t they know what century we’re in ?

At least he has a stethoscope looped around his neck, so they’re not completely living in medieval times. He has a kind face and salt-and-pepper hair, and he smiles as he approaches.

“Ah, you’re awake. Excellent.” He consults a chart in his hands before fixing me with a searching gaze. “How are you feeling, Ms. Rothaven? Any pain or dizziness?”

“I’m fine, really,” I insist, even as a wave of vertigo washes over me. I grip the edge of the mattress to steady myself, hoping no one notices. “Just a headache. Nothing to worry about.”

The doctor hums thoughtfully, not buying my brush-off. He takes out a penlight and shines it in my eyes, checking my pupil’s response.

“Hmm. It doesn’t appear you have a concussion.” He drops the light into his pocket. “I can give you something for the pain?—”

“No!” I blurt out, sharper than I intended. The thought of being drugged, of losing control of my faculties, sends icy fingers of dread through me.

He blinks, taken aback by my vehemence. “It’s a mild analgesic. Perfectly safe, I assure you.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pass.” Me and pills already have an uneasy relationship. Add in the Northern Trinity, and no thank you. “I don’t take medication unless I have to.”

His lips part to argue, but something in my expression must convince him it’s a losing battle. “Very well. However, I must insist you take it easy for the next few days. Rest as much as possible and avoid any strenuous activity…”

He trails off, probably remembering I’m a prisoner, and therefore under constant stress. “Well, just try not to fall again. I’d prefer to keep you here for observation, but… Well.”

Heavy footsteps echo outside the door, the steady thud of boots against stone setting my teeth on edge. I tense, fingers curling into fists on the thin hospital blanket.

The door swings open, revealing two grim-faced guards. Their cold eyes sweep over me, assessing my condition, before flicking to Ros and Aspen.

“Time to go,” the one on the right grunts. “Back to your cell.”

Ros surges to his feet, squaring his shoulders. “She’s still injured. At least give her another hour to recover.”

The guard’s lip curls in a sneer. “We have our orders. Step aside.”

Aspen grips Ros’s arm. “Don’t. It’s not worth it. ”

The muscles jump in Ros’s jaw as he clenches his teeth, but he allows Aspen to pull him away. The doctor hovers in the background, torn between his duty to his patient and his fear of the guards.

I ignore the wave of dizziness that crashes over me and push back the blanket. “It’s fine. I’m ready to go.”

The guards watch as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, as if expecting me to attempt an attack. As if I could in my current state.

I’ll be damned if I let them see me as weak, though. I stand, lifting my chin even as the room spins around me. “Lead the way, boys.”

One guard steps back out of the door, while the other gestures for me to walk out after him so they can box me in.

Do they seriously think I’ll run for it?

I throw a reassuring smile over my shoulder at Ros as the guards march me out of the room. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Head held high, I follow the guard ahead as he leads me through the twisting corridors of the Northern Trinity stronghold, back down into the bowels of the dungeon.

As we walk, I let my vision slip into the ethereal to map my surroundings despite the pain throbbing in my temples. I need to memorize every detail in case I need to teleport around this hellhole.

We enter the walkway between cells, and I peer up at the ceiling, where the suppression spells stand out stark to my altered vision. When my gaze drops back to the guard in front of me, I spot a similar glow emanating from the guard’s cape, right around the embroidered Northern Trinity symbol.

Interesting. The symbol seems to counter the suppression spell, allowing him to use his magic. I file that useful tidbit away for later as we approach my cell.

The guard stops in front of my cage. I wait for him to make a fuss over the new hole between mine and Esme’s cell. But as I enter, I realize she somehow found the strength to put the stone back.

When did she do that? Before the guards arrived the first time?

The barred door slams with a clang that reverberates in my skull.

Once the guards’ footsteps fade into silence, I slump onto my cot, exhaustion pressing on my limbs.

Across the dim hallway, Owen catches my attention, mouthing, Are you okay?

I nod, smiling for his sake, though every muscle in my body protests. I do my best to fluff my flat pillow, hoping for a soft place to rest my aching head.

A soft, mocking chuckle drifts over from the cell beside Owen’s, Elias concealed by shadows but unmistakable. “Quite the little adventure you had. And here I thought it would be another boring, sleepless night.”

The mocking words send a chill down my spine, and I drop my pillow with a scowl. “No one asked for your commentary.”

He shuffles out of hiding and leans against the bars, looking like a cat cornering a wounded bird. “Touchy, aren’t we? Such a big fall from such a short distance. However did you knock yourself out?”

I grit my teeth, refusing to let him see how his words unsettle me. “Believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around feeding your curiosity.”

“But I’m so curious about you, the great Wendall witch.” His lips peel back to expose his fangs. “What must the magic in your blood taste like? What powers would it convey? It must be quite…moving.”

I struggle to keep my face neutral. How much does he know? Can vampires see in the dark? I desperately want to ask Ambros.

“Pretty wild imagination you’ve got,” I say, tone casual while tension pulls every nerve taut. “Starvation must be going to your head.”

He chuckles, the sound making my skin prickle. “Oh, I’ve spent enough time here to know what’s real and what’s not. Go ahead, keep pretending. I like games.”

“I’m done playing.” Putting my back to him, I lie down, but my mind races.

How much does Elias know? And what does he intend to do with the information?