Page 10 of This Vicious Dream (Kingdom of Death #1)

Madinia

I have little time to consider whether telling Calysian the truth about the grimoire—and his past—was the smartest decision. We’re up with the sun, Calysian waiting while I say goodbye to Fliora. Her thin arms circle my waist and squeeze tight, even as I fight not to drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness for everything I’ve cost her.

“He’s very handsome,” she whispers, and Calysian pretends not to hear, although I catch his smile.

“Looks aren’t everything,” I mutter.

“But they don’t hurt,” Yalanda appears, placing a hand on her niece’s shoulder. She gives Calysian an appraising look that tells me she knows who he is. And something dark and malevolent flickers through her eyes—so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it.

“When all this is done, I hope you find a handsome man of your own,” she tells me. “One who will give you a quiet life with laughter and joy.”

The undertone is clear but unnecessary. She’s warning me away from the dark god. As if I would be that stupid.

I give her a nod. “I don’t need a man for that life,” I say aloud.

She smiles at me. “No. You don’t.” She hands me a canvas bag. “Some clothes and other supplies.”

“Thank you.”

Fliora hugs me again. When she finally pulls away, tears are rolling down her cheeks. “Will you visit?”

“You want me to?”

She nods, and my chest tightens. “Yes. When all of this is done, I’ll visit.”

Her eyes suddenly lighten, her head tilting unnaturally. “You need to take the horses.”

I stare at her. “We are.”

“Not now. Later. When you think you shouldn’t take them, you’re wrong. They have to go too.” Her eyes clear, and she frowns.

“A hint of your mother’s sight,” Yalanda murmurs. “A gift.”

My eyes are hot as Calysian and I leave Ferelith behind, and neither of us talk, so it takes me a couple of hours to realize he’s in a dark mood. When I finally glance at him, he’s practically seething, his jaw tight.

“What’s wrong with you?”

His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on his reins, but he still doesn’t look at me. The air around me turns cold, and I shiver. “A quiet life with laughter and joy? That’s what she wished for you? With an imaginary handsome man to provide it for you?”

“Uh—”

“You would want such a life?”

“A joy-filled life?” I stare at him. “It sounds a lot better than the life I’ve lived so far.”

He nudges Fox into a trot. “Forget it. We need to move faster.”

Hope picks up her pace without me needing to cue her, and I scowl at Calysian. “Is this the grimoire? Is it already changing you?”

His brows slam down. “No.”

The path narrows, and I roll my eyes, falling behind him. I know enough from studying the map to tell we’ll soon be leaving Sylvarin and reaching disputed territory.

To many people, the territory west of the Lacana Mountains isn’t disputed at all—the mountains providing a clear border between the kingdoms of Sylvarin and Telanthris. But to Vicana, the territory is, and always has been, part of Sylvarin.

What little I know about the territory is thanks to Lonn. He would read aloud from history books occasionally while we ate lunch on the ship. Together, we’d spoken of the places we wanted to go. The things we wanted to see.

And if I choose to believe Kyldare, Lonn is dead.

Grief carves a hole in my chest, and for a moment I can’t breathe. Lonn, with his infrequent yet wide smile. Lonn with his sly teasing and love for the early morning hours. Lonn, who insisted I learn to fight with knives when he noticed my overreliance on my sword.

My bones ache. If Daharak and her pirates are truly dead, I’m responsible. Not to mention, I already cost Fliora two people she loves—one of them her mother.

I’d witnessed how much she adored her mother when she dropped to her knees beside her, concern etched on her face.

“Madinia.” Calysian’s voice is rough. The path widened at some point, and he has slowed, drawing up beside me. His brow creases and I blink away the hot tears that have filled my eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He scowls at me. “I may be able to help you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I went to the seer to find out how to hide from you and everyone else looking for the grimoire. And by doing so, I cost Fliora’s mother her life.”

“That wasn’t your fault. Surely you can understand that.”

I clamp my mouth shut. I’m not talking about this with him.

