Page 98 of Blackheart

“Elora!” a man roared again. A firm hand gripped my shoulder. I had no choice but to spin around and face him, my drenched hair flinging to my face.

My brother stood before me, dark curls dripping and brows narrowed, dressed in Brotherhood black with blades strapped across his body.

I wassotired.

“You’re coming home,” he demanded. “This is enough.” His voice was of someone who’d inherited authority and wielded it as naturally as he breathed.

He made the mistake of believing I gave a shit. “I have no home.”

Red flushed through his cheeks and ears as his eyes sharpened. “We shared a womb. These lands are your birthright as much as mine. Enough of this wallowing. It’s unbecoming of the Lyon’s blood.”

Xavian’s eyes were as dark as mine, which was strange for a Natureless man. Trimmed beard, expensive weapons, a silver chain around his neck—he was put together, even in the rain.

“I don’t know you,” I snapped, as viscous as I could given the effects of the tea. He’d never cared about me before. There was no need to start now.

Pain flickered in his eyes, so quickly I questioned if it’d actually happened. “I know you better than you think. I have lived through the dreams.”

He knew about the dreams?

His voice rose over the storm. “I know you, because I have lived your memories in my sleep. I knew our mother, because I saw her through your eyes. I walked through every home you’ve lived in. Loathed every person you’ve hated. You gave me at least one dream a month as a child, and lately, I don’t even have to be sleeping to see whatever misfortune you’ve sent for me to witness. I’m aware of every flaw you have, and trust me,there are many.But goddamnit, we’ve been offered a kingdom, and you will not force me to watch you suffer in my mind while I rule.”

I backed away.

If what he said was true, then my mind was exposed, and had been for my entire life.

My dreams weren’t dreams at all. They were memories—his memories.

“That’s not possible…”

Thunder rumbled above as lightning struck the ocean.

“Ask me anything, something no one else would know about you. Or better yet, how did you learn how to read?”

“What are you talking about?”

His fists curled in aggravated desperation. “When you and mother lived in that awful baker's cellar, hiding away from his wife, how did you learn how to read?”

I hadn’t thought about that in ages. Mom hadn’t liked the baker much, but he let us stay there for two entire summers before his wife found out. She came at my mother with a knife, and I cried, pleading for mercy.

“I’m not scared of this musty wench,” my mother had said, barreling into the baker's wife and knocking them both to the ground. She threw the knife across the room for me to grab. I was only five winters old and wasn’t supposed to hold knives yet, but I did that day.

“Fate will punish you for this! He is a fair God, and he will seek justice against you!” the wife screamed. My mother grabbed the woman's face and landed a sloppy wet kiss on her mouth.

“Now your God can drag us both to hell,” she laughed wickedly.

“Remember!” Xavian pressed. “How did you learn how to read?”

My eyes fluttered.

Long before we were caught, I grew bored of silently hiding. Mom was allowed to sneak out at certain hours, but I usually stayed in the cellar, rarely even allowed to speak. The baker brought me wooden trinkets every so often, and my mothertaught me to sew, but it made my small fingers hurt, and I pricked myself too often.

There were stacks of books in the cellar, but my mother didn’t know how to read.

I wanted to know what those pages said so badly that when I dreamt at night, I felt like I was sitting in a grand library with a teenage boy in front of me, pointing to letters.

“Go over it one more time, just in case,” my tiny voice would say in the dreams. I knew it differed from my real voice, but in dreams that was okay.

The teenager smiled softly. “Okay champ. The ‘b’ makes the buh-buh-buh sound. So, we can make words like B-E-D. Buh-buh-bed. We could also make, b-a-b-y. Buh-buh-baby.”