Drown me with dreams, p.2
Drown Me with Dreams, page 2
I stand my ground. “Your Majesty—”
“Never mind.” He turns on his heel and starts back down the hall. “We should go.” He doesn’t motion for me to follow or even ask. Just assumes I’ll trail behind him like a well-trained ox.
Carrik watches him leave with a scowl. “You’re really going to risk your life to keep that asshole happy?”
“It’s not about him. It’s about my family. I need proof that whatever is over there is better for them than Keirdre. But since you won’t help . . .” I turn away. Manage a single step before—
“Wait!”
I smirk to myself before schooling my features and facing him again. “What?”
“Saoirse, please. Don’t cross the barrier.”
“Why? You haven’t given me a reason not to.”
He pauses.
I sigh. “If you’re just going to waste my time—”
“It’s one-way,” he blurts.
That’s not what I was expecting. “What?”
“Once you leave Keirdre, you can’t come back. Not unless the barrier comes down.”
I’m freezing. Like I plunged headfirst into the Jeune River in the dead of winter. “I don’t believe you.” My words feel hollow.
“I’m telling the truth,” he says. “If you go over, you’ll be trapped. You’ll never see Rain, your family, me, or that damned Prince you like so much again.”
CHAPTER TWO
WEIRD, COLD SPACES
My feet are heavy as I drag them down the dungeon corridor. I barely register the prisoners who call for me as I pass.
I’m numb to it all. I don’t even feel a rush as I wait outside the door at the top of the stairs. Feel for the water in the basin above the guards on the other side. Grab it with my mind, wrap it around their faces like scarves. Wait until they pass out—stop before they’re dead—and ascend from the dark depths of the dungeons. I step around their unconscious bodies, still feeling nothing.
It’s child’s play. I’m so dead to it all, I’m not even tempted to kill them. Not tempted to do anything but curl up and cry. Or scream. Maybe both.
I pull up my hood as I leave Haraya. Keep it up as I climb into the carriage waiting outside. Hayes sits on one side, looking down as I slide onto the bench across from him.
It’s not until the carriage rocks to life and we begin the journey back to the Palace that he finally looks at me with a single raised brow. “What do you think? Was I convincing?”
I force a smile I don’t mean. I should be pleased. Our feigned spat successfully softened Carrik’s resolve and loosened his tongue. We know more about the barrier than we did before. Still, my victory feels more bitter than sweet.
For one thing: Carrik’s words are an echo I can’t unmute. “Once you leave Keirdre, you can’t come back.”
He might be a liar and a traitor, but I believe him.
I could cross over the barrier and be trapped forever. In a world I only learned existed a few weeks ago. Without my sister, my parents, my aunties, my . . .
My eyes land on the frowning King sitting across from me.
Hayes.
That fear alone is enough to send my stomach sinking to the carriage floor. But I can’t linger on it because of the second concern consuming my thoughts: our “feigned” spat felt all too real.
Each word he hurled at me felt targeted. Not like manufactured anger for the sake of a convincing show. More like festering honesty, finally unleashed.
I want to ask him how much was real and how much was fabricated, but I can’t because we have bigger issues. Can’t because I’m secretly a coward and I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
So, I tuck my fears behind a smile so strained, it’s painful, and pretend the wall between us—made of secrets and lies and heartbreak—doesn’t exist. “Should I be concerned? Your acting was so impeccable, you even had me convinced.” My words are true, but my tone—light, teasing, and unbothered—is a lie. A half-truth. My specialty.
Hayes’s smile is, like mine, frayed and vacant. He only manages to hold my gaze for a tick and a half before even the fake grin drips away like melting candle wax. He rests his head against the carriage seat. I think he means to seem relaxed, but there’s too much tension in his shoulders to fool me. “Did it work? Did Spektryl say anything after I left?”
“He told me the doorway is one-sided. Once I go through, I can’t come back.”
Hayes sits up, eyes sharpening. “What?”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I’ll find a way.”
“What if you don’t?”
