Page 47 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Leon

I sleep badly that night. It’s a rare thing for me. Usually, I can slip into the world of dreams as easily as closing my eyes. It’s only in the early hours, when a fresh wave of frustration washes over me, that I realize I must be feeling Ana’s disturbed sleep too.

I think about her lying in a room a few doors down from me, and I feel the separation like an ache in my muscles.

At least she’s not having nightmares. She’s not had any of those since we went to Agathyre.

If she did, I’d definitely go to her. Never mind whether she’s speaking to me in the waking world, I wouldn’t let her go through that alone.

Maybe she’d be angry, maybe she’d order me away, but I’d have to at least try.

As long as she’s safe and well, her resentment is a small price to pay.

Apparently, that’s part of the problem. The sacrifices I’m willing to make to look out for Ana don’t feel like sacrifices to her, but manipulations.

It hurt, seeing her react so strongly to the truth about the mooring.

Perhaps I was a fool to keep it from her, but she refuses to see it was the kindest thing.

The fairest thing. Or at least, I thought it was.

I haven’t had much practice thinking about what’s kind or fair in my life. It’s possible I miscalculated .

I rise the next morning knowing that we’ll have to talk again—settle this once and for all. Just one night away from her was unpleasant enough. I’m not going through that again.

When I find her in one of the dining rooms of the Crossed Keys, she’s already deep in conversation with Lafia. I stand watch by the doorway, waiting until she’s done talking to the ex-cleric.

“Is everything well with her?” I ask when Ana finally rises to meet me.

“All things considered,” Ana says. “Though she says she’s had some run-ins with that Hand member Cettar.”

“What kind of run-ins?” I ask, my voice deepening into a growl. Lafia’s just a young girl, and I’ve never liked the look of that miserable bastard.

“He’s not happy about having any of us around. Lafia says he’s always muttering something about clerics and Filusians and how we shouldn’t be allowed into the Hand.”

“Should we speak to Harman about this?” I ask.

“No. I offered, but she says she can handle him. Although maybe next time you run into Cettar, you can scare a little politeness into the man,” she says. Her mouth starts to twist into a smile, but she quickly drops it.

“We should speak to Harman about our trip though,” she says. “There’s a lot to tell him.”

“We,” I repeat. “You don’t want to go alone?”

She shakes her head. “There’s no reason we should ignore each other. We’re moored, for gods’ sakes, it’s not like we can?—”

She stops herself.

“No, I don’t want to go alone,” she says in a neutral voice, but of course I can feel the emotion swirling beneath the surface.

We meet with Harman in his office again, and I’m reminded of his news from yesterday. I’ve been trying not to think about the fact that half my soldiers aren’t back from the capital yet. The potential reasons are too violent and ugly to consider .

But it’s also not the first time I’ve had to wait, wondering if my friends were alive or dead.

If you fight alongside each other for long enough, you get some practice at it.

I lean on that wealth of experience now as I focus on Harman’s words, using them as a distraction while he thinks over what we’ve told him.

“So we need to find the tokens, wherever they may be, before Caledon does,” Harman muses, leaning back in his chair.

“You don’t seem particularly surprised,” Ana says.

Harman glances at me. “Well, Alastor told me most of it last night.”

“Of course he did,” I sigh. “That fae never met a piece of gossip he didn’t like to share.”

“That fae is about to bring you a very good piece of gossip,” comes Alastor’s voice as he sticks his head around the door. Hope surges in my chest, and I abruptly stand.

“Is it?—?”

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “They’re back.”

They’re back, alive. But not all of them in one piece. As Ana embraces Hyllus and Damia, and Harman shakes hands with Corrin—much to the crime lord’s apparent surprise—Stratton hangs back.

There’s a deep, jagged cut running from his forehead, across his nose, and down to his left cheek.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Caledon and his cleavers,” Corrin answers. “He turned up at the palace the night we were meant to move against Oclanna. The extra security ruined everything. We only just got out of there alive.”

“Stratton?” I ask, concerned about his silence. He offers us a weak smile.

“I got hit with some kind of spellwork involving geostri magic and some very sharp metal,” he says.

“Could a healer help?” Harman asks .

“Oh, we went to a healer,” he says ruefully. “This is the result after their best efforts. My face was practically split in two. It’s why we’re so late back.”

Alastor walks over to his comrade, clapping him on the shoulder as he studies his face.

