Page 18 of This Vicious Dream (Kingdom of Death #1)

Calysian

The woman with the dark red hair lets out a choked sound.

It’s an irritating sound that slices through my nerves. When she slumps to her knees, I remove my attention from the witch at my feet.

I’m instantly engulfed in deep, sickening horror. It’s as if I’ve been plunged into a pool of ice-cold water, the shock of it freezing my lungs.

Madinia.

My mind rebels against the sight in front of me. The sight I know to be true.

No.

My two selves merge, memories of before knitting seamlessly with those from the past several centuries.

It’s agonizing.

Among the memories, this woman stands out like a flame in the darkness—vivid and unyielding. It’s as if the rest of my memories are painted in black and white, while those involving her alone blaze with color: her sharp tongue and unexpectedly soft heart. Her withering expressions and her breathtaking face.

Absently, I strike out at the witch, ignoring her as she chokes and writhes. Madinia slumps to her back, eyes wild as she stares up at the sky. Stumbling to her, I drop to my knees at her side, momentarily frozen.

Movement to my left.

Kyldare’s soldiers are dead or dying, and yet he has remained, likely unable to resist watching Madinia take her last breath.

“She’s going to die.” He looks suddenly lost. But within moments his eyes turn crazed and he gives me a slow smile. “I’ve taken her from you, Calpharos .”

I slash out with my smoke, but he’s already diving into the swamp, risking the serpent. I ache to chase him, to make him pay.

Madinia lets out a sound that makes cold sweat drip down my back.

Sickness claws at me.

I didn’t shield her. If my ward had covered her, she would not be dying at this moment.

Instead, I lost myself to my memories. To my power. And those few moments of inattention were enough.

Fox approaches the clearing, Madinia’s mare trailing him. We tied them loosely enough that they could easily escape if necessary. Instead, they came here.

As gently as I can, I sweep Madinia into my arms.

“Don’t.” The word is a guttural moan, a plea I never could have imagined her making.

“I’m getting you to help.”

“Too… late.”

Fox kneels, allowing me to mount with Madinia still held carefully in my arms. When he rises to his feet, she lets out a whimper.

“It’s not too late. This is why the baby seer told us to bring the horses. Rest, beautiful woman. I’m going to find a healer.”

She’s not listening. No, she has already lost consciousness, her face shockingly white, her body far too fragile in my arms.

Madinia

Pain.

I thought I knew what it was. What it meant.

I had no idea.

Agony blazes through my body, sharp and hot. It spreads outward from my chest, each of my shallow breaths an unspeakable torment.

Calysian’s eyes are more gold than black. They’re wild as they meet mine, his expression terrible. “You’re awake. Good. Stay that way.”

His arms are wrapped tightly around me, protecting me from the natural jostling from his horse. One of his hands is pressed against my lung, next to the arrow. An effort to slow the bleeding. But I know my chances of survival with a punctured lung in the middle of a swamp.

And they’re not high.

I cannot believe Kyldare was the one to kill me.

That thought allows me to stay conscious for several minutes, the rage sharpening my mind.

But my head begins to swim, and when I cough, black dots dance across my vision. I know what that wet cough means.

Blood.

Calysian’s eyes meet mine once more, and they’re suddenly black. Cold. He looks inhuman, the way he did in those moments after he took his grimoire.

I tense, suddenly certain he’s about to dump me off his horse so he can turn his attention to the other two grimoires.

Instead, he lowers his head. “I have not given you permission to die.”

The words are saturated with his usual arrogance, but I can hear a strange underlying thread of something within them. Something that sounds almost like…fear.

I cough, more blood spilling from my lips.

Can’t…breathe.

Unconsciousness is a relief. Distantly, I hear Calysian’s curse, but I welcome the incoming numbness with everything in me.

“Madinia.”

When I next crack open my eyes, the sun is setting. The air smells sweeter, fresher. We’re no longer in the swamp.

Calysian’s arms tense around me. “You’re smiling.”

“Didn’t…want…to die…there.”

Speaking is exhausting, and the sweet relief of unconsciousness beckons once more. The pain has lessened, which even I know is not a good sign.

“You’re not dying.” His voice is strained…shaken. He’s ignoring the facts, turning to delusion instead.

Gods. Clearly they’re not all that different from us.

The world wobbles around me, and I stare up at the sky. It’s as if some other god has been finger painting swirls of lavender tinged with gold. The breeze lifts my hair, carrying the scent of flowers and greenery.

