Page 17 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

I t takes hours to organize everyone we need to meet in the hidden caves just outside Tread: Harman and the key local members of the Hand like Esther and Deedus, Leon and his soldiers, plus Lafia and Tira.

Evening is almost drawing in by the time we’re all gathered.

I wore my glamour token over here for the first time, and while it seems to work fine, I wasn’t expecting the strange tingling in my fingers and toes whenever I wear it.

Alastor told me I’d get used to the sensation, but it was a relief to take it off again once we got into the caves.

“Alright then, Morgana, you’ve got us here. Now what’s so important?” Harman asks.

I look at Leon, and he gives me a nod of encouragement.

“When I was being held prisoner, the bearer Sophos came to visit me,” I say. Leon tenses beside me, and I put a soothing hand on his knee.

“I thought maybe he’d come to hurt me—or to gloat. But instead, he just talked to me.”

Harman frowns. “About what?”

“About Caledon. He helped me understand what Caledon is doing this all for. It’s not enough for him that he’s already in charge. He wants to become a god. ”

Deedus makes a choking noise, and several of the rebels raise their eyebrows.

“I’m sorry. A god ?” he asks incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“He truly believes in the legend of Ethira—that he started as a man who transformed himself into an immortal being and ascended to the celestial realm. And Caledon thinks he can do it too. And then, once he has, he’ll use whatever new power he has to claim the whole continent.

That part Caledon basically told me himself. ”

“But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” Stratton asks. “I mean, the religious stories are about teaching moral lessons, right? They didn’t actually happen. Isn’t Ethira just made up?”

“There’s a fair amount of historical evidence that Ethira really lived, actually,” Lafia says. “At Bastion, they have tracts that predate the creation of the Temple, and he’s mentioned several times.”

She blushes when she realizes everyone’s turned to stare at her.

“Whether Ethira actually ascended or not, Caledon definitely believes he did—and he intends to follow in Ethira’s footsteps. From the way Sophos was talking, it sounded like he had an actual plan for it,” I continue.

“You heard this conversation too?” Esther asks Lafia.

The young cleric glances at me, hesitating before she answers. “Well, no.”

“That’s the thing,” I say. “Sophos used his aesteri magic to stop anyone from overhearing. Now, why would he do that? If he was telling me things Caledon wanted me to know, why hide it?”

“What about when we staked out the place, captain?” Stratton says. “He was the one who cleared out security. We thought it was strange at the time. Hell of a coincidence that it was him who paved the way for us to get in.”

I blink, recalling the other part of my conversation with Sophos.

“He asked me about you,” I said to Leon. “I made a comment about you coming for me, and he wanted to know if I was sure. He seemed very interested in that. ”

“Why would Caledon’s right-hand man go behind his back to help us?” Alastor asks bluntly. “Forget his loyalty to the Temple, a few months ago Leon cut off the man’s hand . Not the kind of thing I’d forgive in a hurry.”

“I don’t know why he did it,” I say. “Maybe it is another trap. But I don’t see how. Caledon wanted to drain me of my powers, and yet I’m here, safe and alive. We’ve hardly played into his hands.”

“This is all a moot point anyway,” Esther sighs. “A man can’t become a god. It’s just nonsense. If he wants to chase after some pipe dream, let him. It’s not like it’ll lead anywhere.”

“We didn’t think a human could slow their aging,” Mal points out. “And yet Caledon found a way. The fact is, we don’t know the full extent of what he can do.”

Harman rises, shaking his head. “We’re just talking in circles now, and it’s getting late. Let’s all go to bed, and we can figure out what we’re going to do about this tomorrow.”

I frown. “Really? We only just got here.”

“Yes, but there’s no point rushing into any decisions.” Harman shares a meaningful look with Leon. “It hasn’t exactly served us well in the past. Let’s take our time, think things through.” He’s thinking about Bastion.

“But—”

“You’ve only just gotten back, Morgana,” he points out, a pleading tone in his voice. “You only just woke up today, for Classitus’s sake. Rest, and we’ll continue this discussion tomorrow.” When I see how genuinely upset he looks, I can’t bring myself to argue anymore.

We file out, and I note that Alastor hangs back, talking to Harman again.

“Do you think Harman’s pissed with me?” I ask Leon when we return to our room at the Crossed Keys.

