Page 61 of Of Shadow and Moon

The suffocating heat dissipates almost instantly, leaving the air crisp and breathable. Deryn is already retreating, across the room, his steps quick and almost clumsy. I watch him go, feeling a mix of relief and amusement.

Matheus pulls his book closer, opening it up. The storm has passed…for now. But the raw power of what just happened lingers, leaving my heart racing in its wake.

I do the same, lowering my gaze to the pages but feeling his eyes on me. Through my hair, I steal a glance. He’s watching me, the same intense look as before, like he’s trying to unravel a mystery he can’t quite solve.

And gods help me, I can’t decide if I want him to figure me out or leave me alone. But even as I think the latter, I know I don't mean it.

Chapter 35

Selestina

Iwake abruptly, my heart racing, the darkness pressing down on me like a weight I can’t heave off. For an instant, I have no idea where I am. My breathing quickens and shallows, the thump of my pulse a frantic drum in my head. But then that wash of familiarity sweeps over me, soothing my uneasiness.

Zar is here.

The realization anchors me, and the tension eases just enough for me to take stock of my surroundings.

This isn’t the waking world. I’m dreaming. Of course, I’m dreaming. Where else would I feel Zar, if not in my dreams?

I slowly sit up, the dreamscape coming into view around me with hazy edges. A couple of years ago, in the midst of a torture session with Alexander, I woke up in this dreamscape and met Zar for the first time. I guess it was my subconscious trying to figure out a way to keep me going. A way to give me peace when everything else was dark and not worth fighting for.

That was Zar. He saved my life. When I was willing to let my sadness pull me under, and give up.

“Hello, mi reina.” He greets me, his voice a rich cadence, with that ever present lilt of mischief. It's a sound that feels like home, even if I know it's not real.

“Hi, Zar,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. There's a lump in my throat, but he always steadies me, even when it shouldn't. Especially when it shouldn't.

“You must be feeling really low to have brought me here,” he says, and though I can't see his face clearly, I somehow know exactly what expression he's wearing. A crooked smirk, one eyebrow raised, his dark eyes filled with teasing concern.

“I have so much going on,” I admit, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. Here, with Zar, there's no point in holding back. He already knows everything about me, every scar, every secret, every shame. “I still can't figure out what happened with Etzli. The princes are insufferable, and Alexander?” My voice catches on his name, and I hear the sharp inhale of breath from Zar. “I'm dreading wherever he decides to send me next. I still haven’t figured out who murdered me.”

“That does…sound like a lot,” Zar says, his voice sending a note of barely held anger. He clears his voice and softens his tone. “What do you want to do?”

The question hangs heavy and expectant in the air. I close my eyes as everything weighs down on me at once. “Die,” I say flatly.

There's a beat of silence before he responds. “You're so dramatic,” Zar says, his voice warm with amusement. I can almost feel him rolling his eyes, the way he always does when he thinks I'm being ridiculous. “But I guess that's part of your charm.”

A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “You say that now, but one day, my dramatics are going to get me killed.”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “but not today.”

I sigh and nod, because he is right, like always.

“Have you danced, mi reina?” His voice is low and soothing. Dance. Dance used to be how I breathed. The reason I got up in the morning. As I got older, I realized that dance wasn’t my escape anymore. It was an added secret that I couldn’t afford to lose. Not yet.

“Not in a year.” I look down at my hands.

“I wish I could see you dance.” Zar breathes out. There’s a hint of desperation in his voice that I don’t quite understand.

I look at him, really look at him. The edges of his form blur slightly in the dreamscape, like he's not quite solid. Of course, he isn't. He’s just a figment of my imagination, the creation of my broken mind. I can’t make out any distinguishable features, only ones I’m making up in my mind.

“I wish you were real,” I whisper, and the words catch in my throat. The sadness in them even surprises me. I have always known he is not real, that he is just a coping mechanism. But right now, the ache of truth is unbearable. “I wish you were more than just something I made up.”

Zar appears to tilt his head as he steps closer. “Just because I’m something you created in your head, how does that make me not real?” he asks, his voice quiet but filled with a wisdom that always catches me off guard. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m listening. I’m with you. Isn’t that what matters?”

I laugh softly; the sound tinged with bitterness. “Always so wise,” I say, shaking my head. “You're like anancient philosopher trapped in the mind of a woman who probably needs to be lobotomized.”

“Someone has to keep you together,” he says back, his tone light but his words cutting deeper than they should. “And if it has to be me, then so be it.”

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