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“No, a dream…”
He frowned. “A dream?”
“I know, it’s…” By Dallin, what was I doing here, in his room, in the middle of the night, ranting about Lark in a dream? I spluttered at my own idiocy. “I’m sorry, this is… I shouldn’t have woken you.”
“Well, I’m up now,” he grumbled. “Sit…” He wandered toward the dresser. “Wine? Tell me about this dream.”
I couldn’t sit while the hurt still throbbed in my chest. I paced instead and watched Draven pour himself a drink. “Is there any hour in a day when you will not drink wine?”
“No.” He grinned and held the bottle aloft. “From that reaction, I’m assuming you don’t want any.”
“No… Maybe? Yes.” My galloping heart had slowed to a trot and the dream’s haunting images began to fade. All but one. That stark image of Lark on the clifftop, arms spread as though to embrace the moon, and then… I sat in the chair. “Something has happened to him. I know it.”
“From this dream?” Draven said, approaching with two glasses in his hands. His black and red dressing gown swooped like a cloak, tied only at the waist. He wore shorts beneath, and… nothing else. I blinked away. What was I doing here?
In the morning, I’d probably regret racing to him because of a nightmare, like a child. I wasalreadyregretting it.
Draven handed me my glass. “It’ll do you good.”
I sipped it automatically, but my mind was back on that cliff’s edge with Lark. “I fear I have not been wholly truthful with you.”
“Oh?” He dropped into the large chair beside mine, unsurprised by my confession. “About Lark, by any chance?”
“It’s difficult. Because of what he did. But I… We had a connection, I think.” I laughed at my own nonsense and drank more wine. “I am the Prince of Love, you’d think I’d know my own feelings. But I don’t know how I feel… about him.” I pressed a fist to my chest, where it hurt the most. “Lark and I, it was fast, and violent… and maybe I am mad, but we had something, among all the lies and games. Beneath it all, there was a truth to us, a realism. We both knew the other was lying, and frankly, neither of us cared. At least, not about the things we were supposed to care about…” Was I making any sense? I downed a huge gulp of wine and wheezed, then pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. “Goodness, that’s potent.”
“You care for Lark. I’m not an idiot. I know. Although, I’d suggest you be very careful caring for someone like him—”
“You think I don’t know that? He’s a brilliant liar, and quite vicious. He threw me through a mirror.”
Draven’s eyebrows shot up. “He did?”
“I mean… I had just”—I waved a hand—“tried to stab him, so… You think I haven’t told myself a thousand times how he’s the worst possible person to… like? But that doesn’t change my heart’s desire. And the dream? Draven, the dream was so real. I fear he’s hurting, and I can’t get to him. I betrayed him.”
“He betrayed you.”
“No, hedidn’t. Everyone thinks he did, but... We had a few weeks together, and he never told Razak about me. He could have. He told the Prince of Pain a hundred other things, but nothing about me. And to thank him, I almost cut his throat as though he meant nothing.” Another gulp went down. The room blurred at the edges of my vision. “I’m a horrible person.”
“You’re not as horrible as you think. You were trying to save more people by killing one. It seems like a reasonable trade.”
“You’re a warlord, of course murder seems reasonable. I need to reach him, to get a note to him, something. Before it’s too late.”
“Too latehow?”
The dream was clear. If Lark wasn’t already falling, he was close to it. “Before he plays a game he cannot win.”
Draven leaned forward, his gaze sincere. “Lark has a knack for surviving. He’ll be the last man standing on a battlefield. I’ve seen the likes of him before. Wherever he is, he’s scheming and plotting. He’s survived the Court of Pain before, he’ll survive it again.”
“That’s what everyone thinks. That’s whathethinks.” But I was willing to bet nobody had seen him waking from a nightmare, reaching out in fear. “Inside, he’s not like that. Didn’t you see and hear him playing the violin before Razak destroyed everything?”
“No, I was recovering from your attack.” He slumped back, sipping his wine.
“Had you seen it, you’d have seen his soul. He’s suffered much, and he’s survived it all, yes, but… he’s a fool who doesn’t believe in heroes. He’ll do something foolish, something dramatic, some kind of final act to teach us all, because that’s who he is.”
Draven smiled and shook his head. “You’re more tragically romantic than he is. Tomorrow, at sunup, we’ll see if we can get word of his whereabouts. Will that put your mind at ease?”
“Perhaps.”
“Good.” He rested his head back against the chair. A small frown pinched his brow. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure Lark deserves your heart, Arin.”
