She felt it too, and she didn’t know which version of grief was real, or which one she was supposed to feel.
He was at a loss for words. She saw through his armor. That being happy, even for a moment, was forgetting; forgiving.
“There’s no right way,” he said. “You’re carrying the burden of your parents’ deaths, but not letting it stop you from healing. You haven’t let it swallow you.”
He’d heard her speaking to her parents when she assumed no one was listening. Little things like what she’d done that day, her hopes that they were proud of her. He should’ve stopped listening to those private moments, but he couldn’t. He was mesmerized by her words. She didn’t erase them from her life but carried them with her.
“I wouldn’t view my actions as the healthy way to move on with your life,” he muttered.
Her eyes were bright with interest—that same sharp curiosity she had when the others taught her something new. “Who hurt you?”
Pain washed through him, but not as strongly as it once had. Time had healed his wounds, but he’d held onto them.
He looked at Iliana. Here she was, with grief and stress, worry and pain, and she was thriving. She’d asked him if she’d been grieving wrong, but he now knew his words to her had been a lie. There was a right and a wrong way to grieve, and he’d been the one to screw that up.
He’d rarely spoken to anyone about his retreat from the world, but he wanted to share that with her. To explain, even though she wouldn’t remember once she woke. “My wife used me. Used my love, my name, my power. I didn’t see it until it was toolate.”
The dream wavered. “I’d always given her the benefit of the doubt, wondering if she was being used. She was always ambitious, hungry for status, easy prey for anyone promising her relevance.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t excuse what she did. I should’ve seen how desperate she was. I was blind to her.”
He let out a sad laugh. “I know now that even from the beginning, it had never been a healthy relationship.”
Another waver in the distance had him refocusing, knowing he was the one causing the change. He tried to state only the facts and shut down the painful memories.
“I trusted and loved her. When my world shattered, I withdrew. I figured if I stayed alone, I’d never be used again.” He paused. “I don’t want you to take it personally if my first instinct is to lash out.”
Iliana’s eyes, soft throughout his story, turned sharp. The temperature in the dream changed, flowing through the meadow as her subconscious responded to his pain with something fierce and protective. The heat came from empathy; from recognizing cruelty.
“Why would she do that to you?” she asked, voice harder than he’d ever heard it, even when she was telling him off. It wasn’t pity, but rage on his behalf, as though she’d taken his pain personally.
It startled him. When was the last time someone had been angry on his behalf instead of with him? He opened his mouth to answer—
Something was wrong. Reality was breaking through the dream in rough strips. It wasn’t the curse this time, but something outside.
He had a split second to realize what was happening, to pull them both out—
The real world slammed back as something massive struck, launching him across the yurt. His skull cracked against the cabinet, his vision going white before snapping back into focus. He could sense when the dreamscape shattered, when Iliana vanished from the peaceful meadow as his connection to her was severed.
He shook his head, blinking away the haze. The yurt was in ruins. A massive worm towered where the couch had been, ten feet of writhing, segmented flesh that stank of rot and earth. Its body was pale and slick, almost translucent, revealing dark organs pulsing under the surface. The head was a gaping mouth with rows of concentric rings of glistening fangs.
How did it breach Thanatos’ wards? They’d been thorough—nothing should’ve made it through.
Unless—
A hole yawned in the floor—fresh dirt still settling. Thanatos had protected against aerial attacks, unwelcome gods teleporting in, and threats from any direction.
Except from below.
The one vulnerability. And this thing knew exactly where to strike.
Iliana.
His gaze scanned the wreckage, zeroing in on auburn hair partially buried under debris. He took a step toward her, then stopped.
Not yet. It was too close to her.
He summoned his sword, and he circled the worm, his steps deliberately loud as he drew its attention away from her.
It worked.