With a sigh, he turns his attention back to the trail and begins a steady climb toward the pass that will lead us into Telanthris. Beneath us, packed dirt gives way to loose stone, while the air grows thinner. Within hours, the rocky path begins winding through jagged cliffs dusted with snow.

The path narrows, winding through huge rock formations. I pull the hood of Calysian’s cloak over my head, hunching my shoulders against the biting wind. By the time we crest the ride, my body aches from leaning slightly forward in the saddle in an effort to help Hope navigate the incline.

Calysian nudges Fox forward, and we round a bend. The air rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh.

From here, the kingdom of Telanthris stretches before us, edges blurred by the cloudy haze clinging to the valley. To the south, the jagged peaks of mountains loom, flanks streaked with veins of snow.

Closer to the mountain, the soil darkens, pockmarked with rocky outcrops and winding crevices. Telanthris unfurls beyond that, distant treetops glinting in the afternoon sun, a river winding through sprawling plains and dense forest.

Below us, the disputed territory is a patchwork of muted browns and greens. It’s easy to see the effect Vicana has had here.

The soil is churned and raw. Fields that might have once blossomed are barren, the earth bruised and pitted with makeshift fortifications and abandoned trenches. Across the land, small villages sit in clumps, smoke rising in thin columns, while a few broken fences mark where livestock once grazed. Now, only scattered tracks remain.

Calysian gestures at the trail in front of us. “We’re about to enter the disputed territory.”

“What do I need to know?”

He studies my face, and I’m not sure what those dark eyes see, but he doesn’t attempt any more empty platitudes. “I last visited a few years ago after I returned to this continent. Even then, it was dangerous. And it has only gotten worse. Vicana wants the land, and she refuses to give it up.”

“Why does she want it so badly?”

“She insists it was once part of Sylvarin. Apparently, an ancient text has been handed down within Sylvarin for centuries, laying claim to the territory.”

“You think she’s lying.”

A languid shrug. “Centuries ago, I wandered this continent, before I traveled to yours. And I know the land here is rich in natural resources. As much as Vicana insists it is her divine mandate to claim the land, I find it too coincidental that it’s also fertile farmland—which Vicana is in desperate need of to sustain her population. She is also finding it difficult to provide her army with weapons, since Dracmire won’t trade with her.”

“Dracmire?”

“Her neighbor to the south.”

Understanding hits me. “Because they’re worried she will try to invade.”

He nods. “The disputed territory is also home to veins of iron ore that Vicana can’t access from her side of the mountain range.”

“Does she have access to risplite?”

Another sharp nod, and my stomach churns. Risplite is a mineral that turns iron into fae iron. The chains Kyldare used to drain my power—which Calysian is likely still carrying now—were infused with fae iron.

Calysian flicks a glance my way. “One of Vicana’s scouts discovered the iron a few decades ago, which—coincidentally—was when the ancient text was found.”

I roll my eyes. “The text claiming the territory was always Sylvarin’s.”

“Yes. Telanthris would have ignored the iron. They have everything they need. But as Sylvarin began to push into their kingdom, they began using the iron—and their own stores of risplite to make weapons to defend themselves.”

Calysian scans the territory, but it’s as if he doesn’t truly see it. And I’m sure his mind is on the grimoire. Even as he spoke of Vicana’s evil, his voice was empty, as if he was recounting something of little meaning.

My stomach clenches. It’s a tiny glimpse of who he will be when he gets his grimoires.

He urges his horse on, and we travel down into the scrub, our horses carefully picking their way through loose rocks and stones. At one point, we both dismount, leading them down the narrow trail. The wind bites at my face, sharp and cold. I pull Calysian’s cloak even tighter around my shoulders, and he smirks at me. Earlier, I offered him the cloak back, but he merely chucked me under the chin and told me I needed it more than him.

An hour later, Fox throws a shoe. Calysian’s expression is dark as he wraps Fox’s hoof in leather. The ground is rough and rocky, and if we keep riding, the stallion risks becoming lame. “We need a farrier.”

The sun will go down in a few hours. Which means we don’t have time to make it through the disputed territory. “We’ll have to stop at one of the villages.”

