Page 55 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

—tears fell from white lashes—arms spread wide—blood dripping beneath the irons—saltwater burned her eyes—

Ravenna plunged through the dark corridor, the walls around her contracting but the hall going on and on.

There was only one way, forward, and she ran as fast as she could, her wings beating her back to give her more speed.

Run, urged her father’s voice, run, my raven.

She ran and ran, yet the door that sat ajar at the end of the corridor never came nearer—

—a throne of white oak, singed at the top—waves churning and battering the rocks below—They are with you, crow. Always—

Throwing herself at the door, Ravenna tumbled through into the cozy parlor of her mother’s cottage. The faint sound of waves crashed in the distance, and gray light eked in through the windows, illuminating Aine where she sat on the deep, cushioned window seat.

“Maman,” Ravenna choked on the word.

—Your father was right—unicorns screamed, their horns tipped in blood—don’t, sprite—there are no dreams in the deep sleep—then why do I see—

Crumpling before her mother, Ravenna’s face was wet with tears when Aine leaned down to gently cup her cheek. Her mother’s smile was sweet but distorted, not quite right, as though Ravenna couldn’t quite remember her exact appearance.

“My love, why have you abandoned us?”

Ravenna’s heart lurched. “I haven’t! Maman, I swear—”

“But you have. Your father and I gave our lives for yours. Will you not avenge us?”

“I will! I promise!”

—but don’t you see, it’s all folly—throwing your life away—ask me as a queen would—saltwater burned her eyes—

Ravenna gasped, forcing herself awake.

The night was quiet and still, a stark juxtaposition to her racing heart. When she shifted her head on the pillow, her hair stuck to her neck with cold sweat.

She blinked through the darkness and haze, her stomach threatening revolt. Fates, her dreams had never bled into visions like that. She couldn’t discern what was imagined and what was real, what was prophecy and what was fear.

Days of that one vision, of her worries over the manacles and their strange pull, had upended her mind’s peace.

They were never far from her thoughts, and although she threw herself into any and all distractions—working with carpenters to design her throne, meeting with the eastern tribesmen to begin negotiations, riding Vallek’s thick cock until her body gave out—they always found her.

Like touching the tip of the tongue to a sore tooth, she couldn’t help it. The dread, although unpleasant, was easy to sink into.

Despite the heat emanating from her sleeping azai at her back, a shiver ran down her spine. The blankets were suddenly too much, the air in the bedchamber too stuffy.

Using her magic, she gently lifted Vallek’s heavy arm just enough to roll out from under its weight. She kept it gently suspended there, not wanting to wake him.

He would ask her what troubled her. He would try to comfort her.

Either might break her then; she couldn’t bear the thought of his gentleness. Not with the phantom of her mother’s voice echoing in her ear.

As she silently slid her arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown, she slowly lowered his arm back to the bed. After a moment to confirm he wouldn’t wake, Ravenna tip-toed from the chamber and down the hall.

There was the den, the baths, but she sought refuge in none of their rooms. Instead, as quietly as she could, she slipped from their quarters entirely, the silent eyes of the night guardsmen following her.

The flagstones were cold beneath her bare feet, but Ravenna hardly cared. Her heart raced, urging her faster. She shivered at the cold night air against her clammy skin, her dampened hair sticking to her back and wing bundles.

By the time she found her way out to the curtain wall, she was almost sure she’d be sick.

Gulping fresh air, Ravenna clung to a stone crenellation, the night breeze biting through her dressing gown. Autumn was coming, a telling chill caught in the breeze, but Ravenna couldn’t bear to go back inside. Not to her sleeping mate, who loved her, who bent a kingdom to his will for her.

Fates, how could she not love him for it? Everything he’d done, everything he was…

Ravenna loved her mate, so deeply it hurt. And that was terrifying.

She wasn’t supposed to love him—not when it made everything far more painful. How could she love him, be his mate, be his queen—when it meant giving up her vengeance? The vision of her mother haunted her, the distorted face a ghoulish reminder of her vow.

Playing at being his queen and mate, she’d let herself stray from what she’d vowed to do. Her parents’ sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain—Amaranthe had to fall.

But that, too, was terrifying. How could she seek her revenge—when it meant giving him up, or worse, endangering him? She couldn’t. To forsake him, their bond, now would be akin to ripping out her own heart.

