Page 40 of Cursed Dreams (Shadow and Dreams #1)

T he morning light streamed through the arched window of the dormitory, soft and golden, making the air feel warmer than it was.

Thalia sat at the edge of her bed, a mug of tea cooling in her hands, untouched.

Her dreamless sleep had done little to clear her mind.

Her thoughts were a swirling tangle, of Caelum, the archives and the stolen book now hidden safely away in her satchel.

She rubbed her thumb absently along the curve of her mug, the rim now lukewarm against her skin.

Outside the window, she watched as the gardens were already buzzing with life, novices hanging laundry, a pair of junior healers practicing their projection spells near the hedges.

Everything looked so… normal, yet nothing felt that way to her anymore.

Something had shifted, all she had ever wanted was to be a healer, to come to Vertrose and prove herself, yet it all seemed so irrelevant now.

Her world was a lie, the fae were not gone, and their Princes fate was somehow inter twined with hers.

The pressure weighed heavy on her. Looking away from the window she suddenly became aware of the way the shadows stretched longer than they should in the corners of rooms, as though the darkness of her thoughts were creeping into the room trying to swallow her.

A bitter chill prickled her skin despite no windows being open.

She shook off the foreboding sensations and dressed quickly, gathering her satchel for the morning's classes. Nyla was still dozing, limbs tangled in her blanket, one arm stretched protectively over the small plush owl she refused to admit she slept with. Thalia smiled faintly, but the weight in her chest didn’t lift.

By the time she slipped out into the hallway, the corridor was busy with other apprentices, chatter bouncing off the stone.

Her footsteps joined the rhythm of the morning shuffle toward the grand atrium.

As she reached the staircase, a shiver trickled down her spine.

She paused. There was no sound behind her.

No footsteps. No movement. Still the hairs on her arms lifted anyway.

You're imagining it, she told herself, she still checked over her shoulder.

Nothing. There was no one there, yet she could not escape the sensation she was being watched.

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of her paranoia, she continued on her way.

By midday, the sun was high, and Thalia sat with Cellen, Nyla, and Marand beneath one of the broad old elms in the south courtyard, a spread of books and notes between them.

“You’re distracted again,” Cellen said, nudging her boot with his. “If you were any more out of it, I’d start charging rent for the space you’re occupying in another plane.”

Thalia blinked, torn from her thoughts. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“Lie,” Nyla said simply, not looking up from her notes. “You yawn when you’re tired. You don’t chew your quill.”

“You’ve all been watching me too closely,” Thalia grumbled, but there was warmth in her voice. She appreciated their attentiveness, even if it stung to be seen so clearly.

“Well,” Marand said, brushing her ink-stained fingers against her robes, “when someone starts haunting the library like a ghost and barely eats, you start to worry.”

Thalia hesitated, her gaze dropping back to the pages in front of her. The silence hung heavy between them all.

Marand tilted her head. “Maybe you just need a break. Even you can’t study your way out of every problem.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cellen said, flipping a page. “My coping strategy is aggressively annotated notes and inappropriate jokes.”

“Which explains your entire personality,” Nyla added dryly.

Cellen grinned. “And yet, I’m irresistible.”

The group erupted with laughter, and Thalia found herself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in days.

The tension coiled in her chest didn’t vanish, but it eased ever so slightly.

The warmth of the sun. The voices of her friends.

The rustle of wind in the leaves overhead.

This was what anchored her, these people, this place, yet here she was, forced to keep them at arm's length.

She longed to tell them what was really going on, enlist their help, but how could she even begin to explain it all.

This was her burden alone, slowly the familiar loneliness she had been so accustomed to most of her life crept back.

Keeping her head down she hoped no one would see the silent tears the rolled down her cheeks.

The scent of poultices and warmed herbs clung to the corridors of the hospital wing. Once Thalia had found it comforting, the sharp clean smells. It had always given her the impression of life, healing and quiet urgency. People were being tended to, soothed, saved. Now she felt numb to it all.

Master Elric stood waiting just inside the ward entrance, his slate-grey robes swept back over one shoulder, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Ah, good,” he said as Thalia, Cellen, Nyla, and Marand approached. “You’re punctual. Let’s see if you can keep your minds equally sharp today.”

They exchanged looks, each nodding. Thalia straightened her satchel over her shoulder and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She knew he meant her, her grades had slipped, more and more she was making mistakes.

“This afternoon, we’ll be observing some of our long-term cases,” Elric said as he led them down the hallway.

“Some of these patients are stable. Others are not. The key here is consistency and observation. Changes are often subtle. We don’t always need a cure—we need time, wisdom, and enough clarity of mind to know the difference. ”

He stopped at the first room, opening the door with a low murmur of permission for them to follow.

The woman inside was lying still beneath thin linens, her skin pallid and faintly glowing with golden specks that pulsed just beneath the surface of her skin.

“Elithen Fever,” Elric explained. “Very rare. Extremely dangerous in its final stage. Miss Veyra here is one of three cases we’ve seen in the last decade.”

Thalia stepped forward, frowning as she studied the faint pulse of light moving beneath the woman’s skin. “Why does the skin glow?”

“A reaction to fae magic,” Marand answered quietly. “Isn’t it?”

“Correct,” Elric said, giving her a brief nod. “This fever consumes the body's connection to magic. In fae, it glows. In humans, it turns their blood dark.”

Cellen grimaced. “That’s… horrifying.”

“It is,” Elric agreed. “And humbling.”

He guided them through the next few patients, each case more complex than the last. A half-fae boy with failing lungs. A human scholar struck speechless by a failed memory-binding spell. A soldier with burns that would not heal, magic tangled too tightly in the scar tissue to allow treatment.

