Page 47 of This Vicious Dream

My bones ache. If Daharak and her pirates are truly dead, I’m responsible. Not to mention, I already cost Fliora two people she loves—one of them her mother.

I’d witnessed how much she adored her mother when she dropped to her knees beside her, concern etched on her face.

“Madinia.” Calysian’s voice is rough. The path widened at some point, and he has slowed, drawing up beside me. His brow creases and I blink away the hot tears that have filled my eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He scowls at me. “I may be able to help you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I went to the seer to find out how to hide from you and everyone else looking for the grimoire. And by doing so, I cost Fliora’s mother her life.”

“That wasn’t your fault. Surely you can understand that.”

I clamp my mouth shut. I’m not talking about this with him.

With a sigh, he turns his attention back to the trail and begins a steady climb toward the pass that will lead us into Telanthris. Beneath us, packed dirt gives way to loose stone, while the air grows thinner. Within hours, the rocky path begins winding through jagged cliffs dusted with snow.

The path narrows, winding through huge rock formations. I pull the hood of Calysian’s cloak over my head, hunching my shoulders against the biting wind. By the time we crest the ride, my body aches from leaning slightly forward in the saddle in an effort to help Hope navigate the incline.

Calysian nudges Fox forward, and we round a bend. The air rushes out of my lungs in a whoosh.

From here, the kingdom of Telanthris stretches before us, edges blurred by the cloudy haze clinging to the valley. To the south, the jagged peaks of mountains loom, flanks streaked with veins of snow.

Closer to the mountain, the soil darkens, pockmarked with rocky outcrops and winding crevices. Telanthris unfurls beyond that, distant treetops glinting in the afternoon sun, a river winding through sprawling plains and dense forest.

Below us, the disputed territory is a patchwork of muted browns and greens. It’s easy to see the effect Vicana has had here.

The soil is churned and raw. Fields that might have once blossomed are barren, the earth bruised and pitted with makeshift fortifications and abandoned trenches. Across the land, small villages sit in clumps, smoke rising in thin columns, while a few broken fences mark where livestock once grazed. Now, only scattered tracks remain.

Calysian gestures at the trail in front of us. “We’re about to enter the disputed territory.”

“What do I need to know?”

He studies my face, and I’m not sure what those dark eyes see, but he doesn’t attempt any more empty platitudes. “I last visited a few years ago after I returned to this continent. Even then, it was dangerous. And it has only gotten worse. Vicana wants the land, and she refuses to give it up.”

“Why does she want it so badly?”

“She insists it was once part of Sylvarin. Apparently, an ancient text has been handed down within Sylvarin for centuries, laying claim to the territory.”

“You think she’s lying.”

A languid shrug. “Centuries ago, I wandered this continent, before I traveled to yours. And I know the land here is rich in natural resources. As much as Vicana insists it is her divine mandate to claim the land, I find it too coincidental that it’s also fertile farmland—which Vicana is in desperate need of to sustain her population. She is also finding it difficult to provide her army with weapons, since Dracmire won’t trade with her.”

“Dracmire?”

“Her neighbor to the south.”

Understanding hits me. “Because they’re worried she will try to invade.”

He nods. “The disputed territory is also home to veins of iron ore that Vicana can’t access from her side of the mountain range.”

“Does she have access to risplite?”

Another sharp nod, and my stomach churns. Risplite is a mineral that turns iron into fae iron. The chains Kyldare used to drain my power—which Calysian is likely still carrying now—were infused with fae iron.

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