Page 35 of A Voice of Silver and Blood (Crown of Echoed Dreams #1)

brEAK THE CIRCLE

FAELAN

S he folds like her strings are cut.

I barely catch her before she hits the ground. The last words of Corvin’s warning ring in my ears. One moment she’s defiant, trembling in the aftershock of power; the next she’s dropping.

“Skye?”

No response. Her body sags into mine, breath shallow. Her skin is cold. Not fading. Not breaking. Just… distant, like she’s behind glass and slipping further with every heartbeat.

“Skye—look at me.” I shake her gently. Nothing.

The silence in the alley isn’t silence at all. It’s full of things I can’t fight. The Queen’s shadow. The weight of Skye’s power. The truth I’ve known all along. She’s too bright for this world. And she’s burning herself out.

Corvin vanishes like mist. The city groans. Somewhere distant sirens howl. I gather her into my arms.

Hold on, I beg silently. Just hold on. The sanctuary is too far, but I don’t have a choice. No other place to protect her. To care for her. I run.

Time fractures. I don’t remember the streets, only the motion. My feet strike pavement that ripples with Dream light. Lights flicker above, as if unsure they exist. Her breath flutters against my chest.

By the time I reach the threshold of the hidden Freehold, the Dream is stirring.

Ancient wards open with soft sighs. I push through a veil of ivy and memory and kneel, setting her carefully on the soft moss floor. The light here is gentler—warmed gold instead of the eclipse’s blood—but it doesn’t reach her. Not really.

“Come on,” I whisper, brushing her hair from her face. “Come back.”

I press my palm to her mark, and the silence echoes in my bones.

I'm searching for the vibrant hum, the familiar flicker of her wild spirit.

Instead, there is only a vast, cold emptiness.

My mind flashes to another time, another face.

Elira. Her eyes were just as vacant in her final moments.

I remember the helplessness, the way I had held her hand, begging her to fight, to live, all while knowing in my heart that she had already given up .

I see Skye now, so impossibly similar, and the fear I buried a lifetime ago rises fresh and sharp.

I'm not just afraid of losing her; I’m terrified of my own failure.

Of a past I never truly escaped. Of the choice I made then—to save myself rather than to save her.

I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to break the circle this time.

I whisper old words. My mother’s tongue. Words meant to wake the sleeping, to guide lost spirits. Nothing works.

And then, I feel it. Him. Anger surges, needing a target.

“I felt it too,” Corvin says behind me, stepping from the veil like he owns it. “When she sang. She’s deeper in the Dream than I’ve ever felt a mortal go.”

I rise fast. Too fast. My blade is at his throat in an instant.

“You followed us.”

“I tracked her.” His eyes flick to her body. “She called to me, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t.”

“You’ll like losing her even less.”

I clench my jaw so hard it aches. But he’s right. And gods, I hate him for it.

“She’s not dead,” I say.

“No,” he agrees. “But she’s not here either. The Dream has her now.”

“What do we do?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “We go in after her.”

I stare. “You want to walk into her Dream? ”

“I’ve already touched it. So have you. She’s somewhere else now—between. If we don’t anchor her soon, she won’t come back.”

I look down at her still form, her lips parted like she’s mid-breath. Her mark glows faintly, pulsing in time with something deeper than a heartbeat.

I hate this.

I hate him.

But I love her more than either.

“Together,” I say.

Corvin nods. “Together.”

We kneel on either side of her, our hands hovering over her mark. Gold light flares. Shadows twist. For a single heartbeat, I feel her. Distant. Cold. Fractured.

“Damn it, this won’t work here,” I mutter.

Corvin looks at me, knowing what I’m thinking. My muscles are so tense it makes my head hurt, but there is no choice. I must save her. Without a word, I pull her into my arms and carry her through the tunnels.

Skye doesn’t stir. Her head rests against my shoulder, her breath shallow, as if the air itself is turning against her. The rawness of her magic clings to her skin like ash—fragile, burned out. Her mark flickers like a dying ember.

“She burned too bright,” I mutter.