“I will,” I insist. “But if I can’t, I’ll neutralize whatever army the Resistance has waiting for us so it’s safe for you to bring down the barrier.” I keep my spine rigid and shoulders straight, arming myself with confidence I don’t feel.
There’s still so much we need to accomplish before I can leave. We need to actually find the doorway. I need to get my lairic beads runed again. We need the potion that will unlink Hayes’s and Ikenna’s lives from the barrier. And now there’s not even a guarantee that if we find the doorway, I’ll be able to come back.
Over the past week, Hayes and I have been strategizing.
First, we read through every letter Larster received from Reyshka Harker. We have one last unsent letter in Larster’s hand we found in his office and dozens from Reyshka over the past five years.
They were useful enough. She wrote detailed instructions about where she is on the other side, so I know how to find her when I get there. Unfortunately, nothing she wrote hinted at where the doorway is. Or what she’s doing over there. Every few years, the top Deltas from the Vanihailian Barracks are sent to the other side to train under her—but we have no idea what they’re training for.
After that, we contacted Auntie Drina. She made Hayes a lairic configuration so I can Dreamweave with him from the other side. Now, she’s brewing nafini—a potion that should, hopefully, unlink Hayes’s and Ikenna’s souls from the barrier.
It’s the plan that feels the most stable, but it’s still so frail it could easily crumble to dust. Drina is a powerful witch, but that kind of magic—the magic of souls—has long since gone out of practice. She’s never brewed nafini. She knows the general process, but there’s no guarantee it will work.
That’s not even getting into the other potential obstacles. It requires a full lune to brew, and since she only started about a week ago, we have another three weeks before it’s usable. Another issue is the Resistance on the other side. Supposedly, they have a massive, vicious army out to spill Keirdren blood. We can’t risk bringing down the barrier if it means everyone in Keirdre, including my family and Hayes, gets killed in the process.
These are all problems I don’t have the capacity to solve. So many cracks that could easily lead to ruin.
“Did Spektryl tell you where the doorway is?” asks Hayes.
“He says he doesn’t know.”
Hayes groans. Another dead end.
Four days ago, Hayes spoke with my former training instructor, Pierce Flynn, to see if he knew anything about the other side. All he could tell us was that the doorway was somewhere in Kurr Valley.
Translation: nothing useful.
The barrier wraps around Keirdre on all sides. Kurr Valley, one of two sectors for earth fae and home to most of Keirdre’s farmland, is the largest sector. By a lot. It does little—scratch that, nothing—to narrow down our search area.
Our next step was the King’s—former King’s—office. Nothing. A word I’m growing weary of. The only thing we found was a freya candle I’m certain is the same one Larster used to pass letters to Reyshka.
Unfortunately, my hunch is just that, because Hayes couldn’t get the damned thing to light. We think it needs his father’s hand to work, but there’s no way to prove it. Larster is dead.
Our next step was Carrik. He gave us an answer, but not the one we need.
Which means our next step . . .
“Your Majesty,” I say gently.
Hayes’s head is still flopped against the carriage seat. “I know what you’re going to say.”
Ikenna.
Queen of Keirdre. Hayes’s mother.
That freya candle in Hayes’s office might not work for the new King, but maybe it’ll work for the former Queen. That’s my theory, anyway, but Hayes has been reluctant to bring his mother into this.
“Can you arrange a meeting with Ikenna?” I ask, keeping my voice as gentle as possible.
“Yes,” he drags out the word with obvious loathing. “I doubt she knows anything. My parents weren’t close. They had separate bedrooms and separate lives.”
I open my mouth, ready for a spat, but he cuts me off. “Fine. We’ve exhausted all other options. I’ll arrange a meeting with her tomorrow. Did Spektryl say anything else?”
“I don’t know if there are sirens on the other side.”
Crushing words but ultimately meaningless to our mission.
There was a time when Hayes would’ve asked for some kind of insight into what I was feeling. Just like there was a time when I might’ve asked why he’s so against talking to his mother. It wasn’t that long ago, but it was a completely different world.
