Page 9 of This Vicious Dream (Kingdom of Death #1)

Madinia

I’m not surprised Shaena moved her daughter away from Ferelith. The town is small and isolated, tucked away from the bustling trade roads. To reach it, you must first travel through the Aelstow Forest.

Uneven cobblestone streets link weathered stone cottages, which are dotted around the town square. The square itself is little more than a slight widening of the main road with a small market. A lone tavern is positioned next to an inn at the edge of the square.

And yet, the market is filled with laughter and haggling, the people dressed simply as they greet their neighbors.

The people in Kolegrift reminded me of butterflies. In comparison, the people in Ferelith remind me of ducks on a pond, drifting across the water’s surface, their robes mostly muted versions of the bright colors I saw in the city.

“I know where my aunt lives,” Fliora says. This morning, she warned me that her power was drained, and Calysian will now be able to find us.

But her gift gave us a head start.

She didn’t want to come here, insisting that she needed to stay with me. I managed to convince her that at the very least, we needed to tell her aunt what had happened to her sister. And now I’m hoping the woman will take over from here.

Our horses’ hooves clop along the cobblestones as Fliora leads me to a cottage at the edge of town. We tie the horses to a weathered post outside the cottage, and by the time we’re finished, a woman has appeared in the doorway.

“Fliora!” Her gaze darts from me to the girl, then lingers on her niece as if checking for damage. “What happened?”

Fliora bursts into tears. I don’t blame her. I gently encouraged her to cry if she needed to while we were traveling, but she mostly sniffled, keeping her pain to herself. She’s overdue for this.

Her aunt darts out of the house, her movements faster than I would have expected for such a short, curvy woman. But when she throws her arms around Fliora, I catch sight of several sheathed daggers.

Someone has trained her.

I step backward, giving them privacy as Fliora tells her what happened.

The color drains from her face so quickly, I leap forward, ready to catch her if necessary. Her eyes fire as she meets my gaze. “You.”

“Uh—”

“You had better come in. The horses will be fine there for a few minutes. We’ll untack them after this conversation. My name is Yalanda.”

“I’m Madinia.”

I follow her into the house, even as my skin prickles with warning. Without Fliora’s power hiding me, it’s likely Calysian is on his way. And yet, I can’t just leave Fliora here without ensuring she will be safe. Not after the way I got her mother killed.

“Sit,” Yalanda bustles around the tiny kitchen, gesturing for both of us to sit at the small table near the window, its surface blistered and worn but glistening faintly with fresh oil. A bright woolen cloth lies draped across the center of the table, a glass jar of wildflowers brightening the space.

The room may be sparse, but it’s still filled with small personal touches—a crooked shelf of books, a string of dried herbs hanging above the table, a collection of handmade pottery in soothing blues and grays.

But it’s the small table in the far corner I’m most interested in. Kyldare’s witch owned many of those same tools, would pour her dark tonics into vials that looked just like those sitting out in the open in this small, cheerful kitchen.

My attention lingers on the tiny white petals sitting in a neat pile next to those vials. Breathtakingly rare and shockingly expensive, blightflower petals are lethal in large doses. In small doses and when brewed with several other ingredients to make a tonic, they allow the drinker to see their past lives.

“I’ll make tea,” Yalanda says. She wipes her eyes as she moves to the cupboard, and I don’t have it in me to decline, even as I keep my gaze on the blightflower petals, the candles, the ritual knives, the vials.

Yalanda places cups in front of both of us, adding a third for herself before pressing a kiss to Fliora’s forehead and taking a seat next to me.

She follows my gaze. “Our grandmother was a witch. She passed some of her secrets down to us.” Her eyes meet mine once more. “He’s not here yet. The one who searches for you.”

“How do you know about him?”

Yalanda sighs. “Shaena was not the only seer in the family. Her gift…it is… was much greater than mine. Which has allowed me to have a mostly normal life. But both of us had visions of this time. And—” her voice cuts off and she flicks a glance at Fliora, who is staring at her wide-eyed. “Perhaps this is a discussion for another time.”

“No,” Fliora’s chin sticks out.

Yalanda studies her for a long moment, and then sighs again. “Very well. Shaena had a vision when she was younger, not long after Fliora was born. She learned about the grimoires, the dark god, and Vicana’s plans to use any grimoires she could find. My sister knew you would find her, and that it would lead to her death.”

I force myself to look at Fliora. She’s staring down at the table, her shoulders shaking. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Yalanda follows my gaze, her eyes sparkling with her own tears. When she turns back to me, her mouth trembles, but she wipes at her eyes.

“While you were trapped, the queen had her people hunting for any mention of you, your friends, and your ship. She knows your exact path to this continent, and each place the ship docked. Her men have bribed and tortured for three years to learn where and when you left the ship, and they are close to finding the first grimoire. Even now, they are on the way to its location.”

Fucking Vicana. Why is it that people in power are never content with what they have? They’re like leeches, growing fat and swollen and still needing more .

