Page 88 of Vale of Dreams

“So why, my lady, would you be lying? Where did you really go? The king keeps warning us against spies, and you’re new to court. Getting invited into the High Council.”

I breathe in, out.

In one swift motion, I twist my arm sharply. I merely expect to catch him unaware, but to my surprise, I manage to break his hold on me. I slam my elbow into his face, and it crunches. He cries out in pain, stumbling back.

Time slows down, the energy that has been building up in me for weeks starting to blaze through my body.

Mordred said that being here will awaken my dormant powers. The powers of the Lady of the Lake.

The guard is already drawing his sword, snarling. Gripping my dagger, I lunge for his throat, much faster than I ever used to be. He parries, awkwardly hitting me with his wrist. He knocks the dagger out of my hand, and it clatters to the stone, but he’s struggling to manage his sword in the small space.

I kick him hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He tries to call out, but his voice sounds choked now. I kick him again, slamming my foot into his wrist, pressing it between my boot and the wall until he drops the sword. But he punches me with his free hand, and it’s not the punch of a human or a demi-Fey or anything I’m used to. It’s the punch of full-blooded Fey with the strength of a fucking ox. The pain rockets through my skull, vibrating in my brain, and I stagger back. Hot blood fills my mouth.

Frantically, I grab my dagger off the floor, but by the time I’m up again, he’s retrieved his sword. He lunges for me, and I try to dodge out of the way of his blade. I’m not fast enough. Pain rips through my side as his blade slices my flesh.

With that pain, more power blazes through me, and time crawls. The guard’s movements suddenly seem clumsy, snail-like. I dart forward and swipe my blade across his throat in a swift, brutal arc, carving it open. He drops his sword again, gripping his neck as blood sprays around him. I watch as he slumps to the ground.

My thoughts are a raging tempest.

Footfalls, coming down the stairs. Someone obviously heard the shouting, the clattering of weapons.

But this time, I'm not going to stop for a conversation. I grit my teeth.

The moment the next soldier rounds the stairwell, I toss my dagger in a perfect arc. All the practice in the training halls of Avalon Tower intermingles with my newfound powers, sending my blade spinning directly into the man’s throat. The hilt juts from his neck. Groaning, he manages to pull it out, but a gurgling noise rises from his gullet. My heart is thundering wildly, and the metallic scent of blood fills the hall.

He’s dying too slowly. I grab the dagger from his hand and plunge it into his heart, severing his artery. My thoughts are roaring, my vision’s swimming. What the fuck am I turning into? All I can smell is blood, and it drips from my lips. Is it mine or theirs? I feel like I’ve fucking bathed in it.

For a few minutes, I can’t think coherently. It’s just me breathing in the smell of death—until my survival instincts kick back into action.

I have to get rid of what I’ve done.

Right now.

I don't have another moment to waste.

I drag the bodies out into the wintry night, one at a time. It’s still dark, thank the gods. But even when the bodies are gone, what am I to do with the blood soaking the stairwell?

Once the corpses are outside, I pull the jacket off the man with the pale blond hair. Guilt flutters through me as I wonder if there might’ve been another way, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. I’m in enemy territory here. One slip up, and my severed head will end up on a pike, my limbs nailed to the gatehouse.

I carry the jacket back inside and use it to soak up some of the blood from the stairs. Then I carry handfuls of snow inside, letting them melt on the blood-streaked stairs. As fast as I can, I scrub some of that up with the second jacket. It’s not perfect, but the stones are dark. I’ve soaked up most of the pools.

When the stairs look less like a bloodbath, I return to the bodies, dragging them by the shoulders, one in each hand. It should be an impossible feat because they’re heavy as fuck, but some of that earlier magical energy is propelling me on. I hoist them across the darkened courtyard.

When I look behind me, I realize I’ve left trails of crimson. They’re not bleeding much—their hearts have stopped. But it’s still there. I’m bleeding on the snow, too.

There’s not much to do but keep going.

I pull them past the willow tree, gripping them both, my knuckles white as I drag them. Frustration crackles through me at how slowly I’m moving, and I glance up at the sky. As soon as the sun comes out, I’m fucked. Anyone will be able to see me from the windows of the palace, hauling fucking corpses across the courtyard.

The first blush of dawn starts to tinge the sky, and my breath catches.

I force myself to move faster, but the pain in my side is agonizing.

At last, I get to the ley portal and feel the stones’ magic shimmering over me. The hair rises on the back of my neck as I drag them toward the edge of the circle. Only Sentinels can get through the ring stones, and whatever they’re carrying with them.

But is a corpse really a person? Or is it now a thing? I’m about to find out.

I glance up at the sky and see the predawn light staining the clouds pale amber. Gods help me. I need to do this now. I drag the bodies into the jagged stones, and the black tear opens before me. With them in my grasp, I fall through the portal.

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