Chapter 25

25

CALAN

I dream of dead things.

My older brother, Moran.

Brown, brittle grass just before the first snowfall of the season.

Naked tree branches swaying in the wind.

Plots of freshly shoveled graves.

Desecrated gray stones with dates etched across the surface.

And when I wake up, it’s with a hammering heart and Kassandra’s name a desperate plea on my lips.

But I don’t ever speak it. Not out loud. Saying her name will give the others power over me, which I can’t allow to happen.

She’s my one weakness, a fact I abhor with every fiber of my being. Does the tiny female understand the power she holds over me? Is she able to comprehend the lengths I will go to ensure she’s safe? I may not want her as my mate, but Gaia help me, I’m stuck with her regardless.

I always protect what’s mine.

“You were mumbling in your sleep again.” Draven—the real Draven, not the imposter—releases a humorless chuckle from the cell beside mine. “Nightmares?”

“You’re talking to me now,” I muse, my tone carefully impassive.

I’ve been trying to get the bastard to speak with me for days, and he chooses now to be chatty?

Draven’s chuckle tapers off into a hacking cough. “Kind of hard to strike up a conversation when you’re unconscious.”

I don’t respond to that, mainly because I don’t know what to say to the true Night Prince. I have a thousand questions for him, but I feel so out of sorts and disgruntled that all of them remain lodged in my throat, refusing to come out. I’m dirty, sweaty, and wearing clothes covered in stains. Every moment I remain in this cell, my anxiety ratchets up until I fear I’ll suffocate.

I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

I begin to tap my hand against my thigh. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I feel the pressure of my fingers through my trousers.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I take comfort in the familiar pattern as my emotions threaten to sweep me away in a tidal wave. Anger. Disgust. Betrayal.

And fear.

It’s the latter emotion that confuses me the most.

When have I ever felt fear before? Genuine fear that siphons the breath from my lungs and makes my head cloudy?

I can’t remember. It certainly hasn’t been recently.

Even as I think that, I remember standing in Gaia’s temple, unsure of what became of Kassandra. I certainly felt fear then.

A rope coils around my neck like a noose. Breathing becomes impossible.

Where is Kassandra now?

Is she okay?

Draven clears his throat obnoxiously, and if I were in his cell, I would probably stab the fucker in the eye. I’m too damn irritated—too antsy—to engage in small talk.

I need to get out of here.

Now.

“So what did you do to get locked away?” Draven asks, his tone almost playful, despite the severity of the situation.

Then again, Draven has always been more flippant than Sylvan. Not a lot can bother the Night Prince.

“I went into a room I wasn’t supposed to,” I deadpan.

My eyelids feel unnaturally heavy, almost like lead weights. I know it’s probably a product of the damn cuff around my arm, draining my magic. The reminder only serves to exacerbate my rage.

“And that room was…?”

“One I wasn’t supposed to enter.”

Draven blows out a breath. “You’re not as chatty as some of the other prisoners.”

I wrinkle my nose before I can think better of it. “I’m a prince. Not some common criminal.”

Draven’s laugh is quick and humorless. “And yet you’re trapped in the same cage as they were.”

I curl my hand into a fist—though even that small movement takes too much energy. My head lolls backwards and rams against the cement wall behind me.

I’m so fucking tired.

“It seems as if your superior breeding couldn’t keep you from being imprisoned,” Draven mocks, and once again, I wish we were in the same cell so I could deck him.

Silence stretches between us, fraught with tension, before I heave out a sigh and say, “I saw Sylvan’s mirrors.”

Draven doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does, his voice is confused. “His mirrors?”

“They looked like mirrors, but they weren’t. Not really. They were…” I shakily scrub a hand through my sweat-matted hair.

Even saying it out loud sounds insane. It shouldn’t have been possible.

“They were?” Draven presses when I don’t immediately finish that sentence.

“They looked like portals,” I finally blurt out.

Silence falls yet again. If I thought the last one was immensely uncomfortable, but it’s nothing compared to this. Unease prickles the back of my neck, and the fine hairs on both of my arms stand at attention. I desperately wish to rub the foreign sensation away but restrain myself. Doing so will only spread the dirt, sweat, and grime already sticking to my skin.

“Portals…” Draven’s voice is rife with disbelief. “Only giants are capable of performing such magic, and they haven’t been willing to make deals with fae in centuries.”

“I know what I saw,” I snap, my tone slightly defensive. I begin to tap my thigh even faster. “Sylvan had portals open to every major kingdom, including my own.”

“I believe you.” Draven seems to consider his next words carefully. “I just don’t understand how he could’ve gotten such magic. Or why he needed it in the first place.”

“At least it explains how he’s able to travel around so quickly,” I mutter, finally ceasing my tapping.

It’s not doing anything to quell the restless energy searing my flesh. If anything, the erratic thumping of my fingers is making everything worse. I can’t seem to keep the beat no matter how hard I try.

Useless.

It’s fucking useless.

“Sylvan has always been a crafty motherfucker,” Draven murmurs with another dry chuckle.

“So how did you end up here? Aren’t you guys supposed to be…friends?” My upper lip curls on that last word.

I don’t have any friends, and for good reason. Look at what Sylvan did to Draven. Locked him away and stole his identity, waging an entire war in his name.

“We were.” There’s the sound of shifting in the cell beside mine, almost as if Draven is attempting to rearrange himself into a more comfortable position. “But then Sylvan started acting…erratic. Raving about things that didn’t make any sense.”

“What type of things?”

“Told me Chaos was awakening and would destroy us all.” I can practically hear the eye roll in that statement. “Even said that the Summer King and Queen have become possessed by Chaos and had to be removed. He seems to believe the only way to defeat Chaos is to create chaos.”

“What the fuck does he mean by Chaos?” I’ve heard of that term, obviously, but the way Draven’s talking about it… “Is that the name of another fae?”

“I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that Sylvan locked me away and began draining my powers.” Then, in a quieter voice, Draven adds, “I can no longer dream walk.”

“Dream walk?”

“I’m the Prince of the Night Court.” Amusement tinges Draven’s voice. “Of course I can enter dreams.” When he speaks again, there’s an undercurrent of anger darkening his tone, turning it sinister and poignant, each syllable the slash of a whip. “Sylvan stole that power from me. Twisted it for his own purposes.”

“And why would he do that?” I drawl, but I don’t care. Not anymore.

I’m already tired of this conversation. I just want to sleep…

“Why would he do any of the things he’s done?” Draven asks rhetorically.

“Because he’s fucking insane?” My eyelids flutter shut, feeling like twin weights against my cheekbones.

“Because he’s fucking insane,” Draven agrees.

But I can’t help but think he doesn’t sound quite as confident as I do when he says that.

Then all thoughts of Draven and Sylvan disappear from my mind as sleep claims me. This time around, I don’t dream of death and despair.

I dream of a beautiful woman with flowing blonde hair and light-blue eyes. With two gloved hands—one that heals and one that destroys. With a smile capable of thawing the ice encasing my heart.

And for the first time in forever, I feel peace.