Except the first few villages are nothing but charred remains. What were once homes are now razed and abandoned.

The next villages are flying Vicana’s flag.

“Invaders,” Calysian says when I ask. “Which means soldiers. Soldiers who have likely been given your description. Cover that distinctive hair of yours.”

I do as he says, tucking my hair out of sight. The next village we come to is heavily guarded by Vicana’s soldiers. They’ve rebuilt the village, but the signs of occupation remain—charred beams in half-mended homes, a market square too quiet for this time of day. A few villagers move with downcast eyes, while a hunched old man presses a basket of apples into a soldier’s waiting hands with a forced smile, his fingers trembling.

A muscle ticks in Calysian’s jaw as he glances between me and the few buildings scattered before us, his gaze lingering on the lone tavern at the edge of the village.

“You can wait at the tavern,” he says, nodding toward the squat, lopsided structure. “Rest, and I’ll go to the farrier.”

I sweep my gaze over the farrier’s shop at the other end of the village. It’s one of the sturdier buildings, wide doors flung open to let the heat escape. A soldier leans against the entrance, talking idly with the blacksmith—his helmet stamped with Vicana’s seal. Another soldier examines a row of horses in the small paddock next door.

Vicana’s people have taken control of the farrier, just as they’ve taken everything else.

“No.” My voice is thready, and Calysian pauses. Whatever he sees on my face makes his brows lower.

Fury mingles with a kind of dull grief in my chest. “I won’t stay here. Not for one minute.”

“Madinia.”

“I won’t give them a single copper.”

He studies me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. I don’t blame him. I just traveled through Vicana’s kingdom, spending what little coin I had. And yet, the thought of voluntarily interacting with the same people who destroyed the villages we just passed…

I can’t do it.

“The hybrid kingdom.” Calysian’s voice turns gentle. “This isn’t the same.”

“No. It’s worse. We lost the connection to our kingdom. Many of us didn’t even know it existed before the war. But these people have watched their own homes be taken from them. The next village.” My voice is hoarse. “Please.”

The next village isn’t just home to soldiers—it’s worse. Sylvarins have moved in, claiming the Telanthris people’s homes as their own.

The sight makes my blood hot, and I lock my gaze on Calysian’s broad shoulders as we ride past. Which is why I see the moment he stiffens.

I duck.

An arrow slices through the air, narrowly missing my head.

Calysian is already moving, wrenching Fox around and closing the ground between us. I scan our surroundings, my pulse hammering. Where did the arrow come from? How many of them are there?

We could be surrounded.

“Dismount,” Calysian orders, letting Fox free.

I know it’s the smart move—we’re easy targets on horseback. And yet I feel even more exposed on foot.

Calysian is at my side an instant later, yanking me to the right, his ward forming between us. The next arrow drops harmlessly to the ground.

“We’ve been recognized,” he snarls.

A flicker of movement. A soldier, half-hidden behind a thin tree. Our eyes lock, and he bolts left. I track him as he ducks behind the ruins of what was once someone’s home.

“One of Kyldare’s men.” I grind my teeth. “We can’t let him report back.”

Calysian crouches next to me. “I thought Kyldare wanted you alive.”

I gesture at the solider as he peers around the crumbling wall. “I guess he didn’t get the message.”

I let my flames free. They roar toward him—licking hungrily at the rotten wood to his left. But the soldier bares his teeth, holding up his hand.

The wind shifts. My fire recoils, leaping back toward me. My heart jolts and I smother the flames. But the soldier is already fleeing.

To my left, Calysian pulls the chains from his saddlebag. He lunges after the fae—then hesitates.

I let out an impatient hiss. “Go!”

“There could be more of them.”

“Go!” I demand again.

His jaw tightens, but he vanishes into the scrubland. I wait, my muscles coiled, but no more arrows slice through the air. No one else attacks.

I don’t know how long the soldier has been tracking us, but when Calysian finally returns, my fists are clenched so tight, my nails bite into my palms.

“He was definitely fae,” he says grimly and I wince.

While hybrids have only power, fae possess one dominant ability—along with many other powers.

