Page 77 of Once the Skies Fade

Had Asher gotten me out of the forest?

Had he found a medallion for me?

How did Korben get the poison?

Were all the daggers poisoned?

What happened to Graham?

And Oryn? Had he made it back to the castle?

Was I still in the tournament?

As if in answer to my multitude of questions, a voice slipped in among my thoughts, faint and almost inaudible, as if it were tucked somewhere in the shadows of my mind.

“You’re lucky, it seems,” she said.

Calla? The queen? Why was she here in my head?

I tried to pry my eyes open, but they wouldn’t budge. Attempted to lift a finger, but nothing.

Maybe this was just a byproduct of the poison, though Connor had never mentioned hallucinations. Shared dreams, sure, but that was from his bond with Lieke, not from the poisoning.

Maybe I’m talking to myself.

In Calla’s voice? Unlikely.

Hearing what you want to hear?

Of all the voices my mind could use to process shit, why not hers?

“How you won Asher over, I don’t know,” she continued. “But you’re still in the tournament because of him. Never thought I’d see the day when he befriended anyone new.”

Silence settled around me again, long enough for me to wonder if she’d gone—and to be disappointed by that prospect.

I scoffed to myself.

It’s just a bit lonely here.

Not like I want her specifically.

When she finally spoke again, my heart perked up at first—delighted that she hadn’t left—until her words sank in, like a barb pushed slowly into my chest.

“I don’t want you here.”

Why did that simple statement hurt so much?

“I don’t need a king to rule beside me, yet here I am.” She paused to release a huffy growl. “No choices. No options. No freedom. A queen should be able to rule as she wants; not have to bend to the will of an Assembly of peasants. I should have justkilled them all in that meeting. Killed them all and been done with it.”

Killed them all.

As much as I wanted that to be an admittance of guilt so I could finish my work here and go home, I couldn’t trust anything I heard in this condition. For all I knew, this was my own consciousness putting words into her imaginary mouth.

But then a weight settled on my hand and squeezed my fingers. Her breath tickled my ear, and I swore I caught the unmistakable sound of a tongue wetting lips. I almost chided myself for letting my imagination run amok, but then she whispered.

“You might be the only good one left, so please don’t die on me.”

Everything vanished. The weight. The breath. The voice.

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