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Tristan followed them to the belly of the ship where a line of iron cells stood empty. He saw himself thrusting Lexa into one, and she stumbled over the straw-covered floor with a groan. When the door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place, Lexa’s cries came out in violent wails of pain. She begged him not to kill Ryke.
But when Tristan’s former self turned around to hunt Ryke down, Tristan took in his cloudy eyes, the blank expression, and the awkward way he moved. As if he were nothing but a hollow shell, a puppet, carrying out the will of someone else.
With his heart racing, Tristan followed himself up the ladder to the upper deck, then up the steps. He sensed that soon, all would be revealed. He would finally know what happened.
Finally, Tristan stopped when he came face to face with his father, who stood at the helm of the ship.
There was chaos all around. Men battled. Mermaids cried.
But then his father’s eyes narrowed at a figure behind Tristan.
“Neri,” he barked. “We had a deal! You get the mermaids, I get their medicinal properties for my kingdom.”
Tristan turned to find his dream self flashing the king a wicked grin. But when he spoke, it was Neri’s voice that came out of his body. “You should know better than to trust mermaids,” she sneered.
He then watched as his past self stabbed his father. Each time the silver blade sank with a crunch into his father’s flesh, not a single flicker of remorse crossed his face. Neri’s face. Instead, he remained blank. Hollow.
As if he was not there at all. Tristan staggered back, clamping a clammy hand over his thumping heart as he watched his dream self turn and charge toward Ryke without so much as glancing back at his dying father.
It all fell into place as Neri’s voice echoed in his memory. He didn’t kill his father of his own free will. Neri controlled his mind and made him do it.
Tristan stood frozen, his eyes wide and ears ringing as he watched his father slump back with a grunt. Thick blood spilled out like red wine, staining the ship.
He looked up at the sound of hurried footsteps. The air shifted as Ella flew into view and whimpered as she fell to her knees, pressing on the ugly wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.
The scene faded for a moment, and when Tristan’s vision cleared, he saw himself kneeling by his father, letting out agonized sobs. His hands trembled with fury and horror, and giant tears rolled down his cheeks.
He looked up to see Ella, her hands soaked in blood and eyes wide like saucers. She shook her head in horror, stepping back while Tristan shouted at her. Calling her a murderer.
Suddenly, the air changed, becoming eerily still and quiet. Tristan could only hear his own heartbeat when his former self turned and his eyes locked on his. For the first time, someone could see him. And a rising sense of fear crept up in Tristan’s chest and wrapped around his neck like a pair of strong hands.
He staggered backward while his former self picked up the bloodied knife and headed for him. It was as though he was looking into the eyes of a mortal enemy.
But a sword burst through Tristan’s former self’s chest, and he slumped out of view with a groan, revealing a hooded figure. Trembling, he shook himself and blinked away the tears in his eyes to see soft, blonde hair flowing in the wind and a pair of eyes glistening like diamonds from underneath the hood. Slowly, the figure pulled the hood back and Tristan stared at a woman, who looked at him with as much intensity as a thousand daggers flying in his face.
“Who are you? You were not there that night,” Tristan said, searching his mind for any recollection of the woman.
She moved forward with strength and confidence, then opened her mouth and spoke with authority. “I’m the guardian of the Dreamworld, and you don’t belong here.”
At this, she pushed him over to the edge of the ship with both hands, then picked up his legs and tossed him overboard. Tristan could not even yell before his body made contact with the freezing water.
Tristan jerked awake with a gasp, his body drenched in icy sweat and trembling with terror. He remained motionless, his eyes wide open, trying desperately to calm the thundering of his heart as he put the pieces together–the terrifying images that had invaded his dreams now burned in his mind. Finally, he connected everything.
Neri was the one controlling him.
His father was the one who threw the pixie dust at him and then ordered him to kill his cousin. All the while, he was stuck in the middle of his father’s twisted deal with Neri.
Still, he was haunted by the image of himself thrusting a dagger into his father’s chest. Though they had never seen eye to eye and his father often made ruthless decisions, he knew it had all been done to protect their kingdom.
And above all, he was his own flesh and blood. Now he had no father, and it left an emptiness in his chest that could never be filled. Emotion balled in the bottom of his throat in the form of a hard lump.
But then he found himself remembering the beautiful guardian of the Dreamworld.
Her lush golden locks flying back in the sea breeze. Her plump cheeks like strawberries, and a pair of slender brows knitted together as she looked at him without an ounce of fear.
He was not accustomed to being looked at without fear or concern.
And as he thought about the woman, the pain he felt with the memory of his father was soothed, if only for a moment.
