Page 7 of Fated or Knot (UnseelieVerse: The Omega Masquerade #1)

7

LARK

I n the darkness of unconsciousness, a thought nudged my mind. “What troubles you, dreamer?”

My feet dropped onto the cobbled road I’d seen from a carriage window. Now, instead of a pixie child trying to sell masks, there was a busker on the street corner, strumming a tune I’d heard played by a full orchestra only hours ago. I twirled on cue and stumbled with no Fal to catch me, tumbling to the ground in an awkward tangle of limbs. My smock burst at the seams, and out tumbled coins, rings, timepieces, and a few jeweled bracelets.

Faceless fae stooped to pick at the bounty of gold and silver while I frantically gathered up what I could and dropped it into the ruined pocket, holding it closed with one hand.

“No! It’s mine!” I grabbed the band of a timepiece, trying to tug it from an equally determined shadow. The leather snapped, and I ended up holding an empty strap.

“Don’t you understand?” My eyes welled as my future was taken by grasping hands. “I need all this.”

“More than the ones who bought it all fairly?” asked a fae weighing a coin purse in her hand.

“More than us, who beg for scraps every night?”

The faceless forms stood when I did, surrounding me on all sides with accusing fingers pointed square at me.

“At least you have a home.”

“At least you will have a pack, no matter what.”

I clutched at my middle, holding my diminished fortune to my chest and smothering the burning sensation in my belly. It felt like my throat was in a vice, closing off my air as I looked for some kind of escape from the wave of accusations coming my way.

“You still have magic.”

“You’re still an omega.”

“A waste of pixie wings.”

“Thief!” the crowd screamed.

I bent, ducking my head to shield my face from the words, each of them blows I felt straight to my center. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I wailed. I knew I deserved all of this and more.

Phantom hands seized my arms, and panic further gripped my chest. My headspace was all shrill noise and overstimulated nerves.

I belted at the top of my lungs, “Stop!”

A whisper threaded under the ringing in my ears. “Hmm, guilt. Interesting.”

Then there was silence. Figures frozen in time, their pointing fingers and clenched fists turning into wavering lines, and then nothing at all. Just a nightmare…something I should have shaken awake from but didn’t. I blinked and it continued on as if nothing had happened. My ill-gotten gains returned to me, and I went through the motions of finding a pawn shop willing to buy everything from me with no questions asked.

The details were hazy at best. I haggled with a faceless fae standing in a misty box, then headed to a magirail station that looked like I suspected one to look. I hadn’t seen one, so it was a fanciful place with a sleek silver snake of a machine waiting to board travelers for a long ride with several destinations along the way.

“Does this train go to Zemosia?” I asked an attendant. That was the furthest sanctuary city from here, on a tiny island all its own. I fancied going there since my stepfamily assumed I was incredibly lazy. They would try to search the closer sanctuaries for me first and maybe give up from there. I would have time to settle and make a life for myself in a city only occupied by betas and omegas.

And I would be a citizen protected by the law if Cymora and Laurel found me and tried to take me back to Osme Fen.

The attendant gave me a long look before gesturing behind him. Out of the train walked three familiar barkfolk, Ellisar and his brothers. They were fae of the wood, growing shingles of bark that they wore instead of clothes. Ellisar, the eldest, had the largest plates, which resembled a tunic that rattled with each of his steps. He took me in with cold, moss-green eyes that matched the vines growing from his scalp and woven in amongst his bark.

“Here she is, as you suspected,” the attendant said, gesturing to me.

I shot him a look of betrayal when Ellisar stepped forward and seized my shoulder. “You thought you could get away from us just like that? We own you, wretch.”

I trembled where I stood, lips poised on a response. The scene froze again, as if my sleeping mind rejected the idea that Pack Ellisar would know to wait for me on the train to Zemosia.

They’re not here. They wouldn’t follow my family to Ilysnor in the first place.

A misty figure wafted around Ellisar, inspecting his grip on my shoulder. “Who are these fae?” it whispered.

I tried to glance at the figure, but it was like looking at a warped mirror. All I saw were shapes and colors that didn’t match what it seemed to be. “Pack Ellisar,” I answered in a humiliated hush. “I had to agree to a breeding contract with them…”

“And so they think they own you.” A scoff of disgust lifted from it before a translucent hand waved.

My dream rearranged, and I blinked, now standing in front of a female attendant. “This is the rail to Zemosia, yes,” she said kindly. “Right this way.”

I shook off the oily feeling of what could’ve occurred here and followed her into a little room set with plush seating and a window overlooking the train station. As soon as I sat down, the seats across from me were suddenly filled by two males and their alluring scents.

“Alphas aren’t allowed to go to Zemosia,” I said guilelessly.

“We’re not going to Zemosia,” Tormund said in his thick accent. He reached over and locked the door of the chamber.

I swallowed thickly as the haze over their faces cleared. A tremor shook me as the scene darkened, deepening the shadows in the room as I quaked with fear. Tormund eyed me like I was his next meal, while Fal sat with his hands laced under his chin. The latter’s naturally mischievous features were well shaped for casual cruelty, and his harsh smirk was exactly what I’d expected from the unmasked Unseelie prince.

