Page 32

Let me tell you a story, little Rose.

“Princess, did you hear what I said?”

“W-what?” she stammered then inwardly cursed.

Marcellus’ brows dipped. “What’s wrong?”

Thicket dug her hand into the bag, feeling around for her day clothes. “Nothing. I’m just… still waking up.” Her fingers landed on the familiar fabric and she fought to free it from the cluster of items. “We’re training, right? I’ll get changed really fast and then we can—”

Marcellus snatched the bag from her hands, her clothes half dangling out of it, and leaned in, forcing her eyes to meet his. “I know something happened. What is it?”

For someone who constantly refused to tell her things, he sure did like to stick his nose in her business. “Really. It’s nothing. I just had a bad dream.”

“About?”

Thicket groaned. “Can I have my clothes now?” She stretched her arm out but Marcellus backed out of reach.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

Thicket’s hand dropped into her lap, defeated. She picked at a loose string on her blanket, biding her time before asking, “Is it true that phoenixes can be reborn as ravens?”

“Who told you that?” he demanded.

Thicket bit her lip.

“Princess,” he warned.

She closed her eyes. “My sister.” The words were but a whisper, but the moment they passed her lips they expanded, weighing the very air around them.

Marcellus’ expression darkened. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since Lavender gave the ultimatum…”

Marcellus let out a slow, growling breath. “Why didn’t you say anything? Don’t you think we should know if your sister’s been influencing your dreams?”

Thicket shrunk back, curling into herself.

Were you dreaming?

What is wrong with you?

Crazy doesn’t just go away.

Marcellus faltered. He reached out, as though about to touch her, but at the last second he clenched his fist and slid onto the bed beside her. “I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to yell.” It was then she noticed that the tight pinch of his eyebrows wasn’t anger. It was concern.

Thicket had spent her entire life hiding her dreams from others, hoping that if no one knew of the abnormality that plagued her every time she closed her eyes, maybe one day she could be accepted. If anyone asked about her dreams, it was always out of fear or disgust. Not once had anyone asked because they had been worried about her.

“I told you that in the Dream World people thought I was crazy. It was because I had these dreams. Dreams that felt so real I acted as though they were.” She couldn’t bear the intensity of his gaze, so she kept her eyes trained on the floorboards in front of her, tracing the lines of scuffed wood. “It turns out the dreams were actually memories. But I didn’t know that until coming here.”

“That’s how you knew about your sister,” he said. “The night you climbed the clock tower.”

She nodded. “I was confused. I spent my whole life trying to separate what was real, only to learn that everything I had ever known was a lie.”

Marcellus grabbed her hand. It was warm and rough, taking her by surprise. She jerked back. “W-what are you doing?”

He glared down at her hand. “You’re bleeding.”

Beads of fresh blood rose from the raw, fresh skin of her knuckles. She glanced at her other hand and found traces of the scabs beneath her fingernails.