Corvin walks beside me, too quiet, too calm. His boots don’t echo, but his presence does—like the memory of a song I hate. He doesn’t look at her. Not directly .

“She always was fire waiting for something to ignite her,” he says, his voice low. “You just didn’t want to be the spark.”

I don’t answer. There’s no point.

We reach the innermost chamber—an ancient ritual space buried deep in the bones of the sanctuary.

Dream light spills across the floor in thin, broken lines, pulsing faintly from the stone itself.

The altar is a slab of petrified wood and bone-flecked marble, carved in a forgotten age when names had weight and magic had memory.

I lay her down as gently as I can.

The moment I let go, her mark pulses once—then dims. My chest tightens.

“Why isn’t she waking?” I ask. My voice comes out harsh. I’m not used to this kind of helplessness.

Corvin finally looks at her. Something flickers behind his eyes. Not pity. Not regret. Something older.

“She’s gone too deep,” he says. “She didn’t just give to the Dream. She let it take her.”

I clench my fists. “Then we have to pull her back.”

Corvin tilts his head. “You don’t sound confident. Like you haven’t done this before.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then let me.”

I bristle. “You think I’d let you go in there alone?”

“Faelan,” he says softly, “I’ve done this before. Dozens of times. You haven’t. ”

“And whose fault is that?” I snap. “You’re the one who pushed her to let go, laying a claim on her brother so you could have a tie to her.”

He laughs once—quiet and bitter.

“You think I did anything she didn’t already know? She’s becoming what she was always meant to be. You’re the one who keeps trying to fit her into a cage.”

I step toward him. “And you want to chain her with a crown.”

“Better a crown than a coffin.”

The silence between us stretches long enough to remember. The war. The blood. The woman we both failed.

Elira. My first love. The one I gave up my crown for, and the one he betrayed the Queen trying to save.

Corvin turns away first, stepping toward the altar. He touches the stone beside her and closes his eyes.

“She was like this once,” he says quietly. “After the betrayal. After you left her.”

My voice is a rasp. “Don’t.”

“She begged for your help, and you turned away. You said love wasn’t enough.”

“I was trying to save her.”

“You were trying to save yourself.”

The words cut deeper than they should. Because part of me knows they’re true.

“She died,” he finishes. “Alone.”

I stare down at Skye, so still. So small .

“I won’t let it happen again.”

Corvin sighs, the fight draining out of him.

“I promised her,” he says softly. “Promised to watch over the next one. Protect her.”

He’s never said the words out loud, but I knew. Could feel the binding and decipher his words. None of which lessens my anger at him.

“You’ve done a bang-up job of it,” I say, watching the words cut as sharp as any blade.

He frowns deeply, eyes flashing red, anger surging, but it dies before it can bloom into a fire.

“Then we need to work together.”

Reluctantly, I nod. We move in sync—old instincts rising like ghosts. We draw the circle. Blood and salt. Song and silver. This was once second nature to us. Before everything broke.

Before we broke.

“You anchor,” Corvin says, unwrapping a thin cord of dream glass. “But if you waver?—”

“I won’t.”

“She’s deeper than you think,” he says.

“I’ll find her.”

He gives me a long, searching look. “You really love her, don’t you?”

“I didn’t think I could,” I admit.

“And now?”

“Now I’ll burn for her. ”

Corvin nods once. “Then hold on.”

He presses the dream glass to my chest. The magic jolts through me like lightning and ice. I reach for her—not with hands, but with memory, with music, with everything I am.

Her name leaves my lips like prayer and promise.

Skye.

The world shifts. The veil thins. The Dream opens. And I fall into the dark, hoping I’m not too late.

The Dream takes me like a riptide.

I land hard in a world that shouldn’t exist—a splintered reflection of Skye’s mind.

The sky is broken glass. The ground, a collage of memory and grief.

Her apartment, Milo’s laugh, the Scout statue—fractured pieces floating like islands in a sea of black water.

Music hums in the air, distorted and slow, like a lullaby forgotten halfway through.

