Page 19 of This Vicious Dream (Kingdom of Death #1)

Madinia

Warmth. Comfort.

I drift.

Occasionally, I surface, only to dive deep once more, flashes of dreams and memories flickering through my mind.

It’s the voices that wake me. Low, male, familiar.

I attempt to open my eyes, but my eyelids are so heavy, I fall deeper into the hazy place between sleep and waking.

“How long have you known who I am?” Calysian’s voice is hard. For a moment, I think he’s speaking to me.

“Don’t ask me this.” Eamonn’s tone is more serious than I’ve ever heard it.

“Tell me.”

“Since the moment you were cast into this world.”

“We met just a few years ago.”

“I knew of you.”

“And you allowed me to wander for centuries.” Calysian’s tone is cool. Remote. My skin suddenly feels too tight, and I attempt to open my eyes once more.

I loathe when he speaks like that. When he becomes Calpharos.

Eamonn sighs. “I searched for you the first time you were on this continent and could not find you. It was only when you returned that I could sense you. When I did, I was unable to speak of your true nature.”

“Cease your excuses.”

I finally manage to open my eyes. The room is lighter. How long have I been asleep?

Turning my head requires too much strength, but from here I can see Calysian sitting by the window, Eamonn laying at his feet in the form of a large, shaggy dog.

“It’s not an excuse. I was physically unable to speak of it,” Eamonn clarifies. “Cursed. Just as you are. Not only to never walk in my true body, but to never tell you the truth of who you are. It was an impossibility. Now that you know, I will share what knowledge I can.”

Calysian lets out a cold, hollow laugh. “You expect me to trust you?”

Silence. I get the sense Eamonn is…hurt.

He gets to his feet, his tail low. “For centuries. I looked for you. For years, I came when you needed me. I’ve saved your life, scouted for your enemies, and hinted as much of your true form to you as I could. And now you no longer trust me?” Turning, Eamonn trots toward the door, using one paw to pull down the handle. The moment the door swings open, he’s gone.

Calysian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Getting to his feet, he closes the door behind Eamonn, before wandering back toward the window. Our eyes meet, and he freezes.

Almost instantly, he’s at my side, and my heart slams into my ribs at the strange movement. He has always been fast, his grace somewhat unnatural. But this is a reminder of who he is now.

Who he always was.

He angles his head. “Are you afraid of me?”

I open my mouth, but my throat is too dry to speak. Calysian’s expression gentles, and he takes a cup from the table, one arm encircling my neck as he leans me up, holding me steady.

The water is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, and I drain the cup. Calysian refills it, his eyes holding mine as I drink it down again.

He offers one more, but I shake my head, my stomach already sloshing unpleasantly.

My chest aches, things inside feeling strangely…new. But I attempt to sit up, and Calysian wedges several pillows behind my head.

“Where are we?”

“Nyrridor.”

He told me we would make it here. And he told me I would live. For a moment, I stare at him, coming to terms with it.

“Thank you.”

He shrugs like it was nothing, but his eyes are darting across my face, and I have the feeling he sees more than I would like him to.

“Kyldare almost killed me.”

A stiff nod. Rage glitters in Calysian’s eyes, and his chest rises with a slow breath. “He ran the moment he shot you. He knows you’re a threat to him, even when you’re bleeding out.”

I shake my head. “He was scared of you.”

“He’s fixated on you. Some part of you scares him, which is why he needs to break you. He’s a coward.”

That much is true. Pushing Kyldare from my mind, I crane my neck, surveying my body.

I’m no longer covered in blood—one of his shirts buttoned to the throat. Shakily, I unbutton the first few buttons, preparing myself for the ruin of my chest.

Calysian catches my hands. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, those breasts are still perfect .”

I glower at him, ignoring the warmth that attempts to spread through me at the teasing note in his voice.

He thinks my breasts are perfect.

I bite down on my lower lip, still needing to see. When I stretch my fingers, he releases my hands, watching closely as I unbutton the next button.

The evidence of my near-death is little more than a faint line, slicing below my collarbone, along the top of my breast. I’d expected puckered skin, a thick red scar to join those on my back—a reminder for the rest of my life.

Calysian watches me avidly, drinking in my every reaction. “I told you.”

At this moment, he looks nothing like the dark god. His eyes are tired, his hair mussed. He looks like a man who has had little sleep.

But I know what I saw. And his ability to tuck away that murderous other side of him is…unsettling.

“The healer is extremely competent,” I say.

“Thank you,” a feminine voice says dryly. The voice is familiar, and I study the woman who appears from the door at our left.

She’s at least a footspan shorter than me, wearing a sleeveless tunic that showcases muscular arms and shoulders. Her eyes are a cool gray, and she takes me in with a clinical gaze, lingering on the scar across my chest.

