Chapter 26

KLARA

In this dream, I was in another forest. I breathed in the scent of damp leaves and woody trunks. The soil was fragrant at my feet, so black it looked like Zaridan’s scales. Low-hanging vines dipped into my view, and I pressed them aside, ducking underneath as I followed the path of what I thought used to be a riverbank. There was no water now, but the indentation of a stream still compressed the ground, rocks imbedded into the soil at the base of it.

This wasn’t the heartstone forest I’d seen before. This place was unfamiliar and unrecognizable, though I did feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise, a gentle breeze blowing behind me.

At the end of the dried-up river, I saw it. A great, ancient tree, its trunk as wide as Elthika limbs. Its branches were black. I would have thought the tree was dead if not for a few white leaves peppering its twisting branches. The leaves appeared to have blue veins within them, glowing a dull color.

My lips parted, and I looked around the clearing for some hint of where I might be. I didn’t have much time before I’d wake—anything could disrupt this moment—and I was seeing this tree for a reason . Dropping down into the bed of the dried stream, I began to dig into the wall at the base of the tree, my fingers nail scratching at the dirt. Quickly, I worked…and soon I was rewarded.

At the end of one root was a grouping of heartstones, though their light was dull. I counted five. A tree this big would have dozens of roots. How many heartstones could there be underneath the earth?

When I touched the root, I gasped, a thousand whispers pouring into my head. My blood pulsed in my veins. It was like being dragged under a roaring river. It was all I could hear.

I wrenched my hand away, stumbling back onto the earth, hitting the compacted, dry soil hard .

Staring up at the tree, now with slight trepidation, something nudged into my memory. A story. My mother’s story, passed down from Rath Drokka’s line about a whispering, bleeding tree.

My heart began to pound, so fast and quick that I felt it in my throat. I scrambled up the crumbling bank and went to the trunk, looking around for something sharp. I needed to know. Because that would mean…

I grabbed the first rock with a hard edge I saw. I touched the trunk, gritting my teeth when those voices filled my mind again. The tree was warm , like flesh and blood.

Blood.

I struck the trunk with the sharp edge of the rock. It was like striking a boulder, the strength of the tree reverberating up my arms, rattling my bones. I struck again, and a small piece of the trunk splintered off. I peeled it away.

The rock tumbled from my grip, and I walked back a few paces as the trunk began to bleed. A small trickle of golden liquid, rolling down the blackened bark.

Without another moment of hesitation, I ran. Underneath my bare feet, I cut my soles on rocks and exposed, spiky roots, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered in dreams except the memory of one.

I sprinted in one direction, praying to Kakkari that I’d chosen the right way. I could get lost in here. But I kept my sights on the constellations overhead, letting them keep my path straight.

My lungs burned. I was gasping with the exertion. Vines tangled in my hair. One whacked me across my cheeks, making it sting and burn, but I kept going.

And at last, even as the moon began to dip in the sky, I saw a break in the forest line. When I burst out beyond it, I stopped, panting, sweating, swinging wildly around to try to find a marker. Something.

In the shadowy distance, I saw it. The familiar stretch of mountains that I could trace in my sleep because my horde had once lived in the East for a season of ungira hunting.

The Dead Lands.

The outer mountain range that protected what had once been the Dead Mountain, where a race called the Ghertun had lived before they’d all been killed with a heartstone. A heartstone wielded by Vienne of Rath Drokka. My ancestor.

I sank to the ground, breathing in deep. I fell back as my chest heaved, staring up at the sky, my mind reeling from my discovery.

“All this time,” I breathed.

All this time, the heartstones had been in Dakkar.

They’d been back home .

When I woke, it was quick. One moment I was dreaming of the Dead Lands…the next, I was staring at Sarkin’s chest rising and lowering as he slept.

I was crying, I realized, and I wiped my face in the darkness with my palm. The discovery in my dream didn’t make me happy or pleased. It made me sad. Angry. Because the priestesses had been using people as conduits for the last hundred years, trying to create a source of power that had been under our feet the entire time.

My own mother had died because of it.

I stifled a sob, feeling the urge to scream. Feeling the urge to tear down the orala sa’kilan , the priestesses’ temple in the icy and desolate North Lands, stone by stone until it lay in ruins at my feet.

This level of anger was frightening. It wasn’t me . But I’d been keeping my own grief suppressed for so long. This dream had unlocked a truth that I hadn’t been ready to face.

Sarkin jerked in his sleep. Speaking in Karag, he moaned and his limbs flailed. He narrowly missed hitting my chin with his elbow. I rose quickly, pressing my hand to his chest. His brows furrowed in sleep, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple when he thrashed again.

“Sarkin,” I called softly, shaking him. His chest was bare and hot. He’d gone to bed naked. “Sarkin, wake up.”

His eyes flashed open, and he sat up immediately, the furs pooling to his lap. He pressed his hands to his face, rubbing over his eyes and jaw as my hand hovered over his shoulder.

He was shaking, I realized. Something twisted in my chest. Had our conversation about Haden and Lygath sparked this dream tonight? This memory? Or had he dreamed of something else?