“The dark god placed one grimoire on each continent,” she says.

I know what she’s implying. That I should be the one to protect all of the grimoires. Slowly, I get to my feet. “Thank you for your time.”

Her hands tighten around her cup. “What would your friends say if they knew you were choosing to ignore such a threat?”

Hundreds of men have withered at the look I give her, and yet she merely raises an eyebrow.

I clench my teeth. “My friends are safely on another continent, enjoying their lives.”

The words come out evenly, without inflection. But I feel part of my soul crack, my blood turning to ice.

I was foolish to imagine they would come for me. Foolish to hope. Whatever friendship we had, it ended the moment I left that continent. Or perhaps it was never a true friendship, merely an alliance formed only due to impending war.

She gives me an impatient look. “And so you would let this continent fall?”

No. And not just because I won’t watch the people here suffer. But because Vicana took three years of my life. I won’t let her get her hands on the grimoire. And I won’t rest until she’s dead.

She nods at whatever she sees on my face. “There you go. Find the grimoires. Protect them. Just don’t let them in or you will become a worse threat than the dark god.”

I know what she’s saying. I miss the dark power, miss the way it made me feel.

Powerful. Like I’d been wrapped in vengeance.

Yalanda slowly turns her head, her eyes darkening. “He’s here.”

Madinia

Calysian strides toward the house, his long legs devouring the ground, his expression oddly resigned. When I step out to meet him, surprise flickers in his dark eyes.

He was expecting me to run.

We stare at each other in silence for a moment that seems to stretch on for years.

“You left me to die again.”

I give him a humorless smile. “And yet you’re still here.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he vows, and I can hear the truth in his words. “I’ll continue to follow you for years, if that’s what it takes.”

“I’ll kill you.”

Calysian gives me a patronizing smirk and I grind my teeth, stalking toward my horse. He steps in front of me.

“Enough. I’ve been watching you closely. I’ve watched the way you bite down on the words you almost say. The way you open your mouth and then slam it closed. The way your eyes search me as if looking for something. You know who I am, Madinia Farrow. It’s why you continue to run. Why you won’t work with me. You will tell me.”

“Or what?”

He frowns. “Or what?”

“Threats need an or what . That’s why they’re threats.”

Frustration flickers across his face. “You understand what it is like to lose memories. To lose parts of yourself. And yet you are already finding yourself again. I have been this way for centuries, continually scheming and searching to find something . Now I know it’s a book. A book you have knowledge of. I know you weren’t the one who stole it from me. You’re far too young. Did someone in your family take it? An ancestor?”

I heave a sigh. At some point, Calysian is going to learn who he is. It seems inevitable at this point.

“Madinia?”

“I’m thinking.”

His dimple appears. “Then by all means, continue.”

It’s difficult for me to imagine this man turning truly evil. But I can’t ignore the life I’ve lived, and the men I’ve known.

When given a chance to conquer and enslave, most men will take it and indulge their vices.

But…I knew other men on another continent who fought for peace. Men who protected their women with everything they had, refusing to betray them.

I study the man—the god —in front of me. His humanity is a skin he has been forced to wear, but the reality of him is evident in the occasional dark glint in his eyes. He covers it with easy smiles and warm humor, but if he gets the first grimoire, he will crave the other two.

I turn and pace. Calysian watches me, his eyes turning hard.

Vicana has sent Kyldare after the grimoire. I’d like to think I can get there before him, take it, and run, but…

I blow out a breath, gazing down at my body. Three years without training has eaten away at my muscle. I have little stamina, and even with my power, I can’t take out an entire regiment alone.

But Calysian can. As he recently proved.

Sometimes in life, there are no good choices. Sometimes, it’s about making the choice with the least pain now and dealing with the consequences later.

I won’t let Vicana bring the same dark fate to this continent that Regner brought to ours.

“Fine,” I say, and Calysian’s eyes darken with triumph. I glance behind me at the cottage. “But not here.”

Calysian

The dark god.

According to Madinia, I’m the dark god.

If not for the way the color has drained from her face, and the way she studies me from beneath her lashes—as if waiting for me to suddenly lash out—I might believe she was playing some kind of trick.

And yet, she’s not.

Beneath my shock, there’s a strange kind of certainty. That certainty is tinged with an ancient rage.

Hundreds of years spent wandering this world. The ones who did this to me will pay .

Madinia gives me a wary look and I open the door to the tavern. The building leans slightly to the right, as if even the foundation has given up.

“Three grimoires,” I say.

She nods, scanning the tavern. A lone man with a long gray beard sways in his seat near the fire, several empty glasses in front of him.

Striding across scuffed, worn planks, Madinia chooses a table next to the wall. Her eyes are shadowed, her fiery hair tangled, and she looks like she hasn’t slept properly for days.

Because she was busy running from me.

After she tricked me.

I scowl at her, lowering myself into the rickety chair. “And you’re suddenly going to help me. Why?”