I offer her a smile. “You saved my life.”

“I helped,” Calysian mutters sullenly, and then stiffens, as if appalled by his own words. He lets out a low growl, getting to his feet and stalking across the room.

The healer’s eyes glitter with amusement. “My name is Heava. You’re very lucky. Another few minutes and there would have been nothing I could do.”

I shiver. Minutes.

Her hands are cool as she examines the scar, before asking me to raise my arms, checking my movement on each side.

“Any pain?”

“Just a dull ache. When can I—”

“Two days from now. Perhaps three. If you actually rest properly.”

“She will,” Calysian says from his position by the window, his voice tight.

I don’t argue. Truthfully, the thought of even standing is intimidating, despite how much my bladder is screaming at me.

Heava gives me a knowing look before glancing at Calysian. “We need privacy.”

He snorts, as if the thought is ludicrous. When I pin him with a glare, he holds his hands up and stalks out of the cottage.

“He is in a terrible mood,” I mutter.

“The man hasn’t slept. You were feverish and ranting, and he stayed by your side, murmuring into your ear for days.”

I stare at her, uncomfortable with the thought of what I might have said while in the midst of that fever. “How long have we been here?”

“Five days.”

My fingers clutch at the soft sheets. Five days of travel Calysian has lost. And yet he stayed.

Heava moves next to the bed, gesturing for me to get up.

“Lean on me. The outside wound may be healed, but things are still healing inside.”

I can feel it too. The tenderness that warns me a single sharp movement could tear something important. Still, with her help, I manage to hobble to the bathing room before slumping back into bed, dizzy from the effort of taking a few steps.

The moment I’m finished, Calysian returns. Heava shakes her head at him but leaves us alone.

“You should drink more.” Calysian takes a seat on the narrow bed next to me, handing me the cup of water. When he angles me up so I can drink, his warm breath caresses my neck.

I shiver, and his lips curve.

“Why did you stay here?” I ask him. “I know you want to find the other two grimoires.”

Offense flashes across his face. “You think I would leave you?”

“Most people would.”

His eyes turn to slits. “You mean most men would. Do not compare me to your previous human lovers.”

There aren’t many previous human lovers to compare him to, but I would never admit that to him.

“Fine, Calpharos, but if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to speak to Calysian at this moment.”

My tone is caustic, and surprise flashes across his face, followed by something that might be…uncertainty.

Regret immediately flashes through me. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” Calysian has been…kind. When I close my eyes, I can still feel his arms around me, can still hear him murmuring in my ear, urging me to stay alive.

“I am the one who is sorry. I allowed you to be hurt. You almost died.”

“I think Kyldare is the one to blame for that.”

“No. The grimoire…engulfed me,” he admits, and something that might be shame flickers through his gaze.

It’s disconcerting to see Calysian as anything other than supremely arrogant.

“What was it like?” I can’t help but ask.

He sighs. “It was pure power. Even now I can feel the rush of it. I felt the horror and betrayal from the moment I was forced to split myself in such a way. And I knew I could make those responsible suffer. It was…”

“Addictive.” I know just how alluring vengeance can be. I also know how the flames of revenge will burn you alive if you let them.

But that won’t stop me from hunting Kyldare. And Vicana.

Calysian’s brow furrows. “I was so consumed by that power, I couldn’t even recognize you. I couldn’t protect you.”

My instinct is to snap at him that I don’t need his protection. But considering I’m still recovering from a hole in my chest, that feels like a lie. And it doesn’t improve my mood.

He studies my face. His eyelids are drooping—unsurprising after five days without sleep. That must be a strain, even for a god.

I shift over. “Lay down.”

Surprise flashes across his face, and he gives the narrow bed a pointed look.

“Go on,” I insist.

He doesn’t argue. I shift over to the wall, and he angles his huge body so he’s facing me. We’re so close, our bodies are almost pressed together, and I have a moment to regret the intimacy I’ve invited.

“You’re going after the next grimoire.” My voice is little more than a whisper, but Calysian nods, his eyes blurred with fatigue as they meet mine.

“I have to. The loss of what they took from me is an ache in my soul.”

It’s a surprising admission of vulnerability, and one that I doubt he would have made if he wasn’t already moments from sleep.

“I’m going with you.”

Calysian’s eyes sharpen. “Why would you do that?”

“Kyldare will hunt for that grimoire too. It’s on this continent, isn’t it?”

“Yes. What about your friends?”

“I will search for information about them at each town and city we visit. I can achieve two goals at once.”

He studies my face, and for a moment I’m sure he sees my true plans. But he must be even more exhausted than I thought, because he gives me a nod, his eyes sliding shut.