I should have focused more on these moments over the past days. Regret is a heavy weight to bear. And yet I’m so, so grateful to have escaped that tower. Even my worst moments were still moments of freedom.

“We’re less than an hour from Nyrridor.” Calysian’s voice is tight, and when I manage to tilt my head, his gaze is fixed, focused forward.

Nyrridor. It was a smart choice. We’re closer to the western coast. And the healers are likely to be much better than anything on offer in the village we visited before plunging into the swamp.

“Need you…to do…something for me.”

Calysian glances down, and there’s nothing soft in his expression, nothing warm in his eyes.

“I am the dark god. I don’t complete last wishes or answer deathbed pleas. If you want something done, you’ll have to live and see to it yourself.”

“Hate…you.”

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and when he rips his gaze from my face, I suddenly feel colder.

He knew what I was going to ask of him. Find Daharak and the others.

When he glances down at me once more, his eyes are like burning coals. “Madinia Farrow, felled by an arrow,” he muses. “It sounds like a song. Or a rhyme. Maybe even a joke . Few will believe it. Although those who have wished you dead—and with your attitude I’m sure there are many—will laugh and laugh.”

I know what he’s doing, and still, I glower at him. Even as I cough up more blood, my chest burning like the hottest flames.

Unsurprisingly, he seems pleased by my glare. But he drops his gaze to my lips, and his face drains of color.

I don’t have to ask what he sees. I’ve seen enough people die this way.

My lips will be turning blue. Already, I feel chilled, with the disconcerting feeling that I’m floating somewhere above my body.

I return my attention to the sky. The lavender is darkening now. Will I live to see a few stars appear above my head?

This is not a good death. It’s not one I would have chosen for myself. And still, it’s better than wasting away in that tower. I may be dying, but I’m dying while wrapped in the arms of someone who would prefer for me to live. Just days ago, such a thing was unimaginable.

I’m living again. Even as I’m dying. The irony isn’t lost on me.

But I want to keep living. Useless frustration flashes through me, melding with the pain that burns relentlessly through me.

“Just…just hold on.” Calysian’s voice is a low growl. I can’t see his face. Panic floods me as my vision darkens once more. I’m not ready. Not—

Calysian

I’ve allowed Fox to slow while Madinia was conscious, aware that the jostling of his faster gait will be agonizing. When Madinia’s eyes roll back into her head, I urge Fox into a gallop.

A cold, endless rage burns through me.

Eamonn lands on my shoulder, and I almost kill him for his impertinence.

“Where were you?” My voice is frigid, and he shifts his wings.

“I saw her go down and scouted ahead. I found a healer at the edge of the city. They’re expecting you.”

This appeases the worst of my fury. Wisely, Eamonn holds his silence for the next few minutes while I wrestle with my temper.

“How much do you remember?” His voice is quiet, and I turn Fox at the next fork, heading west. The mare follows several footspans behind, beginning to lag. Madinia will be pleased that the horse came with us when she recovers.

Because she will recover.

“Calpharos?”

“Do not call me that!”

Madinia lets out a low groan, and I gently stroke her ribs with my thumb, continuing to hold pressure to her chest.

Eamonn flaps his wings, and I fight the urge to shrug him from my shoulder.

Calpharos is the one responsible for this. The one who shielded himself while Madinia was unshielded. Vulnerable.

I don’t feel the need to analyze my memories. Don’t wish to focus on anything other than getting to the healer.

Already, I had silently promised Kyldare a long death filled with immense suffering. Now, the urge to find him is almost inescapable. What I will do to him will become legend. It will be whispered about for centuries, written into history.

Distantly, I realize this preoccupation is a distraction from my true task. With one grimoire found, I should be turning my attention to the next.

Still, killing the man who did this would make a pleasing reward for Madinia for her loyalty.

In my arms, she has begun to shiver.

My teeth clench until my jaw aches. Madinia agreed to help me. She braved that swamp for my needs. And in return, I allowed this .

I may be the dark god, but even I have a conscience. I do not reward loyalty with disregard.

At my side, Eamonn is quiet. If he can sense the struggle between my two selves , he does not comment.

I’ve been funneling every drop of my power into both horses. Fox’s hooves pound the ground and he practically flies, galloping faster than I could have imagined, while Hope follows slower, still keeping us within sight. The effort leaves me weakened, but I keep the link between us open, until black dots crawl across the edges of my vision.

