Page 25 of A Cursed Son

He manages a bitter, soft chuckle. “I sure hope so.”

What hope does he have to reach that tower? How can he face the dangers surrounding it? Even with all his magic, how can he face those monsters?

There’s no point despairing, though. “We’ll find a way.” My voice is firm.

“I know.” He holds me tight and rests his chin on top of my head.

There has to be a way, I know there has to be a way, and yet the last thing I want is for him to risk it, even if it’s true that he has no choice.

A sound startles me, and I sit up in bed, my heart racing, a bitter taste in my mouth. Not beyond the Pit of Death, not there, he can’t…

Daylight comes from the window, the timid sunrays from early morning, illuminating my room in the Elite Tower, and I realize I’m definitely losing my mind.

I have no idea why my heart’s jumping up and down like a maniac.

First, I’ve never heard of any place called Pit of Death. Second, if there is such a place, and if it’s indeed dangerous, I should be jubilant to hear that Marlak’s about to jump in it. Or over it, to somewhere even worse.

The thought makes me panic.

Great. I have officially gone insane.

Or maybe it’s just that if he dies, I’ll never know why this is happening.

Right. Because my curiosity is so much more important than my sense of self preservation.

But it is, a thin voice inside me says. I’m going to slap it.

At least this dream had nothing intimate in it. Didn’t it? I could feel what he felt. His anguish was my anguish, his worry my worry. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his chin touching my head, his arms squeezing me close, and it all feels so familiar, comforting… And I called him husband. Husband, really?

I need to ignore that and focus on what I learned with this dream—if it’s even true.

Marlak’s looking for something—a tower—and it seems he has found it. What tower? Where? What is he trying to accomplish?

I know that he wants the Crystal Court throne—at least that’s what everyone says, and yet he didn’t strike me as a power hungry maniac. And then again, he never does, not in these dreams. He’s always sweet and loving, almost like a different person. Likely a different person, and maybe I’m just getting things confused. But I saw the star before ever seeing his chest. I saw it.

Perhaps I could use the information I get from these dreams, but the issue is how. It’s not like I can walk to Master Otavio’s study and tell him I dream about Prince Marlak constantly.

Another sound on the glass. A tap. Someone’s there. I rush to it, fearing that maybe Tarlia or Sayanne could be in trouble, but I see Ziven instead. I had no idea he could be awake at six in the morning, or that he knew where my room was.

I open my window. “How did you get here?” It sounds rude. To my credit, I’m still half asleep.

“You don’t really think you’re the only one who can climb walls, do you?”

He’s that observant? “How do you know that?”

“If I want to survive, I have to keep my eyes and ears alert.” He then whispers, “Not that I’ve been in anyone’s room before. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I step away to let him enter.

He’s wearing a sleeveless black tunic over leather pants, showing off his slim but toned arms. Perhaps he gets so many looks simply because he’s handsome, and people don’t care if he’s drunk or not. At least learning about him and Sayanne ruined all his appeal for me.

He puts his hands in front of him. “You’ll need to be calm.”

Something happened. Something bad. “What’s wrong?” I can’t even imagine what’s going on, can’t even mask the agony in my voice. Is it my sisters?

“It’s Stratson’s estate.” His voice is flat, but slow.

My agony whooshes out of me like the air in my lungs. “What about it?”