“Are you all right?” I whispered, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He shook me off, and my hand hovered in the air as I bit my lip, trying not to feel the sting of his rejection.

“I’m fine,” came his rough, tired voice, raising his head from his hands. He didn’t look at me as he said, “Go back to sleep.”

He’s going to leave again, I thought, a feeling of dismay spiraling through me. Just when we’d patched up our holes. And I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be left alone tonight, not when I’d just seen what I had in my own dreams. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if he left. Maybe that was selfish of me.

But perhaps he needs this just as much as I do, I couldn’t help but hope.

I touched his shoulder again, my heart picking up speed in my chest.

“Klara,” he growled, turning his head sharply to regard me, a warning in his gaze.

I wouldn’t be frightened away though. Not again. I knew this was only him trying to keep me at arm’s length, trying to push me away when I’d witnessed a vulnerability. He only let his people see his hardened edges. But I was his wife . And he couldn’t keep his guard up forever, not when we were alone. That would exhaust anyone.

I ran my hand up his shoulder, holding his eyes, and traced up his neck. His skin was damp, a thin sheen of sweat covering him from whatever it was he’d dreamed.

“I’m here,” I whispered, my fingers making contact with the curled ends of his dark, thick hair. “I’m not leaving, Sarkin, and neither are you.”

His eyes flickered, his pupils dilating further in the darkness. There was a small fire smoldering in the hearth, casting its multicolored light into the room. We were still on the floor beside the bed, in a mess of furs, and our ankles were strapped together. Connected even in sleep.

And I wouldn’t let him run from this. I wouldn’t run from this.

His breath hitched when I scraped my nails across his scalp, curling my fingers into his hair.

“Klara,” he murmured. A warning.

“I’m here,” I repeated again.

Then I leaned forward, eager to feel him. I needed him to ground me. I needed to feel tethered to something.

Our lips met, and I felt the hot rush of his breath. Had I surprised him? I felt the tenseness of his jaw when I brought my other hand to his face. I kissed him softly, just a light brushing of our lips, like I was coaxing him, like I was trying to tame him.

I wanted to comfort him. I wanted him to comfort me.

His shoulders trembled, and then he was kissing me back. It wasn’t gentle. It was hard and claiming and desperate…and it was just what I needed tonight.

Our teeth clattered together, and then I was up in his arms before I could close my eyes. All the raw, suppressed strength I felt in the cords of his muscles made his motions quick and certain. I was in his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist, as I felt him grapple with the cord at my ankle, releasing us. Then his hands gripped me hard, digging into my hips as I clutched at his warm shoulders.

Liquid heat lapped between my thighs, distracting and frustrating.

“This is what you need from me, aralye ?” came his gruff words against my lips.

“You’re not the only one who dreams,” I answered, squeezing my eyes shut. I licked at the seam of his lips, pulling a groan from him. “We both need this. Even you.”

Sarkin huffed out a sharp breath, and then he was dragging up the tunic I was wearing. One of his. Another I’d stolen from his chests. He nearly ripped it off me, like he couldn’t wait to feel our naked skin pressed together. Immediately, his head dipped and he sucked at my breast, hard and rough, as his hand went to the other. My head went back, a long moan falling from my lips when he pinched my nipple gently.

The heat and tug of his mouth made my eyelids flutter as the pulsing between my thighs grew. Between us, I felt his cock bob, and I reached down, wrapping my hand around the velvety shaft.

I’d thought about this far more often than I would admit. But what had happened in Lishara’s temple had been permanently imbedded into my brain. And I now knew that the desire we’d felt for one another that afternoon…it hadn’t solely been because of the heartstone magic and Lishara’s blessing.

That same desire simmered the air around us now, and sweat dripped down my back. One hand was in his hair, holding his head to my breast, and the other squeezed around his cock, stroking gently as pre-come dripped over my palm. My fist bumped his dakke , that small, hardened bump at the base of his shaft, feeling it hot and throbbing like a heartbeat.

He wanted me. He wanted this. Maybe he’d been having the same fantasies.

His grip went even harder, and his hand came over mine, guiding his cock to my entrance. I lifted up, ignoring my obvious inexperience, only knowing that I was infinitely curious, that I wanted to learn and enjoy every new sensation sex created within me.

I felt the thick stretch of his cock slide into me. A pinching ache followed, but I moaned and rocked my hips down, biting my lip, ignoring the brief bloom of pain.

“Oh, aralye ,” Sarkin whispered, his brow furrowed. We were almost at eye level with me sitting in his lap, and I saw the exquisite, maddening ecstasy there. It almost appeared as if he was in pain as he tried to control himself.

“What does aralye mean?” I asked, something I’d wondered but never had the courage to ask. Not until this moment, when he was seated deep inside me, our walls down briefly.

His eyes were so dark they looked black. I could see myself in their reflection.

“Sweetling,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over the bridge of my nose before trailing it across my cheekbone to my ear. “Darling.”

“ Oh, ” I breathed.

I rocked over his cock, and he hissed. His lips returned, and when he kissed me, it was hard but consuming. Perfection.