“It’s definitely an improvement. You look very dangerous now.”

“You’re too kind,” Stratton says sarcastically.

“I’m so sorry, Stratton.” Ana goes over to reach up and pat his cheek. He smiles down at her, the motion stretching the angry red wound further across his cheek.

“Thank you, Your Highness. But I’ll be alright. Like Alastor says, I can just lean into my new, rugged charm.”

I’ve known Stratton long enough to tell when he’s lying.

He’d never admit it, but it’s clear to me this pains him deeply.

He was always vain about his appearance.

Of course he hasn’t truly lost his looks.

That handsome golden boy is still quite plainly there beneath what will be a long, dramatic scar.

But he loved his face as it was before, and I know no amount of assuring him otherwise will convince him he hasn’t lost some crucial part of himself.

Damia is quiet too, and I give her a questioning look.

“We failed, captain,” she says stiffly. “I’m sorry.”

“You brought everyone back alive,” I say, and her eyes dart toward Wadestaff. “The five of you are surely worth more than Oclanna’s head.”

“But—”

“Damia, I have no doubt you did all you could.”

“She did,” Corrin pipes up. “And then some.”

I can see how hard she’s taking this and that neither my words nor Wadestaff’s have gone very far to appease her. That’s always been Damia’s flaw—she takes every mission far too seriously. I don’t know if I can blame her. The army was a lifeline to her when she had to leave everything else behind .

“Do you think Caledon changed his mind for any special reason?” Harman asks the group, motioning for us to perch where we can in the cellar.

“I mean, why say you weren’t going, then change your mind, aside from wanting to show support for a woman you couldn’t care less about?

I’d say he wanted his movements unpredictable for security reasons, but that’s never been Caledon’s style.

He always travels with too many cleavers to worry about attacks from us. ”

“Maybe Her Highness has him scared?” Stratton suggests. “After all, he’s not had to contend with another powerful solari before, has he?”

Ana makes a dismissive noise. “Unlikely.”

“Well, I don’t have answers to any of that,” says Corrin.

“But there was talk at court about the clerics making unexpected trips. Apparently, there’s been some unusual movement in odd parts of Trova—Rilheim and Ulmire, for example.

The Temple want to keep it discreet. The clerics come and leave without preaching or punishing, according to what I heard. ”

“Weird, considering how active they’ve been in the rest of the country,” Alastor says. “It seems like they’ve been raiding every town and village from here to Qimorna.”

I feel a spike of alarm run through Ana. She looks pale, and I want to go to her. I hate that I have to hold back, not knowing if she’s ready to forgive me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“When I was saying goodbye to Etusca, we talked about the potion she used to make me.” She looks at Harman and Corrin, perhaps realizing they need more explanation.

“This was the potion that was supposed to hide my powers but only ended up strengthening them in the end. We hadn’t discussed it before, but I decided I should warn her that Caledon knew about it. ”

She bites her lip. “Etusca told me that even though you could get all the ingredients in Trova, no amount of him taking the potion could make him more powerful at this point, when his magic is already developed.”

“What’s that got to do with the cleric’s movements?” Alastor asks, but I already have a sense of where Ana’s going with this .

“One of the ingredients is oil of saltzquill.”

“That’s what the clerics were doing in Ulmire,” Corrin says without hesitation, and Harman and Ana nod in agreement.

“Would someone care to enlighten us ignorant Filusians?” Stratton asks.

“Oil of saltzquill,” Corrin says. “It’s a fancy mineral extract that nobles like to put in their tea to make their skin better or something like that. It’s expensive and very, very rare. The crystal caves of Ulmire are the only place you can get it.”

“Then we have to assume Caledon has found some exiled dryad to recreate Etusca’s potion for him,” Harman summarizes. “But why, if it’s of no use to him?”

“No use for him to take ,” I say darkly. “But what if he’s not planning to drink it himself?”

“That’s the point of all those raids,” Ana says, meeting my gaze. “All those rituals they’ve been encouraging and the edicts they’re posting. It’s so they can find solari.”

“They want people so terrified they’re looking for heretics in every shadowy corner,” I say. “Caledon’s desperate to root out any he’s missed. You think that’s why he wants the potion? So he can feed it to a solari?”

“A solari child, specifically,” Ana says. “If he can’t become powerful through the potion, he’ll make someone who can, and then drain them of their power.”