I let out a shaky breath. I’m not just hoping to make Kyldare pay for everything he has done to me.

Regret tastes bitter on my tongue as I brush a finger over Calysian’s cheek. He’s already asleep, but he angles his head, chasing my touch.

His soul aches.

And I’m going to be the one responsible for ensuring it continues to.

Because the glimpse I saw of Calpharos was enough for me to know one thing:

I will never allow the dark god to fully wake.

Calysian

The need to move is a prickle down my spine. It’s a tension in my muscles, a tightness in my chest, an unrelenting urge that claws at me night and day.

I now have a new awareness of the other grimoire on this continent. I know exactly which direction we need to travel. But I can also sense others making their way toward it. Others who would take it from me.

Still, I wait for Madinia to heal. And unsurprisingly, she insists she is ready to leave before the healer agrees.

It takes all of my willpower to deny her. Knowing others are searching for what is mine… it makes my blood burn. And yet each time I look at Madinia, I see her face, robbed of color, her lips, tinged blue. I see the knowledge in her eyes that she is about to die.

And so I ignore her hissed curses. I grin at the dark looks she shoots me each time I agree with Heava.

Truthfully, I’m small enough to enjoy her irritation.

Finally, three days later, even the healer is forced to agree Madinia can travel. I’ve secured everything we need for our journey, including new clothes for Madinia, who looks vaguely bewildered when I drop them on her bed.

No one has taken care of this woman before. And that knowledge sets my teeth on edge.

I give Heava more coins than she likely would have earned in a year, and she frowns at me. “This is too much.”

“She was dying. You saved her.”

The healer shakes her head but pockets the sack of coins. “Her stamina will be low.”

“I know. I won’t push her.”

“I can hear you,’ Madinia snarls, and Heava smirks.

“Then take my advice and don’t do anything stupid.”

Madinia mounts her horse, giving Heava a nod. “Thank you. For everything.”

The healer nods back. “You’re welcome. Good luck on your journey.”

Within minutes, we’re riding toward the dock. It’s the opposite direction we need to travel, and yet I promised Madinia this.

She hisses at me to stay several paces behind her, insisting I’ll be a distraction, but I keep a careful eye on her as she moves from group to group.

The travel delay is worth it as I watch her transform.

For the swaggering, drunken sailors, she becomes a flirtatious, empty-headed strumpet, all wide eyes and teasing smiles, searching for the handsome rogue who promised her a ring and vanished with the next tide.

For the gruff dock masters, she becomes a hard-nosed, steely-eyed madam, demanding answers about the pirates who slipped away with unpaid debts. Her face is cold, and she’s all sharp tones and icy glances as she lies through her teeth.

For the young deckhands, she becomes a frightened sister, wringing her hands as she asks about her brother, her words faltering, her lower lip trembling, until even the most hardened deckhand vows to find her answers.

She wears her personas like borrowed cloaks, slipping in and out of them as effortlessly as breathing. A scowl here, a smile there. A feigned blush. A calculated threat.

By the time she is done, I’m filled with reluctant admiration. And hard as stone.

Finally, Madinia is forced to admit defeat, her shoulders slumped, her expression weary as she walks toward me.

“Nothing,” she says.

“You said this was one of the first places you docked.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes hold such a deep sadness. It makes me feel claustrophobic. Uncomfortable.

It makes me feel like I have failed somehow.

I take her hand. Shockingly, she allows it. “You were taken in Sylvarin waters. I find it unlikely that the pirates would have returned here as they searched for you.”

She peers up at me. “You think they searched for me?”

I search her face, but there’s no sign of the confident, occasionally arrogant woman I know so well. This is a deep insecurity. A fear that she is somehow not enough.

Fury roars through me with such strength, it leaves me shaken. Fury and powerlessness.

I want to turn back time. I want to find her father and make him suffer for creating this insecurity. The insecurity that makes her wonder if those she would do anything for have abandoned her.

And yet…they have.

Where are her friends from Eprotha? Where are Prisca and Asinia and all the others she fought with?

“Calysian?”

“Of course they would have searched for you. We’re traveling south, and we’ll continue to ask about their ship each time we stop.”

With a nod, she straightens her shoulders and mounts her horse. I lead her toward the southern gates of Nyrridor, following the call of my own power.

Madinia is quiet, but I know her plans. Our minds are surprisingly similar, and I can’t deny the satisfaction I feel when I outmaneuver her.

She believes she can beat me to the grimoire and hide it somewhere I will be unable to locate. I’m not sure how she thinks she will achieve this, since I can feel it calling to me even from half a continent away.

But her attempt will be interesting all the same.