Page 17

17

Afraid of the Dark

Anya

I n my dreams, real memories turned into strange, altered visions. Wagons stained with blood and gore. Wood cracking and pained screaming and the bone-chilling whine of the monster. Red eyes narrowing on me. Maw dripping crimson. A male voice— Idris’s voice—coming from the grotesque creature’s thin lips to utter the words of my cellmate: “You have quite the mouth on you, don’t you, love?” A snarl. “What else can it do?”

A shout tore loose from my throat, and I shoved off the ground, clutching at the firm body that hovered over me. My fingers curled against the open neckline of his shirt, my knuckles grazing warm skin. In my lingering terror, I buried my nose in the hollow of his throat, nuzzling close, seeking safety. A huge arm banded around my back, tugging me consolingly nearer. When I melted against him, his breath hitched.

“Anya.” Idris’s voice was all gravel, hot against my neck.

Idris .

Fuck .

I pushed against the hard chest I’d just been clinging to and scrambled backward on the ground, horrified that I’d just sought comfort in the arms of him . “Get away from me,” I choked out, but it was the nightmare still crowding my vision that made my wrists tremble. Wild-eyed, I searched the forest behind Idris, half expecting a monster to leap out of the darkness.

Idris reached out again, gripping my upper arms so hard I thought they might bruise. Those blue-green eyes were wide in the moonlight. “Anya, you’re fine. You were having a nightmare,” he said, shaking me a little, returning me fully to reality. “Deep breaths.”

Sweating, panicking, I panted through my teeth, puffs of hot air curling into the cool night air. Having my killer this close wasn’t helping me calm down. “Let go ,” I demanded, wrenching myself free.

He released me, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he said. “Alright. Just breathe .”

Fingers gripping the dirt at my sides, I forced a shaky inhale, then exhaled.

“Good,” Idris said. “Keep going.”

I breathed again, compelling my lungs to move slowly, even as my heart thundered in my ears. Gradually, as the panic subsided, I began to take in my surroundings again. The rumpled blankets of my bedroll. The ashen circle of our spent campfire. Briar tied to a nearby tree, ears swiveled toward us. And Idris, kneeling before me, his shirt askew on his shoulders but his features calm.

My hands relaxed, palms flattening on the ground.

It was just a nightmare.

I slumped, covered my face with my filthy hands, then began sobbing. Chest-quaking, uncontrollable sobs. Through the pitiful sounds I made, I heard the scuff of boots, Idris shifting his weight.

“I’m not going to touch you,” he said. “I just want to…reassure you.” His tone was wry.

“I thought reassuring me”—my chest convulsed—“wasn’t your job.”

“Yeah, well. You’re keeping me up.”

I lowered my hands. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep with my terror.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

I glowered at him.

“There are no threats nearby, just so you know,” Idris said. “Listen for yourself if you don’t believe me.” He rose and wandered back to his side of the fire circle, where he laid on his back.

I wanted to debate him, to point out that—according to Fate— he was my greatest threat. But then my gaze fell to the jut of his collarbones in his supine position, the tattoo at the base of his throat. I’d pressed my nose there just moments ago; he’d smelled like smoke and pine and the heady salt of sweat.

Last night, fearing his presence, I’d slept with a knife; tonight, I’d reached for him and had been soothed. Get it together, Anya .

I pulled myself off the ground, straightened my blankets, and slipped beneath their warmth again. A shaky sigh slipped out of my lips. I had no idea how I was supposed to sleep in the wilderness after what I’d witnessed.

“You can talk,” Idris said, “if that helps.”

“Not sure it would.”

“Why not? You seem to like the sound of your own voice.”

Annoyance flared in my sternum. “I like conversation ,” I argued. “ Mutual conversation.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“By insulting me?”

“By distracting you.”

I ground my teeth, irritated that his strategy had worked. “Maybe I’m not used to accepting help.”

“From strange knights?”

“From anyone.” I didn’t like to feel indebted. Help always came with strings attached—my mother had taught me that—and Idris and my strings were already tangled enough. “I don’t like to be a burden.”

“It sounds like you don’t like to be vulnerable.”

I pressed my lips together, fighting a growl. “Contrary to the evidence of this quest of ours,” I said, “I am not a helpless damsel.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Idris replied. “We have a mutual interest in traveling to Fenrir. I have wilderness skills. It’s only fair that I share those skills as we travel together. That’s not a burden, that’s just the facts of the matter.”

“Are you always so practical?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

A pause spread between us, in which the sounds of night encroached: the squeak of bats, the creak of swaying trees, the rustle of a raccoon in the distant underbrush. My mind pulled toward darker images, imagining the mundane sounds as belonging to scarier beings. My heart kicked up, and I forced more deep breaths, riding the wave of fear as it rolled through me and subsided.

“I’m sure once we make it to the next settlement, your skills will take center stage,” Idris said, drawing my attention once again. There was a note of teasing in his resonant voice.

“What exactly do you think I’m skilled at?” I asked dubiously.

