“You did a brave thing that day,” he remarked.
“Wolf of Winter,” Nocturne mused. “The beast in Fey skin. What do you know of bravery?”
He had no answer, and she wouldn’t understand even if he gave her one.
“She died trying to protect me,” she whispered. Just as Nocturne’s parents had sacrificed themselves in a vain attempt to protect their magic-born daughter.
A hollow wind swept through the raw night. “I don’t care what he does to me,” she declared. “I’m cutting her down.”
Kit stepped forward. “Let me help you, at least.”
“I don’t want your help,” she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at him. “Not now, notever. The greatest gift you can give me right now is privacy.”
The pain erupting inside her set her wild eyes glowing, and he knew her hands were trembling at her sides not because of the biting cold, but because of the rage coursing through her. She was broken—he could see that now. Perhaps even beyond repair. Beyond his reach.
The general did as she asked and left the courtyard without another word.
24
Avalon had frightened Hadrian so thoroughly that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
As they rode south through the Forest Realm the following morning, he kept as close to her as possible, in case another memory might cause her to faint again. He’d barely caught her before she’d hit the ground, and her stallion had continued galloping on for several painfully long minutes before he’d managed to yank on the reins. As soon as he was certain the Wraith wasn’t anywhere near them—and after he’d managed to wake Avalon back up—they’d stopped for the night.
Hadrian hadn’t asked her what she’d seen; he was waiting for the princess to tell him herself, for she was clearly deep in thought. At least her nose had stopped bleeding; it had continued leaking for nearly an hour after she’d come to, driving Hadrian crazy with worry. He had thought it might never stop.
Now, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and Avalon continued to ride in silence beside him, Hadrian grew anxious. What had she seen in her latest vision that was keeping her so quiet?
Another quarter of an hour ticked by before she finally spoke. “The memory I saw last night was different,” she began, hesitating as she nibbled on her bottom lip. They slowed their horses to a trot as they crossed a shallow river. “Sable was either seventeen or eighteen, I’m not entirely certain, and she was spying in the king’s army.”
The king,she’d said. No longer was she referring to the Dark Lord as her father. Hadrian couldn’t blame her. In fact, he was ridiculously proud of her. It was best if her father was in her life as little as possible.
“Sable had a ring,” she continued. “It was disguising her somehow—changing her appearance, and even her scent, so no one could find out where she was or what she was doing.”
Hadrian ducked under a branch of an oak as they ascended a low hill. Sunlight danced on the leaves, the many colors flashing like jewels. “What happened in the memory?”
Avalon shook her head once, deep in thought, though Hadrian had a feeling that more than just Sable’s memory was on her mind. “She was approached by a man called General Terren. He wore a Morningstar at his side.”
Hadrian considered the name. “Terren,” he mused. “I’m not familiar with him.”
“Neither am I.”
They rode in silence for a while, and once they came upon a meadow of bluebells, the petals dewy with rain, he said, “How did you find the book in the catacombs?” When he’d heard the guards clomping down the stairs, he’d dropped everything and frantically searched for Avalon. He’d found her standing beside a tomb, the book already in her hands. But she hadn’t had a chance to explain where she found it—or how.
And he certainly wasn’t expecting her answer.
“A ghost led me to it,” she admitted in a hushed voice. Before he could question her further, she changed the subject. “When I was a child, my nursemaid would tell me stories. Some were about trolls and witches. Others were about the seraphim. When she really wanted to scare me, she spoke of ghosts. But mostly, she talked about the primordial gods… And about a prophecy that told of their reincarnations into new bodies down here in Elderyn.”
Hadrian knew little of the gods; he hadn’t been raised to believe in them. Most of the temples here were in ruins because the gods were believed to have abandoned Elderyn in a time of dire need. No one knelt in the ancient structures anymore; no altars smoked with offerings. The night sky was no longer a place to look to for answers, but a vast emptiness.
Avalon went on, “There were engravings on the ceiling in the catacombs. Sable said they were supposed to be the old gods and goddesses. The ghost—,” she hesitated, drawing a breath in through her nose. “She looked up at the ceiling as if she were trying to tell me something.”
“What do you believe she was trying to tell you?” Hadrian murmured.
Avalon gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Sable thought it had something to do with…beingsthat are more powerful than us. Maybe the gods aren’t as distant as we think.” She paused. And when she spoke again, a peculiar tone colored her words, and her eyes flicked skyward. “Maybe they’re still here.”
~
The House of Dreams was a four-day journey from Emeraldis. Avalon had suggested they start with the Star of Midra first, but Hadrian was more concerned with finding the Tears of Hilsian. Despite his many excuses, Avalon knew he was afraid that whatever lurked in the House of Dreams would kill them both. Better to start with the hardest errand instead of wasting time, right?