They were wearing the same clothes I’d seen them in last, complete with the roughly cut cloak tucked under Tormund’s thighs. What else would they wear?

Tension pulsed thick through the air as I waited with dread for what they would say. Something told me they had worse in store for me than Pack Ellisar. Fate was unkind to tie us together as scent matches when they were princes and I was next to nothing. “You are a disappointment,” Fal finally said, his teasing tone turned cutting. “But you are still ours. We’re taking you to Serian.”

“Even a servant can fulfill her purpose for our pack.” Tormund scented the air and rumbled deep in his chest. “Your heat is soon. Time to do your duty.”

“N-no,” I whispered, as if my wants mattered. As if they’d listen.

Fal chuckled darkly. “Now for the key question. Which of us will breed her first?”

My hands clenched on my thighs, and I lowered in the chair with a whimper of denial. Of course they’d use me for breeding. That was exactly what Pack Ellisar bought my first heat for. To have a soft omega to fuck and impregnate.

The figure of warped air was back, standing beside me. “I can’t watch any more. This is not them at all.”

The two princes and their comments fuzzed into white noise. Shutting my eyes tightly, I willed them away. They weren’t right. Tormund didn’t know enough Theli to make crude comments about my body, and Fal… I was pretty sure I’d dreamed his features incorrectly. These weren’t the males I’d met. At least, I sure hoped this wasn’t a glimpse at their true intentions.

When I opened my eyes, I was standing before the nice attendant again. “It goes to all places, dear. Zemosia included,” she said.

Here we go again. I glanced around sluggishly, palms sweating as she led me onto the train once more. What other horrors could she possibly seat me with? My stepfamily?

But she showed me to a seat straight from my favorite childhood restaurant, with the window to the outside world now overlooking a worn wooden table. Upon it was a feast of my favorite foods from there: roast boar, herb-stuffed mushrooms, cheesy potatoes, and apple tartlets decorated with thin slices of apple folded into a rose shape on the top.

“We’re prepared for a long trip. Enjoy, and once evening comes, we have special beds prepared for our omega guests,” the attendant said in a sweet voice.

She disappeared the next moment, and I dug into the food without a second thought for her. It tasted just how I remembered, and I settled into my chair with a soft sigh as the memories sharpened every detail. The scratchiness along my back was the aging stitching on the chair, poorly repaired, if at all, with its innards poking out.

It smelled a bit like Osme Fen—the row of shops and restaurants that served the locals had a particular odor from the animals kept at the local farmsteads. Even the estate sometimes received a rank wind that smelled just like this. But that was just home. And though I could lie to myself, I wouldn’t. I missed home. Especially how it used to be, when Father would take me to dine here, just him and I.

I have to leave this behind. Forever.

If I escaped to Zemosia, I would never see my stepfamily again, or Pack Ellisar. But I would never see everyone else, too. All the common fae who had become my friends when I became a house servant. Even the sharp-tongued ones who always told me their opinions on the state of the country and its politics. I’d never visit this restaurant again. I had not acknowledged the loss that would be, to venture into the unknown alone. I’d only wanted to flee the bad instead of saying goodbye to the good.

I can do that. Life in Osme Fen would move on without me. I’d make new friends in a sanctuary city free of alphas. My heat, once I finally stopped suppressing it, would make me cry out for an alpha, any alpha, to alleviate the pain, but there had to be a way of easing it that didn’t require their knots. Surely the omegas that already lived in the sanctuary city could teach me how to ride out my body’s urges.

There was a sudden jolt underneath me. The platform outside was slowly moving to one side as the train lurched into motion. I watched Ilysnor tug by as the train picked up speed along the magirail, gliding along on essence-infused metal. These trains could go really fast, I’d heard, and with that thought, the scenery blurred further.

I turned to look at the seat across from me, some instinct raising the hair on the back of my neck. Someone now sat there. A fae far more solid and real than the other people I’d dreamed up, who smelled of… well, I didn’t recognize his scent, but it was pleasant. And—thankfully—he was a stranger. I still braced for what might come next.

His nostrils were flared from scenting me back. A flicker of shock passed over his face, there and gone without lingering. He picked up an apple tartlet and took a testing nibble. “Oh, these are quite good,” he murmured.

I looked out the window again, but there was nothing to see anymore, just a blur of colors streaking by outside. When I settled to eat a bit more of my meal, the male across from me now had a basket full of apple tartlets, but they were small, and he popped them into his mouth with casual flicks of his wrist. Somehow, they landed in his mouth each time.

“Excuse me,” I said after watching him go for a minute or so. “Who are you?”

He startled, looking up at me. At least, I think he did, since he had no pupils. The orbs of his eyes were full of the starry night sky and threaded with a gleam of violet where light reflected off them. I stared, fascinated by him.

“You can see me?” he asked. Something about his voice seemed familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. His tone was calm and smooth, making me feel more relaxed.

“Yes,” I said.