The disheveled man gets too close as he walks past, leaning down to whisper some filth in Madinia’s ear. She pulls her knife, but I’m already moving. I slam my fist into his face with a satisfying thud, the sting in my knuckles a welcome distraction.

The man stumbles away, falling onto an empty table.

“Garit,” a voice calls. “You know better than that. Out.”

The man staggers toward the door.

I take my seat, and Madinia gives me a cool look, tucking her knife away. “A year before I landed on this continent, Vicana ordered an entire village slaughtered—men, women, and children—because some of them had given aid to Telanthris citizens fleeing Vicana’s invasions. They did nothing but offer food and water to innocent people, and Vicana killed them for it.”

My hand fists on the table between us. Madinia glances at it before meeting my eyes once more. “Someone who can commit that kind of brutality against her own people without the grimoire would become even more of a monster with it. According to the seer I spoke to, Vicana now knows where the grimoire is. Which means we have to beat Kyldare to it.”

“Because you’d rather risk giving the grimoire to me than to Vicana.”

A sharp nod, even as she glances away. Madinia has made her choice, but she’s not happy about it.

Because she’s convinced I will destroy this world.

I grind my teeth. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I’m not evil?”

She looks down her nose at me. “You forget, I’ve felt the power in that grimoire. I’ve used the power in that grimoire. And even from a distance, I could feel it…changing me.”

Yet she has no choice. Either I take back my own power, or she watches Vicana destroy this continent.

I lean back in my seat. “This is no longer your problem. Tell me where the grimoire is, and you can go about your life.”

She examines her nails. “I don’t think so.”

I clench my teeth until my jaw aches. Mules could take lessons in stubbornness from this woman. “Why?”

“Because I have a feeling you’ll begin to change as you get closer to the grimoire. As it calls to you. And if I sense you’re about to become a true threat, I’ll allow Kyldare to take it instead.”

I gape at her. “You’ll what ?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “I can steal it back from Vicana. Even if it takes years, I’ll find a way to take the grimoire and hide it again. But if you take it, there’s a chance you would destroy the world, Calpharos.”

My fists clench. “Don’t call me that.”

A hint of resigned amusement flickers through her eyes, but it’s quickly gone.

Waving down a serving girl, I order for both of us. Madinia allows it, her gaze on the fire, eyes empty.

“We’ve stabled the horses,” I mutter. “We may as well spend the night at the inn next door.”

She shakes her head. “We can’t risk it. We should continue to move.”

“Why don’t you tell me which direction we’re traveling, and I’ll determine that?”

Taking a map from my pocket, I unfold it, placing it on the table between us. She gives me that stubborn look again. The one that makes my gaze drop to her lips.

“You know we need to work together,” I remind her.

With a sigh, she brushes one finger over the map. “We’re traveling west.”

There are only a few places she could have hidden the grimoire that could have ensured no one would find it for so many years. I study the map, and she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

“And you wonder why I won’t tell you where it is. Already you’re attempting to find it without me.”

“It’s mine ,” I grind out.

“And it has already cost countless lives. Because Regner found one of your grimoires and used it to fuel his madness.”

She’s placing the blame at my feet, and I want to kick it away. But…I can’t.

I have no memory of the man I was—the man who poured everything into three grimoires and let them loose on this world. Knowing what I do know of myself, I would have planned to find them immediately.

But I didn’t. Instead, a tyrant king found one. And that’s just the first grimoire. Madinia knows nothing of the second or third. Have they also caused the same pain and suffering on other continents? Centuries from now, will humans and hybrids and fae curse my name?

It’s…confronting, learning that I am the threat, even if I have no memory of such a life. I do remember the war, though. I remember this woman, fleeing with villagers through a forest, ready to sacrifice her own life in order to buy innocents just a few more seconds. She lost people to Regner’s evil. People she cared about. Because of me.

Her face is pale as she pokes at her food, and my stomach churns as I push my own plate away.

I know nothing of her family—she has never spoken of them in my presence. But this is a woman who has known great loss. Most recently, she lost three years of her life, trapped in her body. Because of my grimoire.

Who might Madinia Farrow have been if not for me ? What kind of life might she have enjoyed?

After everything she has lived through, most people would have saved themselves. Would have handed the grimoire to Kyldare, boarded a ship, and found a quiet life somewhere far from this place.

But she didn’t. She fought for people who will never know how much she sacrificed for them. And now she’s still fighting.

“Madinia.”

Her eyes meet mine, and they’re chillingly blank. This woman is such a force of nature, it’s almost easy for me to forget how fragile she was just days ago.

I reach for her hand, and she allows it, a hint of life returning to her eyes. “I am no longer that man. I’ve had centuries walking through this world, living as a mortal. I need you to trust that I will not destroy it.”

She studies my face. After a long moment, she nods.

“Fine. We’ll work together.”

“Fine.”

I ignore the voice whispering in my head. The one urging me to become whole once more. The one whispering that if Madinia stands between me and my full recovery, she will be the first to die.