Hayes said he forgave me for all the secrets and lies. He meant it. He hasn’t been angry with me—he’s been cold. Which is worse. I want him to glare. Yell. Punish me so we can move forward. Instead, we live in a weird, cold space where we fake smiles and avoid eye contact like strangers.
“Saoirse?” Hayes prods when I take too long to answer.
I shake my head. “No. He didn’t say anything else.”
Hayes nods, accepting this. We lapse into chilling silence for the rest of the ride.
CHAPTER THREE
OVERSIZED THRONE
Hayes still looks out of place in his father’s office. Scratch that—it’s Hayes’s office now. No matter how many times I remind myself of his new role, it doesn’t feel right.
His desk is on a raised platform and the office walls are drab and gray, as is the stone basin of water behind him. The only splash of color in the room is the massive navy chair behind his desk. It’s wider than it needs to be, with a curved spine that stretches up and up, almost to the ceiling. The combination of the elevated desk and foreboding chair is clearly designed to make the King look commanding.
For Larster, maybe it worked. But Hayes just looks small sitting in the oversized chair. Like a child trying on their father’s shirt and drowning in excess fabric.
I sit in a cushioned gray chair across from him. His legs are hidden by the desk, but I can tell they’re bouncing with nerves as we wait for Ikenna. I want to say something to put him at ease, but I no longer feel qualified.
Hayes’s guards have dwindled over the past few weeks. Erasmus is dead, Laa’el is imprisoned, Devlyn resigned shortly after Hayes’s disastrous birthday celebration, and I’m a fugitive. Leaving Hayes with only Zensen and Jeune until he hires new guards to add to the rotation.
Jeune stands over my shoulder near the office door. In the few minutes we’ve been here, she’s yawned three times. With such a small pool of guards, she gets less time to sleep than ever.
A sharp knock on the door.
Hayes clears his throat. “Who is it?”
“You summoned me.” I’ve only heard Ikenna speak a handful of times, but I recognize her voice instantly. She sounds calm, cool, and bored.
Hayes nods to Jeune. She unlocks the door and moves aside for the Queen and two of her guards to enter before locking it again.
The shorter of Ikenna’s guards is staring at me, eyes widened in awe. He quickly looks away when he sees he’s been caught, but the stale-bread flavor of his apprehension mingles with the heated flare of his desire.
Queen Ikenna is regal. Tall with an unyielding posture and stiff shoulders. Subtle lines frame her mouth and the corners of her eyes. Aside from that, she’s ageless. Her hair is dark and thick, styled into a pouf that floats around her head like a crown, dotted with pearl beads that look like stars. She shares an eye color with her son, but her ocean gaze is harder. Crueler. She’s dressed in yellow today. A rich, golden color that perfectly complements her dark skin. Plain from the waist up, patterned from the waist down. She’s unmistakably powerful and undeniably beautiful.
Ikenna’s eyes flit around the room before lighting on me. Her expression, detached up until this point, sours. I taste her acrid disdain, colored by something peppery. Anger. “I didn’t realize you were inviting her,” she says coldly.
A scathing response comes to mind, but Hayes speaks before I can voice it. “Remember, you’re not to breathe a word of her presence in the Palace. To anyone.”
“I already swore I wouldn’t,” Ikenna mutters. She eyes me expectantly. “Well?”
I gift her with a slow blink. “Well, what?”
“Are you not going to offer me your seat?”
I can’t contain my incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.”
Her eyes narrow. “Have I said something funny? There are only two chairs. Your King has one. The other, clearly, is mine.”
“And yet, here I sit.”
Her mouth flattens into an unamused line. She glares at Hayes. “I’ve heard the rumors of your . . . relationship with this creature. Are you truly not going to command she give me my seat?”
Hayes lifts his brows. “I can’t imagine what she’d do to me if I tried to ‘command’ anything of her.”
Jeune chuckles but stops when the Queen glares at her. “Fine,” says Ikenna. “I’ll stand. Why am I here?”