His lips were a distraction, his wandering touch lighting me on fire. When he slid deep, I jerked, feeling him hit a spot inside me that made little stars spark in my vision as his dakke pressed to my clit.

“Right there,” Sarkin rasped, a bead of perspiration falling down the side of his face.

I didn’t know what possessed me, but I licked at it, tasting the saltiness, wanting everything he could give me as he stoked the burning embers between us.

“ Fuck, ” he breathed, his eyes on my lips. He kissed me again, this time more wildly, and his body jerked with his increased pace. “On Muron’s blood, you drive me to madness, wife.”

I found my own pace even as I explored his body. There was an urgency to our lovemaking, but there was also a patience to it. I took my time, stroking over scars and muscles as he was relentless with his teeth-clattering thrusts, sliding deep every single time. I touched his hair, brushed over his lips. He nipped at the tip of my thumb, watching me with that strained, intense expression, creating a new fire between my thighs.

He leaned forward, kissing and biting at my shoulder. His hands tightened on my hips, lifting me off him slightly so he could control the pace and the power of his thrusts completely.

Helpless and suspended, I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck, like I was trying to hang on as he unleashed himself. Unleashed his power and desire and the rising frustration of the last few days. The uncertainty between us.

Maybe sex is the answer, I couldn’t help but think. I felt more connected to him than I’d felt in Lishara’s temple. There was a raw openness, a welcome vulnerability between us. This was what I’d craved. This was what I’d needed.

His dakke kept hitting my clit, making me thrash and moan in his arms. When his speed increased and he ground his hips against me, I felt my legs tighten around him and I held my breath for a brief moment.

Familiar heat exploded at my core, rippling and extending out like waves to every part of my body. I cried out, digging my nails in his shoulders, and he captured that scream with his lips.

Into our kiss, he growled, “Going to make me come, Klara.”

“Come,” I begged. “I want to feel it.”

That was all the warning I got. A violent breath rushed out of him, heaving his shoulders. His desperate groan felt like a victory as his hips jerked against me. He emptied himself into my clenching heat.

When it was over, I felt his cock throb and pulse inside me. He shuddered, our ragged breaths becoming one as we tried to catch them. We didn’t move for a long time…him seated deep inside as his cock softened. Me with my face pressed to his neck, breathing him in. I felt our heartbeats flicker against each other.

Sarkin sighed, relaxing. A contented sigh. I stroked his shoulder, thinking it wasn’t so bad to be married to someone you barely knew. Learning about each other would come with time. We couldn’t fake this . This need.

“Did I hurt you?” came his question.

“No,” I whispered. I wanted to smile. I felt lethargic and drunk off our lovemaking.

Gently, Sarkin lifted me, untangling my legs from around his waist. He laid me back on the furs, hovering over me. His lips parted, a sharp huff escaping him when he pulled out from me. I bit my lips, feeling sensitive but content.

Sarkin rose, and my gaze flicked up the perfect statue of his body. All hard lines and smooth flesh, he could have been created by an expert sculptor.

He observed me, running a hand over his face, over his reddened lips from my kiss. His eyes dipped to my own, then trailed down my naked body, over my peaked nipples—puckered from his sucking and bites—and then to the marks his fingers had made digging into my hips before finally settling between my thighs. I could feel wetness there, his come trickling out of me.

“Gods,” he rasped.

“I thought you didn’t believe in any gods,” I teased in a whisper.

He shook his head. “You’re beautiful, Klara. You know that?”

My brow furrowed. I didn’t know why those simple words made me want to cry. No one had ever called me beautiful. Only my mother, when I’d lamented over my scarred face. But I’d certainly never been called beautiful by someone like Sarkin.

What made the back of my throat burn was that I knew he meant it. I could hear the honesty in his voice, the awe.

I’d never expected that from him. Not ever. And I was suddenly glad that I’d pushed when he’d tried to keep me at arm’s length. I was glad I’d stepped across that boundary he’d drawn between us because if I hadn’t, I never would’ve realized this.

“Thank you,” I said. Shyly, I added, “You are too.”

But I was certain that someone like Sarkin would’ve heard that throughout his entire life. He was one of the most handsome males I’d seen. And his mere presence alone was eye-catching and demanding.

His lips quirked at the corners, and he walked toward the back of the dwelling. I heard the splash of water briefly, and when he returned, he crouched between my thighs. There was a soft, damp cloth in his hands, and my lips parted, my cheeks flushing in realization, when he cleaned me off. The gentle way he stroked me made me bite my lip. I was sensitive, my belly sucking in when he teased at my clit.

When he was done, he wiped his softening cock before he returned to the furs, refastening our ankles together, always mindful.

I felt a little shy as I curled against him. His arms came around me. He was warm, his scent comforting and familiar.

“What did you dream of?” he asked as my eyelids began to flutter.

I blinked, some of my sleep escaping me with that single question.

“My mother,” I lied. I didn’t know what to do with the knowledge I’d uncovered in my dream tonight, but I wouldn’t decide right now. “What did you dream of?”

“My mother,” he answered, but his tone invited no extra questions. “ Shy’rissa. ”

I’m not the only one who hides things, I thought, closing my eyes.