Finally, the city appears in the distance. I ignore the guards at the gates, even as one of them steps forward, likely planning to ask about the woman in my arms. But no one dares approach as I ride into Nyrridor, following Eamonn’s directions to a small cottage close to the city walls.

The healer is waiting outside. She’s a short woman, but she places her hands on her hips, leveling me with a hard stare. Her presence is sharp and commanding, but when her dark eyes lock onto Madinia, a flicker of pity softens her otherwise stern features.

When I dismount, she strides toward me.

“You know this is a fatal wound.”

“She will not die.”

Her eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head at whatever she sees on my face. “Bring her inside. Your…bird gave me enough time to prepare.”

The cottage door creaks as she opens it, the scent of drying roots, fragrant herbs, and old magic washing over me. Carefully, I carry Madinia to the single bed tucked in the corner of the front room.

When I lay her down, she doesn’t so much as stir—her breathing shallow, her skin pale and clammy. My heart begins to pound.

“My name is Heava,” the healer murmurs as she bustles around the room, washing her hands and gathering supplies. She sets a bowl of steaming water on the table, along with a collection of metallic tools.

Nudging me out of the way with a boldness few would attempt, she leans over Madinia, studying her wound.

“She’s lucky. The arrow created a partial seal, slowing the bleeding.” Her eyes meet mine. “But it needs to come out. And it’s going to create more damage. I will have mere moments to attempt to save her life, and I don’t have time to waste sparing her from pain. You will need to hold her steady.”

Madinia

Blinding pain. The pungent scent of herbs and flowers. Dim light dancing on the walls.

Most worryingly, I can feel strong hands, holding me down.

Someone else touches the arrow and I scream.

I know what’s coming next.

“Don’t.” The word is a choked sob. “Please.”

“It has to be done, sweetheart.” Calysian murmurs, pressing his lips to my ear. “You need to live, which means your new accessory needs to go.”

“Don’t—”

The pain steals my breath, unbearable agony razing my body as someone wrenches the arrow free.

I devolve into sobs, desperate for it to all just be over.

“Live, Madinia. You have much to stay alive for.”

Do I?

“Your friends may still be waiting for you.”

My eyes flutter closed. If Daharak and the others are still alive, they’re probably better without me. What have I brought them except suffering?

The healer does something particularly nasty, and I moan, fighting against her torturous hands.

“Kyldare escaped,” Calysian continues. “If you die, you release him from your vengeance.”

Kyldare’s hateful voice echoes through my head. “If I can’t have your life, I’ll gladly take your death. Think of me as you die choking on your own blood.”

Fury edges out the agony. It lasts only moments, but it’s long enough for me to take a full breath. Then the healer does something else to make me cry out.

But the thought of revenge is enough. For now.

Calysian’s lips meet my temple. “There you go. It will all be over soon.”

My entire body shudders, the pressure in my lung unrelenting. I’m not sure why Calysian is doing this. Why he cares. We may have had one night of pleasure, but I shoved him away like I always do, and then he found his precious grimoire.

So why is he still here?

“Infection has already begun,” a low, female voice says. “I must burn it out.”

That doesn’t sound good. In fact, it sounds terrible.

“No burning,” I mumble.

“Shhh.” Calysian’s hand is cool as he strokes my hair back from my forehead. “Rest.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. Warmth that becomes blazing heat. I writhe, pushing uselessly at the healer, but Calysian captures my hands in his.

“Finish this.” His voice is low, dangerous. I tense, but he’s not talking to me.

“You came from the swamp. I must remove all of the infection. To skip this step would mean her death.”

“Do not speak of her death so casually.”

I crack open my eyes. Calysian’s face is just inches from mine. “It’s almost done,” he assures me, his face bone-white. “And then you’ll sleep and rest and heal.”

The burning finally ends, replaced by an icy sensation that offers relief for approximately one minute before it makes me shudder.

“I have done all I can.” The healer sounds weary. I can’t see her, but Calysian spares her a glance.

“Will she live?”

“I’ve done my part. The rest is up to her.”

He tenses at that, and I twitch my fingers. His eyes meet mine. “Stop intimidating her. She’s trying to help.”

His mouth twitches, but he nods. “You must be feeling better if you’re giving me orders already.”

I’m not. The pain has dulled to an ache, but I feel an exhaustion that goes far beyond normal fatigue, along with the sense that I left most of my blood in that swamp.

“Sleep,” Calysian says. “I’ll ensure no one dares harm you.”

I frown at him, but my eyes are already drifting shut, his savage expression the last sight I see.