“I think he’s pissed with himself,” Leon says. “He was devastated by what happened to you, not to mention everyone else who was hurt or killed. He blamed himself for not realizing it was a trap.”

I think we’re all going to be blaming ourselves for that one for a long time. But dwelling on it won’t fix anything. I understand Harman not wanting to rush into anything risky, but I don’t think we have time to be cautious, either. I sit down on the bed, kicking off my shoes.

“Have you noticed Alastor’s spending a lot of time with Harman these days?” I ask, distracting myself from my depressing line of thinking.

Leon pulls his own boots off, not looking at me. “Yes, I have.”

“You didn’t put him up to it, did you? I mean, it’s not one of your schemes to monitor my brother?”

“No,” he sounds vaguely appalled. “Absolutely not.”

“Alright,” I say, my grin growing. “I just wanted to make sure. So what do you think is actually going on then?”

I want him to say it, to confirm my suspicions. Leon, after all, has known Alastor a lot longer than I have.

“It’s none of my business,” he huffs.

“Leon!” I nudge him with my foot. “Come on, that’s so boring. Give me a theory at least.”

“My theory is Alastor will tell me when he’s ready, if there’s anything to tell,” he says, then grabs my foot to pull me across the bed toward him, making me descend into laughter.

Blades slice into my flesh, setting my nerves on fire.

I’m burning, nothing but a thousand searing needlepoints of pain, until I hear an agonized scream that doesn’t belong to me.

I turn, and there’s Kit. Face bloody, body broken and convulsing on the floor.

His eyes meet mine, and I’m frozen in place, horrified and helpless.

“Save me, Ana, please,” he begs. “Don’t let me die.”

“I can’t,” I whimper.

Strong hands wrap around me, scooping me up.

“It’s okay, Ana,” Leon’s voice soothes. “I’m with you. ”

I feel the touch of his sensic magic trying to pull me out of the nightmare. The room around me starts to fade, the edges blurring.

“Look away, Ana, look at me.” With effort, I wrench my head around, searching for his face. I find him standing over me, cradling me with fierce protectiveness in his eyes. “Nothing can happen to you while you’re with me. I won’t let it. You’re safe.”

The pain in my stomach loosens as the dream begins to collapse around me. Images split apart and dissipate, leaving only Leon, murmuring to me.

“That’s it,” he says. “It’ll be over soon. It’s just a dream.”

But it isn’t just a dream. This really happened, and I know the memory of it will never leave me. Even as the dream finally blinks out of existence, leaving my consciousness to settle into a deeper sleep, the tortured screams of Kit still ring in my ears.

When I wake the next morning, I’m exhausted.

Since I was rescued from Qimorna, I’ve been constantly carrying around a knot in my gut, a lurking tension waiting to flare up when I’m not paying attention.

But I can pay attention. I can be vigilant.

And if I stay focused, I can keep the horror that finds me in my dreams at bay… at least in my waking hours.

Except when I manage to push that tension down, something else rises to the surface. A strange absence. An emptiness. It’s like some part of me has slipped away in the night while I was busy trying to conquer my nightmares.

I lean down and gently press a kiss to Leon’s temple where he lies next to me, fast asleep, before slipping out of the bed. I pull on some clothes as quietly as possible and tiptoe out of the room. Whatever that absence means, I need time to work through it alone.

The Crossed Keys is busy as usual, bustling with travelers and rebels heading to breakfast. Tread really is an ingenious location for this rebel base.

With people constantly passing through, members of the Hand can come and go without drawing any attention or curiosity from people they encounter on the road, and once they’re here, the only people who stick around long enough to notice them are the small, tight-knit community of people who are permanently in residence—and who have proven they can be trusted.

It means I feel pretty safe as I slip on my glamour ring and leave the inn to move through the town, heading toward a cluster of tents behind a blacksmith’s. What I need is some privacy, and I find it clambering through the hidden hatch set into the ground, leading down into a network of cellars.

There I find an empty, quiet chamber, and concentrate. The odd weight of that missing thing is still there, and I close my eyes and take some steady, even breaths. Then, I reach for my magic.

I wait for the boiling heat of sunlight in my veins, for the pull of desire that allows me to draw objects toward me. I search for the deep well of power that I know lurks inside…

Nothing.

It’s as if the fire of my magic has been doused, leaving only a damp, blackened pile of ashes.

