Page 61 of Of Withering Dreams
“Kade!” I slapped the back of my hand on his chest, my face flushing. A hoot of laughter pushed from my throat. The tension within my body deflated as I settled, the wind stroking and cooling my cheeks.
He was right, though … about the orchid. We had to keep going.
Out of the corner of my eye, neon pink flickered among the green. My heart skipped a beat as I jolted to my feet, using Kaden’s shoulder for balance.
He thrust his hand into the moss, bracing himself against the force of my movement. “Woah—no need to get in a tizzy. It happens to a lot of men.”
“What?”
“Well, when a manreallyenjoys a woman?—”
I glanced at him briefly, rolling my eyes and cupping my palm against his warm lips. My feet brought me closer to the edge as I tried to get a better view across its huge, curving bend.
There, in the distance—partially hidden behind a vibrant shrub, its pearly magenta mirberries gleaming—was a tall, pink flower swaying in the breeze. A few steps beyond that was another but with bright-yellow petals. And then another. My gaze followed the line of flowers as if they were lookouts leading the way.
I waved my hand behind me, absently trying to get everyone’s attention. I tapped Kaden’s head, pointing when he looked up. “Uh, the meadow.”
Breena ran over, gawking at the flowers. “Fecking void, woman. I think you’re right.”
Rhaegar stopped next to us, drawing his battle axe. “If that is your meadow, we’d best be prepared for whatever beast guards it.”
Kaden stood, brushing off his trousers, and then sighed, readying his sword.
Leaving our supplies nestled between the trees, we hastened forward, renewed vigor nipping at our heels. We reached our destination within fifteen minutes. A breathy, relieved laugh dropped to my feet as we approached the bloom. I ran my fingertips over its rigid, silky petals, each one as big as my hand.
“Well done, you beautiful, beautiful bird.” Breena laughed, smacking a loud kiss on my cheek as we moved forward.
We followed the flowers until more of them scattered among the trees. Soon, a sprawling meadow lay before us, shades of pink and yellow dancing in the shimmering wind.
“This is it,” I murmured. I gulped, wiping my hands on my tunic and clutching the hilt of my sheathed dagger. My ember vibrated just below the surface in anticipation.
“Where was the Mirage Orchid in your dream?” Kaden asked, shifting closer to me.
“It was near the very edge. To the right, where these flowers meet the stone.” I pointed to the general area in the distance where the slick black stone marked the edge of the meadow like a jagged ink stain.
Scanning the intimidating expanse before us, my pulse quickened, and my breaths became more shallow. I clenched my eyes, thinking of the end goal. Thinking of everyone we could help if we succeeded.
Letti.
I pushed my shoulders back, running my thumb over the cool metal in my hand. My thoughts drifted as I tried to distract myself from spiraling emotions.
Letti and Xeni had found little information about the Mirage Orchid, but what they had sounded impossible. I shook my head, curls dancing around my shoulders.
Not as impossible as everything else I’ve been through.
As me dreaming of this exact place.
My cheeks scrunched, crinkling my closed lids. Mr. Burlam had been right; this orchid was the rarest in existence. Letti and Xeni had learned that a single bud bloomed every half century or so, shedding in the winter months. Aside from its rarity, it was also temperamental—sometimes, it refused to blossom, and one could only harness its power by using fallen petals. Legend said it could reverse an embered curse upon your mind or body.
If it hadn’t flowered in over a century, it was no wonder the Elders wanted it. Mystical attacks were not reversible … unless you were an Ancient. But even so, our history detailed the consequences to anyone—even celestial beings—for intervening in the Fates’ plans.
To nobody’s shock—it was never pleasant.
“Fecking scheming trackhounds,” Breena growled. My eyes snapped open, darting to where the curve of her dagger’s blade pointed.
Far to the right, in the middle of the field, several of our opponents spilled from the trees, Sebille and her team among them. There looked to be about twenty of them, perhaps less. It was hard to tell with the flowery heads swaying up to their shoulders and chins.
Sebille whispered something to her team, and they stayed back as the others lumbered forward, shoving stems out of their way, crunching the flora without abandon.
