Page 105 of This Vicious Dream

I won’t allow his sudden eagerness to prevent her from eating her fill.

Madinia sinks into the chair, her hair freshly braided, her clothes clean. If I leaned close and pressed my nose against her skin, would I scent myself on her? The thought makes my muscles tense, and she sends me a warning look, which swiftly changes to shock as the barmaids begin placing plates on the table.

“Are we feeding a regiment?”

I pile potatoes and eggs onto her plate. “Eat.”

Madinia shakes her head at me but lifts her fork, and satisfaction slides through me.

I nod at Haldrik. “You should eat too. We’ll spend hours in the saddle today.”

He doesn’t protest, loading up his own plate.

I eat distractedly, my mind already sharpening, moving away from the woman sitting across the table and to the grimoire whispering to me.

Soon. Soon it will be in my hands.

Madinia

Traveling with another person is…strange.

Calysian and I had fallen into an easy intimacy, communicating with the barest flick of a glance, intuitively knowing when we would stop to water the horses, stretch our legs, or make camp for the night.

These things now have to be explicitly stated, and—when Haldrik has his own opinions—negotiated.

We’re heading southeast, closer to the mountain ranges that cut through the center of this continent.

My skin prickles constantly with the sensation that we’re being watched, but if Calysian and Haldrik also sense it, they don’t say a word.

Just a few hours after we leave Elunthar, we begin passing stone pillars—crumbling with age, and scattered amongst the forest as if a giant became enraged and slammed some kind of huge structure into the ground.

Eamonn is still nowhere to be seen. And despite Calysian’s refusal to talk about him—or their argument—I’ve seen the way he cranes his head, searching the sky for any sign of his friend. I’ve caught him peering into the forest, as if expecting Eamonn to prowl through the trees at any moment.

We spend the night in the forest, away from the main trade road. Calysian gives me an indulgent look as I roll out my sleeping mat on the opposite side of the fire, but thankfully, he keeps his thoughts to himself.

And still, I crave the feel of him. Without him wrapped around me, I sleep poorly, my mood turning dark.

Three days later, the forest begins to thin, trees giving way to more broken columns that rear out of the underbrush like bones. Carvings emerge, half-worn faces carved into those columns near a massive archway covered with moss.

Calysian seems to sense my curiosity, because he calls out to Haldrik. The older man nods, gesturing to the small stream running alongside the road. He disappears, likely planning to refill his water skin.

I dismount with a wince that I’m careful to hide from Calysian. My chest is still achy, and I’m still recovering my strength. But Calysian tends to hover when he thinks I’m in pain, and I need to feel like myself again.

I leave Hope tied to a tree and turn my attention to the ruins, reluctantly fascinated. Something about them feels almost familiar, in a way that makes the back of my neck itch. I peer through the forest, spotting more stone carvings amongst the trees. “What is this?”

Calysian swings himself off his horse, rolling his shoulders as he takes in the ruins.

“The southern half of this continent is dotted with the remnants of ancient temples.”

“Temples?”

He flashes me a smirk. “Temples devoted to the old gods.”

It dawns on me then. My blood turns hot.

Heisone of the old gods. This man, who—just days ago—was inside me, is an ancient being. He’s no more mortal than the stream to our left, or the ground beneath our feet.

Calysian curses in that language he used once before. The one that makes my ears feel like they’re going to bleed. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

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