Vallek would never allow her to march into the faelands to confront Amaranthe alone. He would forbid her from going—or march beside her. Ravenna couldn’t stomach the thought of something happening to him now. His people needed him. She needed him to live.

Under the cold moon, there was no hope, no way forward. How could she walk two paths?

Her mind too full, she wrapped her arms around herself and wandered further out along the rampart.

Maman, maman, her heart cried. You abandoned me first.

Vallek wasn’t sure what awoke him in the middle of the night, only that he lay alone in their bed. His senses roused to alertness within a single blink, and he reached across the bed to feel how her place had almost gone cold.

“Ravenna?” he called softly.

Nothing.

Throwing back the blankets, Vallek went from room to room, calling her name but finding her nowhere. Not even down in the baths.

Unease gathered in the pit of his stomach, and he quickly threw on a loose pair of linen breeches.

Opening the door to his quarters revealed one of the two guardsmen missing. The remaining one bowed her head.

“Where is she?” Vallek asked.

“If you will follow me…”

The guard led him down the stairwell and past several turns before pointing him on to another night watch. One after another, they pointed his way, leading him swiftly out to the ramparts of the curtain wall.

The night wind bit at his exposed chest as he stepped out into the night. Another guard nodded silently before pointing further along the wall. There, her hair streaking behind her like a banner, stood his mate.

His heart ached to see how little she looked against the thick crenellations of the rampart. His beast paced uneasily inside him, sensing something was wrong. She’d never left their bed before.

His unease only grew as he made his way to her. She’d been troubled of late. Assailed by visions that she wouldn’t explain, the manacles especially had upset her. Although she did her best to hide her worries, Vallek wasn’t blind to the dark circles growing beneath her eyes.

He’d thought perhaps it was from all the new burdens placed upon her narrow shoulders.

There was far more to being queen than glittering gowns, and she’d met it all bravely, yet he couldn’t fault anyone for buckling under the strain.

He well remembered his first days upon the throne, how he’d spent sleepless nights crushed by the weight of his decisions.

Guilt tugged at his throat. He’d asked so much of her in so little time.

In just a few days, with just a few words, he’d changed her reality.

Vallek regretted none of it, he would have her beside him, but as he approached her there on the curtain wall, he couldn’t help his worry that she’d been pushed too far.

She had to sense him; he came to a halt only a breath away.

Yet, her eyes remained fixed on the dark horizon, her black hair rippling around her in soft waves.

Her arms were clutched round her torso, but far tighter than just for warmth; it was as though she needed to hold onto herself, to wrap herself up to keep steady.

Vallek considered his words carefully, tossing several platitudes aside. Finally, he settled on asking so, so gently, “Why are you out here, love?”

It took her a while to answer, so long, he wasn’t sure she would.

Eventually, she murmured, “Bad dreams.”

“Visions?” The idea that she’d had a vision worrying enough to send her fleeing out into the cold had dread coiling in his gut.

“Some of them.”

The vague answer came through stiff lips. She was determined to be a mystic it seemed, her attention still far away.

Easing a little closer, Vallek chanced setting his hand to the small of her back. She was cool to the touch, the slippery material of her dressing gown like cold water on his palm.

His beast gnashed its teeth, anxious to comfort her, to make it all better. He didn’t even know what was wrong, but his overwhelming instinct was to fix whatever it was that troubled her so.

If he could crush whatever brought that haunted look to her eye with his fists, eviscerate it with Hormhím, or squash it beneath his boot, he would. However, as with many things about his often enigmatic faeling mate, he feared her troubles weren’t something to be smashed or pummeled or pulverized.

Politics had taught him that problems that could be solved with brute force were far easier to handle. The strength of his arm hadn’t been in question since he was a youngling. Matters of the mind and heart, though—those took far more finesse and fortitude.

He counted himself a decent politician—nothing to Eydis, of course—but as he stood on that curtain wall, a cold wind at his back, Vallek doubted himself.

It wasn’t something he’d had the luxury of doing in years.

Yet in a moment so critical, when he sensed his next steps would be paramount, the ground he stood upon seemed shaky.

There was a brittleness to her, fragile as glass. He feared the wrong words, the wrong move, would cause a break.