“Making connections.” He wasn’t goading me this time—he was serious.

And he was right . I thought of Waldron and all my many beloved connections, relationships with friends and neighbors that I had worked hard to foster. But while I loved them deeply, genuinely, there was also a desperate fear in me that drove my craving for close bonds.

My mother had taught me the importance of connections. Her parents had cast her out for being an unmarried, pregnant burden, and yet Waldron had taken her in. After how the town had rallied around her before I was born, we were both indebted to Waldron’s generosity, and had done all we could to show our gratitude over the years. We’d pulled all-nighters with the farmers during lambing season, helped repair the rotted-out boards of Waldron’s fishing docks, dredged flooded wheat fields, and my mother had even filled in at the school when Whitney, the head teacher, had her baby.

It made us feel important to be at the center of the town’s happenings, to pitch in.

Then my mother died, and my honorary grandmother, Aldah—the Possum’s original owner, who’d taken my mother in when she came to Waldron—became my caretaker. Just as with serving my many neighbors, the purposefulness of helping Aldah run the Possum became yet another a buoy in my sea of grief. Even when the waves of my deepest sorrow calmed, that sense of purpose had remained.

When Aldah joined the Fates two winters ago, the town had rallied around me once again, further indebting me to their kindness. The philosophy of service that my mother had instilled in my childhood became my guiding light in adulthood. A reminder of her memory; a continuance of her gratitude; proof of my love for Waldron.

“Connection isn’t a skill,” I said, “it’s an act of survival.”

Idris snorted. “So is starting campfires, hunting, and everything else I do.”

I touched the pendant at my chest, my mind lingering in Waldron. I’d used my folded cloak as a pillow, and my mother’s heart-shaped pin was a cool imprint against my cheek. Precious items, made even more precious by distance.

“Want to try sleeping again?” Idris asked, misreading my pensiveness.

“I’m not sure I can, after what I saw,” I said. “Every time I close my eyes…” I shivered.

“Have you always been afraid of the dark?”

“No, never,” I said, nestling deeper beneath my blankets and staring up at the vast spray of stars overhead. “In fact, I love the night. Especially at this time of year.”

Idris folded his hands behind his head. “Tell me more.”

I knew what he was doing—still distracting me from my nightmare—but I welcomed the respite, now. “For starters, my birthday falls on Astrophel.”

“Two months away,” Idris noted.

“I’ll be thirty.”

He offered a low rumble of acknowledgement. “That explains some things.”

I chose to ignore the topic of my fixed Fate, and was grateful when Idris did, too.

“Naturally, Astrophel is my favorite holiday,” I went on, smiling as I allowed myself to get swept away by happier topics. “It’s also Waldron’s most cherished festival. We celebrate for an entire week, night after night of merriment and togetherness. There’s a craft market and apprenticeship fair, lantern-lit boat rides on the river, and nightly bonfire dances, plus a myriad of foods only made for the occasion—special herbed chèvre and sausage rolls, snowflake candies, and spiced fermented cider—all culminating in an all-night party to celebrate the longest night of the year.”

Idris was quiet for a beat, and I half expected him to call the festival silly and quaint, as Remy had, but when he spoke again, his tone was reverent. “That sounds wonderful, Anya.”

“It really is.”

When I was a girl, my mother had worked her way up to become one of the lead organizers of the festival—yet another act of service to the town. Some of my fondest childhood memories were of braiding rosemary into my hair and dancing with my friends around the fires; kissing my first love, Peregrine, behind one of the craft tents, the taste of cloves on his lips; and following my mother as she darted between tents, checking on each vendor, knowing everyone by name.

In adulthood, I found myself drawn to the sense of importance that came with being a part of the orchestration of good cheer. I still had all the ornaments my mother and I had selected from the craft tents, baubles we hung on our bed frames as tokens offered to the Fates, in hopes they might answer our dreams for the coming year.

“My mother used to claim I was given the gift of hearing because of the music during Astrophel,” I told Idris. “Apparently, I heard the drums from the womb and began kicking wildly. She said I came early because I wanted to hear the music for myself.”

“I believe it,” Idris said.

I glanced over at his profile. “Have you ever been to a proper Astrophel celebration?”

“No,” he said. “I grew up in Fenrir City. Astrophel isn’t as big a deal there as in the townships.”

“I’ve never been to the capital, but somehow I still can’t picture you in a city.”

He laughed. “City life never suited me.”

That seemed like an understatement.

“Well, if you end up not murdering me, you ought to attend Astrophel in Waldron,” I said proudly. “Nothing beats a small-town festival.”

Seconds passed, and it dawned on me that I’d just invited him to my hometown. Idris . Drowner. Veritable stranger. Knight of a secret Order. I really needed to get some sleep—get my head right. Cringing, I waited for Idris to rebuke the ridiculous idea.

But then he lowered his hands from behind his head and regarded me across the dark expanse between us. “Careful, Anya. I might just take you up on that.”