Hayes procures a pale blue freya candle from a desk drawer. “Do you recognize this?”
Ikenna’s face remains still. “It’s your father’s.” Clears her throat. “Was your father’s.”
My tongue detects an emotion that’s cold like ice and sharp like ginger. Heartbreak.
Interesting. I know little about Larster and Ikenna’s relationship. I hadn’t thought either of them capable of genuine affection for each other, but apparently, I was mistaken. I file this information away.
“I can’t get it to work,” says Hayes.
Ikenna stares at the candle for another two ticks before looking at Hayes again. “It was spelled to work only for your father. I suppose it’s useless now.”
“It won’t even work for you?”
“No.”
It’s convincing, but my gut tells me she’s lying. “Do you know what it’s for, at least?” I ask.
A muscle tics in her jaw, and my tongue bathes in her briny irritation. “I don’t answer to monsters.”
My hands fist in my lap. Ikenna sat idly by as her husband slaughtered thousands. Orphaned hundreds. Including me. And somehow, I’m the only monster in the room?
The water in the basin behind Hayes gurgles at me to punish her.
Hayes must glimpse my barely bridled anger because he quickly says, “Do you know what it’s for?”
Ikenna nods stiffly. “For your father’s communications with Reyshka. I assume you know about her?”
“I do. No thanks to you. Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Eventually.” Her words are clipped.
It’s clear from the hurt that dances swiftly over Hayes’s expression that he believes her about as much as I do. “Had you told Finnean?”
She flinches at his name, and the gingery sorrow is back. She misses her late son as much as her husband. “Your brother—”
“That’s a yes.” Hayes is bitter. It settles on his face like dregs of tea sinking to the bottom of a cup. “Do you know where the doorway to the other side of the barrier is?”
Ikenna glances at me. “Why do you want to know?”
“I’m a King now. How do you expect me to lead without knowing what’s happening in my own kingdom?”
“Your father was a private person. He didn’t tell me everything. I have no idea where the doorway is.”
She’s lying. I’m certain of it, but the flavor of her emotions gives nothing away. Oddly enough, I detect a strong taste of sour grapes and stale biscuits—guilt and fear—only it’s not coming from Ikenna, it’s coming from one of her guards. The one who stared at me when he entered.
I didn’t pay him any mind before, but I study him now. His build is scrawny—he’s so small, he almost looks human. His skin is rough and light like sandstone. He has bright topaz-colored eyes and shorn hair. He doesn’t stand still like Ikenna’s second guard. He shifts in place, oozing anxiety.
“Are you sure?” Hayes, still questioning Ikenna, pulls my attention.
“Certain. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more useful for you.”
I don’t believe she’s sorry for a tick. Everything about her—from the steel in her voice to the ice of her gaze—makes it clear she’s never uttered a sincere apology in her life.
Hayes looks at me with a raised brow: Anything else?
I have more questions, but we can’t compel Ikenna to answer any of them. I shake my head.
Hayes sighs. “You’re free to go, Mother.”
Ikenna’s lips twitch into a thin smile, and she turns to leave. Pauses. “Guard yourself. She’s even more beautiful than I remember.” She’s looking at me but talking to Hayes. Before I can digest her words, she and her guards sweep from the room.
Hayes groans as soon as Jeune locks the door behind them. “She’s hiding something. Could you sing to her? Make her tell us the truth?”
“My songs have limits.”
“They don’t work on women?”
“It’s not about gender.” A common misconception. “Siren Songs only work on people who are attracted to me.”
Hayes’s eyes rake slowly over my body, lingering on my face and again on my hips. His brow knits in confusion. “Is that not everyone?” Said differently, it might sound coy, but Hayes’s confusion is earnest—he can’t fathom anyone not wanting me.
“Not everyone,” I say. “Definitely not Ikenna. But I think we have another option. Her guard—the smaller one—he got nervous when she said she didn’t know where the doorway is.”
Hayes frowns. “How do you know?”
