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“You see,” I went on. “Another thing those sea fae—and apparently you—don’t know, is how to detect a highly concentrated sleeping elixir. One that happens to be on that ring. Shame that your greed is so predictable.”

“No . . .” Davorin took hold of a tent post. “You wore it.”

“True. But you were kind enough to leave so much of your glamour behind to be studied by Elixists all these turns. Seems one of our own knows exactly how to hone his potions for certain magical imprints. Like yours. No one wearing that ring will sleep . . . except you.”

“What did you do?” Davorin fell to one knee.

I lowered with him. “Let your thoughts go, and let those dreams descend.”

Chapter42

The Phantom

I steppedout of a layer of darkness to Davorin flat on his back, eyes opening slowly.

“You could’ve had so many things in life,” I said.

He snapped up, disoriented. “Where . . .”

To his left was the old palace of House Ode. There were the gilded fountains that had once decorated the lawns. To his right were the gardens that led to the wood.

“You still dream of it,” I said, taking it in.

“What have you done?”

“How do you think the Golden King lived in such a vivid dream”

Davorin’s eyes burned like hot coals. “You have seidr, not the weaker body magic.”

“Weaker?” I chuckled. “That is one of your shortcomings, always viewing the other clans as less-than. Who stands against you now? Every vein of gods-magic. You know as well as I there are individual strengths, powers that grow. Look at your own dark glamour.”

“A dream walker.” Davorin scrambled to his feet. “You cannot hold me here forever.”

“True, but I can for long enough.”

Davorin let out a cry of frustration and lunged for me. I stepped aside, swifter than he’d ever be able to move. “The beautiful thing about dream walking is I cannot be harmed. I become a phantom in your mind.”

He raged, searching for his blade.

“You won’t find it.” I grinned. “I am interested to see what lives in your dreams. Or are we in a nightmare?”

I shoved against his chest and in a breath, the lawns faded into the throne room of the old palace.

“Ah.” I chuckled when I looked at the thrones. “A nightmare then. No less than you deserve.”

Davorin’s breaths came sharp, his face was flushed and angry. Above him on a golden dais, Ari sat like a true, arrogant king. His hand was clasped with Saga. The gown she wore was revealing. Slits along her thighs, low hanging necklines, and thin straps.

Revealing with a purpose—to show the scars across her flesh, the scars Davorin had left behind. Scars she carried with grace and held no pain for her any longer. He was a forgotten nuisance. Not even a bother in her regal life. She sneered at Davorin, still on his knees, and rose to sit on her husband’s lap.

“Could’ve been you,” I told him. “Should have honored her the way they honor each other. You will never forget them, even when you are in the hells. To them, one day, you will be nothing but a distant memory, lost amidst the thousands of new, joyful moments in their long, happy lives.”

Davorin cursed and lunged for me again. I turned and tossed him into another scene.

The Night Folk clans, laughing, their littles all around them as they feasted beside a glittering lake. Plentiful. Happy. Joyful.

“The curses, the anger, the enslavement you brought to their clans—it only brought them together. They chose unity. Enemies chose each other.”

“I’ll kill you,” Davorin seethed through his teeth. “You cannot touch me. You think you can get close to destroying me? I assure you that you cannot.”