Calysian must be following my thoughts, because he gives me a nod. “The wind wasn’t his only power. He somehow managed to disappear. It’s likely why he was able to hide his presence from us.”

We collect the horses in silence, and Calysian shoves the chains back into his saddlebag.

I don’t point out that he shouldn’t have hesitated.

He doesn’t point out that he was trying to keep me safe.

The next village we come to is still in Telanthris hands. The sun has already set, and Calysian cuts his eyes to me. “I’ll find a farrier and stables. You find somewhere for us to spend the night.”

Nodding, I leave my horse with him, then walk through the tiny village square. Unsurprisingly, there is only one inn—a tiny cottage with only three rooms to rent.

“I’ve only got one room free,” the innkeeper says.

Sighing, I hand over a few coins. “We’ll take it.”

“Leave your clothes outside your door, and I’ll ensure they’re cleaned.”

“Thank you.”

There’s no hot water, but at least the water is clean, and I crouch in the bath, splashing it over myself as I shiver. Each time I close my eyes, I see the Telanthris villages—little more than rubble. And I see the others—taken by the Sylvarins. If it came down to it, I would rather see my home destroyed than see my enemies living in it, taking my things for themselves, letting their children play on the graves of my neighbors.

By the time Calysian returns, I’m standing in the middle of the room, wrapped in a towel as I search my canvas bag for my last clean tunic.

He shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary and I glower over my shoulder at him. “Turn around.”

“What happened to you?” His gaze is stuck to the swathe of bare skin my towel doesn’t cover.

I can feel my cheeks heat, and I glance away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t care,” he declares with that arrogance I loathe. “You will tell me.”

My gut roils. I haven’t seen the ruin of my back. But I’ve felt the roughened skin. And Kyldare made sure to describe just how ugly it is. There’s not an inch left unscarred.

He enjoyed using his whip.

“Madinia.”

“Why?”

“So I can kill whoever hurt you.”

I open my mouth, his words stealing whatever I was about to say. It has been a long, long time since anyone cared about my pain.

“Thank you for the offer. But this debt is mine to collect.”

His eyes fire, and I turn, taking a step closer. His gaze doesn’t drift down to the towel I’m clutching, but his fists clench. “Tell me.”

He’s not going to let this go. I sigh. “Did you think the tower was Kyldare’s first option? He needed to torture me enough to cause unthinkable agony but not enough to break my mind. A delicate balance.”

Calysian suddenly looks as if he is the one who was tortured. “And you would have killed him that day. If I hadn’t arrived. You were planning to make him pay.”

“Yes.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

The words are stark, unexpected. I stare at him, too shocked to revel in them.

“I’ll kill him for you,” he says.

I shrug. “Why would you care? You chained me. You’d chain me again if you thought I was planning to leave.”

He rears back as if I’ve hit him. “I would never have hurt you. And if you don’t know that by now, you don’t know me at all.” Turning, he storms out of the room.

My gut twists, and I instantly block out his words. I don’t have time for his hysterics, but at least he left his bag. I find one of his shirts and pull it on, braiding my hair while I wait for our meal.

Calysian returns with the food, which is simple but hearty—some kind of pastry with shredded meat and vegetables. “The farrier has a stable, and he said he’ll take care of Fox’s shoe first thing in the morning.”

I nod, taking another huge bite.

We eat in silence and when we’re done, Calysian leaves the tray outside, along with his own clothes. He narrows his eyes when he notices I’ve helped myself to his shirt, but doesn’t say a word.

There’s no fireplace, and I curl into a ball, shivering while Calysian bathes. When he slides into the bed, my eyes pop open.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. You should try it.”

The brute sprawls over most of the bed, forcing me to lay far too close to him or risk rolling off the edge of the mattress.

Fine. He may as well be good for something. I wiggle my toes between his calves.

He jolts. Curses. “You believe those blocks of ice will force me from this bed? You must be jesting.”

The man radiates heat like a furnace, and he thinks to deprive me of it? I don’t think so.

Smirking, I wedge my toes in even further and close my eyes. “Goodnight.”