“She’s in here somewhere,” Corvin murmurs behind me. He’s already moving, his coat fluttering like smoke. “But she’s buried.”

I take a step. The floor doesn’t just crack; it shatters beneath me, dissolving into shards of familiar memories.

I see glimpses of her childhood home, the worn kitchen table, the chipped mug—all twisted and broken, reflecting her pain.

The ground reforms into a hospital hallway—dimly lit and infinite.

I know this isn’t mine. It’s hers. Her pain. Her fear. The air itself feels heavy, pressing in, as if the Dream is actively trying to keep us out, to protect its broken inhabitant.

We follow the sound of a child crying.

Milo .

He flickers into view, small and still, sitting alone in the corner of a collapsing memory. His face is smeared with blood. His hoodie is the same—but wrong. Hollowed. Dream struck.

“Skye!” I call out, voice echoing unnaturally. “Where are you?”

No answer. Only whispers.

“She’s just like your mother, Milo… she’s leaving you.”

“You failed her, Faelan. Again.”

“She’s already one of us. She chose us.”

The Queen’s voice, soft as silk, slides through the cracks in the world. I grit my teeth and push forward. Corvin walks beside me, quiet. His eyes scan the dream space, unreadable.

“You’ll lose yourself if you go too far,” he warns. “This place feeds on fear.”

“I’m not leaving without her.”

He stops suddenly.

We’re standing in front of a mirror—towering, cracked down the center. And behind the mirror, trapped like a reflection that can’t break free, is Skye.

She’s on her knees, holding herself. Her mark is dim. Her hair falls in tangled waves. Her eyes… gods, her eyes are empty.

“Skye,” I breathe.

She doesn’t look at me.

“You’re not real,” she whispers. “He’s not real. Nothing is.”

“You know me,” I say. “You feel me. Skye, I’m real. ”

“I can’t trust anything anymore. Everything’s twisted. Everyone wants something. Even you.”

Each word is a blade in my chest. Corvin steps beside me, gaze locked on her.

“She’s fading,” he says. “You want her back—it’ll take more than words.”

I already know.

The bond between us pulls, strains. I feel the thread of it fraying. She’s slipping—further into the Dream, further from herself. If I wait any longer, I’ll lose her.

And I can’t.

I look at her one more time—this broken, beautiful girl who never asked for any of this, who only wanted to save her brother and ended up holding the world together with bleeding hands. Then I reach inside myself—not for magic, but for memory. For hope.

For her.

Corvin watches, silent, as I rip it free.

A piece of me. My soul. The act is a tearing, a brutal, searing pain that lances through my core, leaving an echoing emptiness.

It's raw, brilliant Dream light—cut from the very core of who I am. It burns in my palm, singing with pain and purpose, a part of me I can never reclaim. I press it against the glass, the cold surface a sharp contrast to the fire in my hand.

“Skye,” I whisper, and I know she won’t remember what I say—not truly, not yet. But the Dream will carry it to her, anyway. “You were never meant to be saved. You were meant to save us. I choose you. Now and always. ”

The light sinks through the mirror.

It cracks.

Skye gasps.

And the Dream shatters.

I collapse to my knees in the sanctuary chamber, the stone ice cold beneath me.

For a single, precious breath, there is only the overwhelming, dizzying relief. She’s here. She’s breathing. I force my eyes open, my vision swimming, and she’s there.

Skye is awake—gasping, light blazing beneath her skin, her mark alive again with gold and violet fire. Nothing else matters. The pain, the exhaustion, the gaping void in my chest—it all fades before the sight of her, alive, whole.

“Faelan—” she croaks, reaching toward me, half-risen.

I catch her fingers in mine, her touch a lifeline. But then everything inside me buckles. The world tilts, spins, and I fall, my vision dimming, the sanctuary fading to a blur. I hear Corvin’s voice somewhere beyond the fog, sharp and clear.

“You’ve only delayed the inevitable.”

I don’t look at him. I look at her. Sleeping now. Peacefully. Breathing.

“Then I’ll keep delaying it,” I whisper, barely able to speak. “As long as it takes.”