Thalia scribbled notes furiously, her quill scratching against parchment.

Every question Elric posed, she turned over in her mind with clinical clarity—it wasn’t just academic anymore.

These were lives, people who needed her.

As their rounds continued, she began to she alive, too, more than she had in days, as though her focus was finally returning.

A cold prickling sensation crawled along the back of her neck.

She turned slightly, eyes sweeping the hallway through the open door behind them.

No one was there. Nothing out of place, her body tensed, instinct flaring.

There it was again. That feeling of a presence.

Watching. Waiting. Her chest ached again like a cold blade piercing her.

“Master Elric?” Nyla said, drawing her attention back. “What would you do if the swelling continued causing stress on the other organs?”

Thalia forced her eyes forward again. The boy in question, who looked no older than ten, was pale, but alert, watching them all with wide eyes.

“Elvenstem bark,” she said, voice steady. “Crushed and mixed with warm honey. Applied just below the rib cage. It’ll calm the swelling, reduce the strain.”

Elric turned to her raising a single eyebrow.

“Correct,” he said. “And?”

Thalia swallowed. “If the swelling doesn’t subside, direct magic pressure at the base of the lungs. But only if the patient’s fae magic is cooperative.”

He nodded. “Very good. You’re learning.”

Thalia felt warmth bloom in her chest, but it didn’t erase the tingle of unease at the base of her spine.

As they left the room and began walking toward the next wing, Marand touched Thalia’s arm.

“You, okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, then softened at Marand’s worried look. “Really. Just thinking.”

“Thinking a lot lately,” Marand murmured with a small smile.

Thalia managed one in return. She liked Marand, quiet, gentle, observant. The kind of person who didn’t pry but always knew when something wasn’t quite right.

Ahead of them, Cellen was rambling to Nyla about how he accidentally ordered the wrong tincture from the stores and now had a surplus of extremely potent fae infused peppermint oil.

“What exactly do you plan to do with that?” Nyla asked flatly.

“Rub it on Elric’s door handles,” he replied with mock seriousness. “For science.”

Nyla just rolled her eyes, looking back at Thalia with an exasperated look.

Thalia forced herself to chuckled and held on to Marand’s arm desperately trying to appear like she was enjoying herself with them, but the loneliness didn't abate. The four of them wandered into the courtyard where the sunlight had begun to soften into the deep amber of early evening. Cellen lay back arms sprawled behind his head. Nyla sat cross-legged beside him, pulling out her notes from the day’s rounds, while Marand nudged Thalia toward the stone bench beneath the climbing roses.

“I thought we could go over the half-fae lung case again tonight,” Nyla said, tapping the pages. “Elric is definitely going to bring it up in next week’s rotation.”

“And I thought we could take a break from academic death and despair,” Cellen chimed in. “But sure, let’s just crawl back into the library like good little healers.”

“I might skip the library tonight,” Thalia said quietly.

That earned three surprised glances.

“You?” Cellen asked, propping himself up on one elbow. “Skipping a library session? Someone alert the temple guard.”

Marand gave her a gentler look. “Are you feeling, okay?”

“Just… distracted,” Thalia admitted. “There’s something I need to think about. Alone.”

Nyla narrowed her eyes slightly. “Thalia.”

“I promise it’s nothing bad,” she added quickly, forcing a small smile. “I just… thought I might go to the temple tonight. Amara’s. Or maybe one of the others.”

She could feel the weight of their gazes, their concern simmering beneath quiet expressions.

“We’ve just noticed you’ve been a little more… distant,” Marand said carefully. “Especially lately.”

“Since the tavern night,” Cellen added bluntly, then winced. “Sorry. That sounded more tactful in my head.”

Thalia gave him a withering look but didn’t respond.

Nyla gave a soft sigh. “We’re only worried. That’s all.”

There was a brief silence before Cellen cleared his throat. “I, uh… actually saw Vaelith. A few nights ago. In town.”

Thalia’s stomach dipped.

“He was at that corner tavern, Sable’s Rest, I think? Talking to a woman. Incredibly beautiful,” he said, almost cautiously. “Didn’t seem overly interested in being social otherwise, but, yeah. They were alone.”

Marand’s lips thinned. “Typical.”

“Please don’t do this,” Thalia murmured, eyes on her hands. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“But he was a thing,” Nyla said, her voice more gentle than sharp. “And we can see how much it affected you.”

Thalia let the silence stretch, heat creeping along her throat.

She shouldn’t care. She knew that. She had Caelum, his voice, his presence, his name etched into the inside of her chest like a second heartbeat. She was soul bonded to him. A once- in-a-lifetime, eternity-defining magic. There was no room for jealousy, no right to feel anything toward Vaelith.

And yet… the thought of him in a quiet tavern, leaning in close to a beautiful woman, laughing with her the way he sometimes used to smile at her—

Her heart ached.

Foolish. Stop it.

She shook her head quickly and stood, brushing down her robes. “I’m fine. Really. Only tired. I’ll head to the temple and clear my head.”

“Want company?” Marand asked.

Thalia offered a small, grateful smile. “Not tonight.”

Cellen gave her a mock salute from the grass. “If you start levitating from divine inspiration, please send word.”

Nyla glared at him. “Cellen.”

“What? I’m being supportive!”

Marand chuckled and waved her off. “We’ll be here when you want to talk. No pressure.”

Thalia gave them all one last look, heartwarming at their protectiveness, even if they didn’t understand what was really going on and turned away down the gravel path toward the front gates.