Page 56 of Fated or Knot

There was only a fleeting hint of regret suspended around Cymora as she answered with a dreamer’s lack of guile. “He never let Dorei’s death rest. He questioned it and revisited it until, one day, he was too close to the truth. To protect my name and my daughter’s future, he had to go.”

Ice cold. Exactly what one could expect from a fish, but the lack of remorse just showed me that this mermaid needed to be far, far away from my mate. Lark likely didn’t even realize the great injustice Cymora had committed upon her family.

“Killing them both wasn’t enough for you,” I stated slowly. “You set out to torture Lark next.”

“Oh, don’t make it sound so dramatic. I took her in with good intentions.” She waved dismissively. “Secured her loyalty.”

“How?”

“A vow, of course. But even with her doing everything I told her to, every time I looked at her, I couldn’t stop seeing Dorei staring back at me.” She shuddered violently. “So, I did what I had to.”

Cymora’s dreaming mind resisted. “What?” I pressed, scattering starry essence to keep her in the dream with me. Whatever it was, sheknewit was bad. Worse than admitting to decades-old murders.

“I had to,” she echoed.

I stood, leaking shadows and starlight as I loomed over her. With my magic coating my features, I took on the visage of a night terror. “What did you do to my mate, Cymora?” I asked in a dangerous hush.

For the first time, her eyes focused. She saw me, realized itwasme, and pursed her mouth with disapproval. “Are you making demands of me in my own dream, Prince Kauzden? My family’s matters are none of your business. You won’t get another word out of me.”

“Is that so?” I snapped my fingers. As if her stubborn chin lift was enough to defeat me in my own realm, dreams.

She flapped her hand dismissively. “Begone. Leave me to my privacy.”

I chuckled. Our surroundings were already changing around us. “To think you have any power here. How rich,” I mocked.

Cymora startled when she turned her head and watched a younger-looking version of herself walk by, hissing at a beta dryad who couldn’t have been older than a teenager, “I’m not paying you to run your mouth.”

The manifestation of her dreaming mind turned back to me, mouth agape. “That’s right. If you won’t tell me, your memories will.” I lifted my hand, directing starry essence to spin into chains of rope. I bound her hands behind her and stuffed her mouth with the magical equivalent of a gag. She made muffled sounds of protest as her dream officially became a nightmare, with her helplessly tethered to me while I followed the path of her memory.

It was early evening inside of an old but well-maintained manor. Cymora’s memory wore a floaty dress which rasped against the mermaid scales patterning her thighs from a recent swim. She looked the part as the lady of this house, with her blue hair filled with pearls and ears lined with spiky abalone.

The dryad boy sweating beside her was an essence spinner. If I was meeting him face to face, I’d know because I could sense the excess magic in him and the telltale way it spun through his body. It was just an educated guess from this memory, as his arms were covered in shaky tattoos of leafy vines.

I’d covered myself in poorly rendered art when I was just learning. It seemed this boy did the same thing. He was carrying a large briefcase and had a dodgy look about his glowing eyes.

“I’m just saying, missus,” he muttered.

“Relax. The device will betemporary. She just needs to be taught a lesson in discipline,” Cymora said breezily. “You were able to buy it, right? It’s not illegal.”

“Sure, but it was made for magic-wielding anim?—”

“Exactly,” she said over him. “And you reviewed the spell?”

He sighed as only a teen could. “Yes, missus.”

“A device and a spell,” I remarked, not that either person in this memory noticed me talking behind them. I turned to the dreaming Cymora and raised a brow. “Here’s your chance to confess before we see the truth.” She stared back at me,eyebrows slanted. With my starlight magic sealing her lips shut, all she could do was glare.

It didn’t matter anyway. I was going to witness her guilt firsthand, whether she admitted to it or not. “Suit yourself,” I said.

The memory of Cymora led the dryad teen to a door missing a handle. It gave way with a push of her palm, revealing a bedroom and a girl lying on a cot at the center of it. She was resting on her belly, wings halting their contented fluttering as she looked up from an open book.

“Oh, hello, Stepmother.” There were obvious nerves in the greeting, and her gaze darted toward the dryad.

I held up one finger. The memory froze in place. For a moment, the dreaming Cymora breathed a sigh of relief. That was before I flicked my hand and willed the ropes of essence binding her hands to multiply, some sticking to the floor to anchor her, others winding around her ankles so she’d remain in place.

“Hello, baby Lark,” I murmured, crossing the room to the girl. She couldn’t be more than ten or eleven, her body all sticks and elbows. Even now, she was dressed in drab colors, her only adornment a pair of tiny studs in her earlobes and the silver swirls glittering through her wings. They were stunning, indigo and oversized, looking like they’d carry her little form away with one flap.

Her cringing expression bared her teeth and a pair of tiny fangs. The longer I looked at her, the more details were different than the Lark I knew. Stars were frozen mid-wink in the whites of her eyes, and a purple sheen glittered over her blue eyes. Her hair was a washed-out purple, heading for the transition to stark white most of my people made as they came into their powers.Dreamlander,my instincts screamed.

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