Page 10 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

NIGHTMARES ARE DREAMS

I snap awake, jolting forward off Daeja with a speed that makes me almost dizzy. The river in front of us is the first thing I see when I open my eyes, the moonlight glittering off the surface in scattered waves. Its soft, lazy lull is far from comforting.

Instead, it’s a quiet reminder.

I lean forward and rest my forehead against my bent knees, wrapping my arms around my legs. My shoulders quake as I’m consumed by heartache all over again, the memories racing inside my mind at a blinding speed.

Hold on …

Daeja stirs and bumps her nose into my side, her exhalations warming me. “I’m here.”

I unfurl slowly and lean my head against her, my breath a rapid drum.

Staring at the water blankly, my tears slow as numbness spreads throughout my chest. No matter how much time passes, and no matter how hard I try, the last memory of my brother still crushes me.

Every time the memory resurfaces, I’m caught on the what ifs .

What if I’d stopped running like he asked?

What if the grass wasn’t slick and the river’s currents were peaceful?

What if I had been strong enough to pull him out?

The fruitless possibilities swarm me, as they always do, even when I bat them away.

Daeja nuzzles into me. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it felt like my fault then. And it still feels like my fault ? —”

“Stop. If you keep beating yourself up about it, you’ll never be able to move on.”

“How can I move on? I don’t know how. And what if…what if I don’t want to move on?”

“Just because you move on, doesn’t mean you don’t love him. It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

I glance up at her and scratch under her chin, murmuring aloud, “How did you become so insightful?”

She blows a breath of hot steam in my face, the air brushing all the strands back from my face. “Become? You wound me so. Haven’t I always been?”

The laugh in my chest breaks up the vice grip around my heart, shaking away the pain as a landslide sheds stone from a cliffside. “Thank you.”

Her pleased rumble reverberates in her black scales underneath my palm.

My gaze lowers from my fingers to the bracelet Melaina gave me.

The one she received from Celeste. I lock in on the words carved into the thin metal band and, though they are too small to see without holding it a few inches from my face, the words shine in my mind.

You can go through it or grow through it.

Daeja interrupts my distant staring by nudging between my head and neck. “Go back with the others. I imagine sleeping on a nice, plush bed is much more comfortable than the ground.”

“Is this your subtle way of asking for a mattress?”

“No…” Her pupils narrow to slits, and she glances at me sideways. “ …maybe.”

I can’t help but snort as I pat her head. “ I’ll see what I can do.”

She nudges me up off the ground and to my feet, then bumps her nose into my lower back. “And don’t come back until you do.”

I recognize her hidden intention as easily as noticing what color the grass is.

Her discomfort is fake. She knows it’ll be the prompt I need to leave her out here.

Snorting, I playfully pull down one of the small horns on the side of her head in mock scolding.

Her pupils dilate to circles, and she shoots her tongue out at me, the tip flicking my cheek before I squeal and backstep out of reach.

No matter what kind of emotional turmoil I’m in, she always manages to pull me out.

Gods, even if the prophecy is right and having bonded her means it falls on the two of us to save this realm, I’m so grateful to be hers.

My gratitude and attachment to her far outweighs any heavy responsibility for the rest of the world.

I find a certain level of peace in the fact that our bond means our lives are intertwined, eliminating the fear of living a life without her.

As I walk back to Midkeep, I think of everyone I’ve met along the way. Their faces flashing through my mind with each step. Everyone who is still alive, at least.

Cole. Archie. Marge. Melaina. Gavin. Nolan. Darian. And now…Sethan, Tawny, and all the people I haven’t yet met in the Dragon Lands. The townspeople who passed me by as I walked the streets of Midkeep.

How, if I deny or refuse to stop the King—they all might die.

All their blood will be on my hands. No matter if I love them or hate them, it’s blood all the same.

I can hardly stomach and process my brother’s death all those years ago.

If the death toll ticks up to hundreds, thousands of people?

I might be the one who can make a difference—can I really live with myself if I refuse?

The buildings of Midkeep come into view through the treeline, and I slink through the shadows, pausing as I wait for one patrol to disappear into the town.

I get halfway through Midkeep before I’m caught.

Once the guards recognize who I am and confirm I’m alone, they lower their weapons and escort me back to the healer’s quadrant.

I must have a lot more pull than I’m aware of if me sneaking about this late at night only garners me chaperones.

Though, I don’t doubt Sethan will hear of it.

Not looking forward to that conversation.

“Where have you been?” a voice hisses as I close the healer’s quadrant’s door.

I about jump out of my skin and whirl to the voice. I realize who it is and slowly close my gaped mouth. “Sorry? Did I need to check in with you on where I go?”

“You look dreadful,” Marge states. She’s in a nightgown, standing near the edge of her bed while the rest of the squad slumber peacefully in the background.

I laugh quietly, dripping with sarcasm. “Thanks.”

But the laugh is a hair too loud. Archie stirs in his bed, lifting his head off the pillow with his eyes still closed and hair strewn about like a hawk’s nest. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles in a daze, then flops back over to his other side, slipping back into sleep.

Marge drags her gaze back to me the same time I do her, then whispers, “I don’t mean to be curt…I’m just…I’m worried about you, Katerina.”

I unlace one boot, remove it, and slide it near the bedpost. “Nothing to worry about. I just haven’t slept much. That’s all.”

She scans me head to toe. “Have you been dreaming?”

What an odd-ass question. I balance on my bare foot, swaying around as I try to remove my second boot. “Yes…well, more like nightmares.”

She tilts her head and watches me with a mix of mild curiosity and disappointment in my balancing skills. “My mother used to tell me sometimes dreams are your reality spilling over into your subconsciousness. Pay attention to them—they may know you better than you do.”

Well, then my reality is fucked. And it’s been fucked for a long time. All I’ve dreamt about has been previous traumatic events. Hornwood burning. The little girl and her family perishing. My mother’s manic episodes and my brother drowning.

I place my second boot near the bedpost with the first one. “What did she say about nightmares?”

“Nightmares are dreams.”

Silence falls between us, until Marge rests a hand on my shoulder. “If you need someone to talk to…I’m here for you. Or you don’t have to tell me. Dreams are personal things. Hold on to them.”

Hold on. I shake my head vigorously to dislodge the two words stuck inside my head. Sucking in a breath, I dip my head. “Thank you, Marge.”

But what can hold on possibly mean?