The cloak behind him stirred and shifted. Actually, those were wings , marking him as an Unseelie of some kind, but that was a detail my sleeping mind slid right off of. Instead, I noticed that he had bold features, and his pointed ears stuck out on either side of his face as if he were part bat. His clothes were a confusing blur, something dark gray that offset the light purple tones of his skin well.

He had white hair like me, though his was cut short and shot through with starry pinpricks. I practically itched to touch his head and see if his hair was as velvety as it looked.

“Well, this is unusual,” he said in a musing tone. “But you’ll forget me when you wake, as I have ensured you won’t remember your worries. No guilt, no fear of Pack Ellisar, and certainly nothing about the versions of Fal and Tormund your dreaming mind assembled.” He shuddered and shook his head. “I’m nearly afraid to ask what other things trouble you.”

“Then don’t,” I said quickly, then realized myself and softened my voice. “I mean, this is nice.” I gestured to our surroundings.

“I wanted your dream to provide you with something better for the rest of the night. I hate when my questions draw forth a full nightmare from others,” he explained. I nodded along, as if having someone guiding the path of my dreams was perfectly reasonable.

“But…who are you?” I repeated.

He tilted his head back and forth. “A dreamer, just like you,” he answered. “A student of Ever and Always, and sometimes Never when it calls to me.”

I cracked a little smile. What a silly answer. “That doesn’t make sense,” I giggled.

He smiled back with two rows of flat teeth. A beta. My mind relaxed some, thinking we were heading to Zemosia after all. “Many things don’t make sense in dreams. When we all carry our own yearning, guilt, and lives into one vast space, strange things are bound to happen.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Hmm. What is your favorite fabric?” he asked. I set my lips at an angle, confused by the question. “Like, for your nest?”

I worried he would realize I was barely allowed to have a nest in the waking world as I struggled to answer the question. Few omegas struggled to name their favorite soft thing. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. What was Laurel’s pixie dress made of?

“Lavir spidersilk,” I blurted once I remembered.

He looked at me with something like concern and, for a moment, seemed a lot like Fal in the set of his features. But then he gestured, and the seat behind me became plush and coated with a layer of buttery soft silk. I settled back against it, wishing I could rip the cloth free and nest with it in my waking life.

“See? Your dream can be molded by your desires,” he said.

I supposed so. Having expensive spidersilk suddenly appear could be considered a strange thing, but I wasn’t going to complain. “Can you make me a blanket, too?” I asked shyly.

“More spidersilk? Expensive taste.”

I thought he might be teasing. “No, just something soft and warm. Something for comfort,” I murmured.

The next thing I knew, I had a blanket folded in my lap. It was softer than fur and as thick as I imagined clouds were, practically a pillow that I spread and burrowed into until it was fully wrapped around me. I sank my fingers into it, petting the material, and purred. I was growing so desperate for positive touch and soft materials that even the slightest comfort roused my omega instincts, even in my dreams.

The stranger watched me, his expression softening. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured.

I wanted to give him something in return for this. “My name is Lark.”

He nodded, unsurprised. “What kind of lark were you named for?” he asked.

What an odd question. “I don’t know. I don’t think I was named after a specific type,” I said.

“No shame in that. I am rather partial to the”—he said a word I didn’t quite catch—“that fly through the dreamlands. Maybe I’ll show you one day,” he suggested.

“Implying I will see you again.” I drew my new blanket tighter around me, already knowing I wanted to meet the star-eyed stranger in another dream.

He flashed a surprisingly tender smile. “I don’t think that will be much of an issue. But our time together tonight draws short. Tell me something before you wake. Why do you want to go to Zemosia? What is waiting there for you?”

It was just a dream, there was nothing stopping me from revealing things I’d left unsaid for so long. “Freedom. It’s a place I could go, free of everyone who wants a piece of me. I can open a shop or just find some other job for myself. And only betas and omegas live there, so I don’t have to worry about being forced into a pack or made to do…other things against my will.”

His growl was soft and unpracticed. “You won’t be forced into a pack, ever,” he said firmly.

“The ink is dry.” I ducked my head, staring at my lap out of old habit. “Running is my only option.”

“No, Lark.” He knelt beside my seat, taking my hands in his. He’d moved to this spot abruptly, bending some kind of dream logic. “You can trust your new pack to free you of anything that would get between you and us.”

I released a sad laugh, trying to tug my fingers free. “What new pack?” I asked in despair. Reality leaked in, softening the edges of the dream. I was waking up to the day after I’d stolen from a scent match and fled. There was no pack to turn to, only a disaster to continue running from.

The stranger shook his head. “Promise me you’ll hear out Fal and Tormund tomorrow. Let us take you to Serian, li’l omega.”

The last of his plea was an echo of a memory as I jerked awake with a gasp. The sun was higher in the sky than I would’ve expected, casting full bars of light over my face as I lay there in my makeshift nest, heart thumping hard in my chest.

What a wild dream…

“Let us take you to Serian, li’l omega.”

The accented voice lingered in my mind. A noble Unseelie asked before he whisked a pixie away to his homeland, I guessed.

What else had happened in the dream? My brow crinkled as I struggled to remember anything else past a feeling of incredible softness against my palms.