I knew something was wrong with me. Yet it still comes as a shock.

Panicking, I throw all my strength and focus into coaxing that fire back to life.

At first, it remains stubbornly cold, and then there’s something, a small spark.

I seize it, lifting my palm and willing my power to manifest.

A tiny, weak ray of sunlight flickers in my hand, then disappears again.

I try my orbital magic too, focusing on a small stone kicked into the corner of the cellar. My entire head aches by the time I’ve managed to shift it an inch toward me.

It’s been more than three days since I was last fed any dimane.

Thanks to Mal and Heda’s gifts for balms, I’m pretty much healed, physically.

Mentally and emotionally, I’m a mess, but what else is new?

Turmoil has never kept me from using my magic before.

It must be a physical problem, but I’m at a loss to explain it.

Knowing that Mal is my best bet for answers for anything to do with healing, I decide to seek him out.

I run into a rebel in the cellars, asking them where I can find the half-dryad, only to be directed back toward the caves.

I use the hidden entrance, behind the livery yard, traveling down underground until the cave opens up ahead of me.

Several figures appear around the tunnel’s exit, barring my way .

“Who’s there?” a familiar voice asks.

“It’s me, Mal,” I say, slipping off my glamour and stepping forward so the incendi lamps can light my face.

The half-dryad relaxes, turning to the others.

“It’s the princess,” he says, and the others stand down. Mal looks me over, assessing.

“How are you?” he asks. “Did the balm work?”

My hand goes to my stomach.

“Yes, thank you for your help with that.”

He shrugs. “Most of it was Heda, I just made sure the wounds stopped reopening and bleeding long enough for the balm to do its work.”

I glance at the other rebels, biting my lip.

“I was wondering if we could talk alone,” I murmur.

He tilts his head curiously but nods and leads me out of earshot of the others. Once we’re alone, I take a deep breath and just come out with it.

“Something’s wrong with my magic,” I say. “I thought I’d be back to normal by now, but my powers don’t seem to be replenishing.”

Mal frowns, moving toward me. “That’s strange. Any dimane should be gone from your system by now. Can I test your blood?”

I agree, and he disappears into one of the tunnels for a moment, returning with a small case of medical supplies.

“We keep a lot of rations and supplies here in case of emergencies,” he explains. “If Tread is ever under siege, we can escape through here and survive in the tunnels for weeks.”

He pulls a needle from a case and reaches for my finger, pricking it. A drop of crimson beads on my fingertip, and he turns my hand over and lets the blood drip into his palm. I watch, fascinated, as it shines there for a moment, and then seems to absorb into his skin.

Mal’s eyes go distant. Eventually, he pulls an unhappy face.

“There’s nothing physically wrong with you,” he says .

I feel a flare of frustration at his answer, crossing my arms. “You’re saying I’m making this up?”

“No, of course not.” He sighs. “You sense inner flames, right? People’s life spark?”

“Yes,” I say, surprised. I haven’t actually told Mal about that.

He nods. “I saw you doing it with some of our wounded once. Celestial power, celestial flame, it makes sense.”

I’d be more impressed by his deduction skills if it wasn’t for the worry still knotting in my stomach. “Alright, but what has that got to do with me?”

“Sickness and injury aren’t the only things that can diminish an inner flame.” He drops his gaze, his tone softening. “Whatever you went through with the Temple…I can’t imagine you came out of it without some trauma, and that can affect people’s inner flame, weakening it and their magic.”

“That can’t be true,” I argue. “My power…the first time I used it was in an incredibly traumatic situation.”

Mal tilts his head, thinking. “An isolated event can definitely be traumatic, but what happened in Qimorna lasted for weeks. That wears on you in a different way. On top of that, I have a theory that a situation like this effects solari more than most. You guys rely much more on your celestial spark to use your powers. If that’s diminished, I’d guess it can have serious effects. ”

So that’s it? My magic’s just run off because the going got too tough? Frustration flares inside me. I don’t have the option to lose my power right now—or to give in to that twisting in my gut, for that matter. I can’t let it all swallow me up when people are relying on me.

I’m about to ask Mal how he thinks I can fix it when a high-pitched ringing like a bell echoes through the cave.

“That’s the alarm,” he says, eyes wide. “Someone’s trying to get inside.”