Page 145 of Between Despair and Hope

I considered talking to Rainier about it after his commentary about Theo, but something told me he was far less hospitable toward Cy than Mama was. I was afraid his opinion was too close to my own. I wished there was someone I could talk to who didn’t know either of us and could tell me what to do. An outsider. There was no one to talk to about Cy, no one who would listen, anyway. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about anything, really. I’d been able to talk to Theo, but then I’d hurt his feelings. Every time I talked to him, I only made it worse. It didn’t feel fair to confide in him.

I was lonely, even though I was surrounded by people every day. That was the only reason I slipped the bracelet on. And off and on. And off. The prince wanted my company, was desperate for it. And he was a good listener. He always respected my boundaries, and I never had to ask twice with him.

I supposed I’d have to be more clear with him in the future so as not to walk away with a slit throat.

If I ever spoke to him again.

Yvi batted the bracelet around on the ground, and I threw a pillow at her, groaning as I flipped onto my back. The fire had grown dim, and I was restless. I’d had nothing to be indecisive about in my life. The worst of my worries was not being able to mix the right paint color. That was it. And keeping my divinity secret—that too. But that wasn’t much of a problem. I was allowed to show Theo, and he was the only person I was ever around anyway.

The idea of reading a book until I fell asleep crossed my mind, and I was immediately out of the bed, running over on tiptoe before a devious little cat could swipe at my feet. She was Ciarden’s mischief all in one tiny body; I was certain of it.

The Discovered Dragoncaught my eye, not quite pushed all the way onto the shelf. Mama had told me she’d found Cyran asleep while reading it to me one day, so I shied away from it at first. But Yvi, the demon-cat, latched onto the bottom of my nightgown, and I grabbed it quickly before batting her off me. Pain shot through my foot as I made my way back toward the bed, stepping on the gods forsaken bracelet the dumb animal had moved right to where she knew I’d step on it. It had to be intentional. I picked it up before crawling back into bed. Yvi was already there, having balled up into a circle on my spare pillow after I smacked her off my nightgown. She rolled her head backwards, exposing her chin to me, and I gave her precisely three scratches because any more than that, and she’d grab my hand with her front paws and attack with the rear ones. Mama had already had to heal me twice.

Sitting up against the headboard, I cradled the book in my lap. Lighting the lamp on my nightstand, I couldn’t help my smile. It was beautiful. I’d never seen anything like it. Mama and I always had simple lanterns with a brass bottom and a plain, glass shade. This one was special, a hanging lamp. The base led to a swan-neck which dangled the oil from a mosaic glass tiled globe. It was beautiful—something Rainier had picked up on a visit to Nythyr, he’d told me. One of the times he’d been looking for Mama. I still couldn’t believe that part of their story. He must have loved her so much, even after all that time.

When I finally got around to opening my book, it startled me when a slip of paper fell out of it. I recognized the tidy scrawl in an instant, matching the letter he’d sent me days before. Tilting it toward the light, I puzzled over the meaning. Disjointed words and phrases littered the paper. I flipped it over, confused. I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and held it closer to the lamp, leaning down. The mosaic titles were beautiful, but they didn’t give good light to see by.

“‘Fix the memory,’” I whispered, reading the words aloud. “‘Give a happy ending.’”

They were notes. An entire page of notes, front and back, on how to wake me from my slumber. The bottom right corner of the page detailed the dream I had about Declan taking me from his room.

“‘Fight for her,’” I breathed.

At the bottom of the paper, he’d notated a page number and beside it had scrawled in hurried strokes,If this is what it feels like, then I am ruined.

Knowing the story like the back of my hand, my stomach tightened. The page Cyran had noted was towards the end, when the cursed dragon broke the spell. With shaking hands, I flipped to the back of the book in my lap, noticing doodles and notes in the margins. I only spared a half of a second of frustration for him writing all over it, too nervous for what I would find. Trembling, I found the page I was looking for, and exhaled a shaky breath as I read the passage he’d marked. A single question mark in the margins and a blot of ink underneath, as if he’d let the pen hover, and it dripped onto the page.

