Page 83 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
Part Two
Chapter 34
Willow
Iwake with a start in Fox’s bed, my hand instinctively reaching out, seeking him. The absence of his warm body beside me is a physical ache that settles deep in my chest before I even open my eyes.
Of course, we argued about which room to put him in when we returned to the keep. Styx wanted to draw a mustache on his face “to go with his ostentatious fashion.” Emrys suggested the vegetable garden to scare away the ravens. Baby Hunt cocked his leg and peed on Fox, which made Bodin lose his ever-loving mind. Varen left, probably because of the chaos. Legion just wanted them all to shut up. Ultimately, they made sense of it when I suggested he remain in the dining room where his hive would see him daily. We hoped that gazing upon his stony face and expression of heartbreak would keep his memory alive, unlike what happened with Styx.
I close my eyes, remembering the faint heartbeat. He’s still in there, still alive. The thought of him possibly aware but unable to move, to speak, to live is almost too much. Styx said his memory was hazy before he was imprisoned in stone, but does that mean Fox isn’t suffering?
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. The room still smells faintly of Fox—that mix of moss, woods, and musk that’s uniquely him. It’s both a comfort and a torment.
A wave of loneliness overcomes me. An ache grows deeper inside my chest, and I rub my sternum as if to dispel the feeling of loss. Wolves need to be with a pack, and in the absence of my family back in Elphyne, I need to be close to my mates.
I need the reassurance that I’m not alone.
I need to feel wanted.
Varen is my first thought. But he has no dream web, and I triggered his manic attack the last time I slept in his bed. I don’t want to cause trouble and discomfort.
Bodin is grumpy with me for running off without him and attempting to break into the temple alone. I get it. It was stupid. But love makes us do silly things. I’m not sorry.
Styx still doesn’t trust me. Emrys scowls at me constantly. And Legion, the one person in this group who should know what mates are to each other, avoids me.I refuse to touch you this way,he said. The more I think of those words, the more I feel wounded and need comfort.
My new friends have suffered enough because of my actions. I can’t lump my emotions onto them too.
So that leaves me with Fox. He’s a stone statue, but his heart beats steadily inside. Maybe curling up at his feet will let me fall into a dreamless sleep.
I gather Fox’s black embroidered blanket around my naked body and ease off his bed. It’s become my own. The dream web must work well enough because I’ve had no complaints about rogue dreamscapes infecting the hallways. I tiptoe through the connecting door to my small room. Having six domineering mates is both a blessing and a curse. I’m a glutton for tactile company, but I’m no fool. There will be times when I need my own space.
Now is not one of those times.
I run my finger along my collection of stolen items. Last night, one of Bodin’s hair beads joined the mix.
I collect a scarf I wore last week and head to the dining room at the end of the wing. Each step on the cold floor feels heavier than the last. But still, I press on. Because even a stone Fox is better than being completely alone.
When I enter the dining room, festive smells assault my nose—a potent mix of pine, cinnamon, and the lingering scent of mulled wine. A shadowy old-world Christmas tree stands by a window. My friends helped me decorate it. Cricket and Finch even added their decorated Yule log as a centerpiece on the empty dining table. It’s dark, the room bathed in the ethereal glow of faerie lantern lights that dance along the walls like captured starlight. It must be somewhere between dusk and dawn, that liminal time when the veil between worlds grows thin, but I’ve lost track of time. All I can think of now is how impossible it seems to get Fox back.
I pad over to him, my bare feet silent on the floor. Placing my hand on his cold, hard chest, I feel the faintest thrum of tingling magic beneath the surface, a cruel reminder of the life trapped within. We dressed him in pants and a shirt. I add my scarf around his neck, thinking that smelling me close might be nice for him.
When I look up at his beautiful face, my lips curve at the curly charcoal mustache Styx drew—such a brotherly thing to do. Despite being born of the same mother, I didn’t see the Six as siblings. They weren’t biologically made in her womb, and all appear different based on the traits of each slaver queen. But the more time I spend with them, the more their fractiousness and camaraderie reminds me of my behavior with my kin.
I consider wiping the mustache off, but it’s fun to imagine Fox discovering what’s on there when he reanimates.
A low hum from somewhere in the dark room instills a deep sense of unease. I guess the sound of the fey lines, the magical energy coursing through Avorlorna, is more potent now in winter’s heart. It moves the carriages and probably helps keep the watergates frozen.
I look into Fox’s opaque eyes, those heartbreaking eyes frozen in a moment of sacrifice, and I’m taken back to when he told me why he was turning himself to stone in my place. The memory washes over me, as vivid and painful as if it were happening all over again . . .
He slams his palm on Styx’s solid chest.“I ate Sylvanar, Willow. I ate his Shadow. I’m the fucking monster! I made it worse.”
I step away from Fox as the truth dawns on me. I shouldn’t be here. I should be far away from these people I care about. Fox is in this situation because of me. He said it himself—he tried to be something other than himself to prove he was no monster. Monster: that stupid word I slung in the heat of battle five years ago.
The further away I step, the more the sounds of that battle ring in my ears, adding to the pulsating sense of fear and regret already clinging to me. My bottom bangs into the dining table; my hands fly out to steady myself. The blanket falls from my shoulders, and cold air rushes in, tightening my bare nipples.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of more battle memories. I don’t want to be back there. I don’t want to remember all the horrible things I did, but there’s no escaping them.
The sounds of undead creatures clawing their way out of dirt scrapes in my mind. Immediately, I think about Max, Geraldine, Peggy, Bob . . . Colin. Where is Colin?
