Page 36 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
When I wake the next morning, I’m exhausted. Since I was rescued from Qimorna, I’ve been constantly carrying around a knot in my gut, a lurking tension waiting to flare up when I’m not paying attention. But Ican pay attention. I can be vigilant. And if I stay focused, I can keep the horror that finds me in my dreams at bay…at least in my waking hours.
Except when I manage to push that tension down, something else rises to the surface. A strange absence. An emptiness. It’s like some part of me has slipped away in the night while I was busy trying to conquer my nightmares.
I lean down and gently press a kiss to Leon’s temple where he lies next to me, fast asleep, before slipping out of the bed. I pull on some clothes as quietly as possible and tiptoe out of the room. Whatever that absence means, I need time to work through it alone.
The Crossed Keys is busy as usual, bustling with travelers and rebels heading to breakfast. Tread really is an ingenious location for this rebel base. With people constantly passing through, members of the Hand can come and go without drawing any attention or curiosity from people they encounter on the road, and once they’re here, the only people who stick around long enough to notice them are the small, tight-knit community ofpeople who are permanently in residence—and who have proven they can be trusted.
It means I feel pretty safe as I slip on my glamour ring and leave the inn to move through the town, heading toward a cluster of tents behind a blacksmith’s. What I need is some privacy, and I find it clambering through the hidden hatch set into the ground, leading down into a network of cellars.
There I find an empty, quiet chamber, and concentrate. The odd weight of that missing thing is still there, and I close my eyes and take some steady, even breaths. Then, I reach for my magic.
I wait for the boiling heat of sunlight in my veins, for the pull of desire that allows me to draw objects toward me. I search for the deep well of power that I know lurks inside…
Nothing.
It’s as if the fire of my magic has been doused, leaving only a damp, blackened pile of ashes. I knew something was wrong with me. Yet it still comes as a shock. Panicking, I throw all my strength and focus into coaxing that fire back to life. At first, it remains stubbornly cold, and then there’s something, a small spark. I seize it, lifting my palm and willing my power to manifest.
A tiny, weak ray of sunlight flickers in my hand, then disappears again.
I try my orbital magic too, focusing on a small stone kicked into the corner of the cellar. My entire head aches by the time I’ve managed to shift it an inch toward me.
It’s been more than three days since I was last fed any dimane. Thanks to Mal and Heda’s gifts for balms, I’m pretty much healed, physically. Mentally and emotionally, I’m a mess, but what else is new? Turmoil has never kept me from using my magic before. It must be a physical problem, but I’m at a loss to explain it. Knowing that Mal is my best bet for answers for anything to do with healing, I decide to seek him out.
I run into a rebel in the cellars, asking them where I can find the half-dryad, only to be directed back toward the caves. I use the hidden entrance, behind the livery yard, traveling down underground until the cave opens up ahead of me. Several figures appear around the tunnel’s exit, barring my way.
“Who’s there?” a familiar voice asks.
“It’s me, Mal,” I say, slipping off my glamour and stepping forward so the incendi lamps can light my face.
The half-dryad relaxes, turning to the others.
“It’s the princess,” he says, and the others stand down. Mal looks me over, assessing.
“How are you?” he asks. “Did the balm work?”
My hand goes to my stomach.
“Yes, thank you for your help with that.”
He shrugs. “Most of it was Heda, I just made sure the wounds stopped reopening and bleeding long enough for the balm to do its work.”
I glance at the other rebels, biting my lip.
“I was wondering if we could talk alone,” I murmur.
He tilts his head curiously but nods and leads me out of earshot of the others. Once we’re alone, I take a deep breath and just come out with it.
“Something’s wrong with my magic,” I say. “I thought I’d be back to normal by now, but my powers don’t seem to be replenishing.”
Mal frowns, moving toward me. “That’s strange. Any dimane should be gone from your system by now. Can I test your blood?”
I agree, and he disappears into one of the tunnels for a moment, returning with a small case of medical supplies.
“We keep a lot of rations and supplies here in case of emergencies,” he explains. “If Tread is ever under siege, we can escape through here and survive in the tunnels for weeks.”
He pulls a needle from a case and reaches for my finger, pricking it. A drop of crimson beads on my fingertip, and he turns my hand over and lets the blood drip into his palm. I watch, fascinated, as it shines there for a moment, and then seems to absorb into his skin.
Mal’s eyes go distant. Eventually, he pulls an unhappy face.