If I am the moon, then you are the sun, fireshine. You shine your light upon me and brighten all which is cold and dark within me. You have taught me to forgive is divine and even I, a loathsome creature, am deserving of it. I spend every moment wishing for more with you. More quiet, more talking, more kissing. Just more. If you never wish to look upon me again, Alina, I understand. But know, I am ruined for having loved you.

I slid the bracelet onto my wrist.

I opened my eyes and looked down at my feet. Bare, my feet sank into the earth. Wiggling my toes, I lifted my head and took in my surroundings. I stood in a glen beside a stream, surrounded by mossy rocks and steep earth climbing high above me. Out of one fissure in the rocks came the source of the stream—a tiny waterfall. The streambed was made of grey pebbles, smoothed by the white frothy water. A tree covered with more of the soft moss stuck out awkwardly from the path I stood on, arching over the stream. Its branches were nearly entwined with another tree jutting out from the cliff face, close but not quite touching. Near sunset, the dusky sky and fine mist made the glen hum with something akin to magick. It reminded me of the stories of the fae—forestborn like the elves, less human in design who lived as one with nature, their presence more myth than anything else. I spotted a dark red mushroom and smiled, imagining a pixie built her home beneath it.

When the first firefly appeared in front of me, I gasped. “Oh!” I lifted my hand to my mouth in surprise. I turned, wanting to witness the whole glen filled with fireflies as the sun went down. Cyran stood a few paces behind me, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was also barefoot, well-tailored brown breeches on his form. His white shirt with laces at the collar resembled what Theo and Papa wore when they worked outside. His dark-brown hair was tousled, as if he’d spent countless minutes running his fingers through it. He wasn’t wearing any of his jewelry, looking as plain as he did the last time I’d seen him. That had been nearly a month ago now, and it surprised me he hadn’t gone back to dressing the way he had when I met him. At the very least, I had expected him to have pierced his ear again.

“Hello, Elora,” he said. Hazel eyes met mine, and I tried to steady my nerves. He didn’t know I’d found his page of notes. Or had he expected me to find them? I supposed when I woke and kicked him out, he wouldn’t have had the time to gather anything. But he had to have known I’d read my book and see his drawings in the margins. I shook my head, not bothering to think about it. What would I say anyway?Do you love me, Cy?No. You don’t hurt the people you love, let alone kill them.

“Cy,” I replied, wincing when I realized I’d meant to call him Cyran and forgot.

The glow of fireflies surrounded him, blinking to life as they rose from the ground. I watched one as it meandered on its lazy flight over the stream. Turning to follow it, I smiled as I watched hundreds of them flicker throughout the glen.

“I, uh, brought us a picnic. Are you hungry?” he asked, and I glanced over in time to see him running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m—I don’t know. It’s a dream, right? Am I hungry?”

“Gods, I didn’t—” A shaky laugh. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Well, I eat in my dreams all the time, even though I’m not hungry. But it’s light. If you don’t want it, we don’t have to—”

“I want to,” I said, not sure why I wanted to protect his feelings. He smiled, and his dimple appeared. “Unless it’s poisoned.”

The reaction was barely noticeable. I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been looking for it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment before taking a step toward me.

“I have not poisoned it. And even if it were, there is nothing I can do to you in an illusion that will have a lasting effect. Physically, at least,” he added, giving me a strange look.

I looked up at him, waiting for him to explain. He was taller than I remembered. Nearly as tall as Rainier. As he approached, I peeked down at what I was wearing. Thankful I had worn the thickest of my nightgowns, I almost wished I’d worn something prettier to bed.

“I hope the things I say to you have an effect outside the illusion. But that’s it. I don’t plan to do you any harm,” he uttered, intense eyes on mine. His accent was going to kill me if he didn’t. I breathed deep and regretted it instantly, his orange and ginger scent no less captivating in an illusion.

“You’ve found oranges in Vesta?” I asked, trying to give my mind something to latch onto that wasn’thim. But the citrus fruit he loved so much was part of what made him, wasn’t it?

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