Page 76 of When Storms Collide

“I’m so sorry, Diana.” Her words were a caress across my skin, filled with the sorrow I felt. Tess was always good at comforting me. “He will come back to you. I promise you that.”

I could almost hear the words she wasn’t saying. “But not before we move against Donika?”

“I really don’t know.” She bit her lip, her gaze falling to her lap. “Zion and Annelise want to move in only one week’s time. Take advantage of the element of surprise. Before she realizes her band of Noctani aren’t coming back and the numbers of her soulless monsters have been cleaved in two.”

“And it’s a good plan.” I nodded to myself. “But I fear that we aren’t working as a team. That it will be our downfall if we can’t work together when we wage war. I’m… scared.”

“I am too.” Her voice was soft now. “But we have your back. We have the numbers. We have your storm magic.”

“So everyone keeps reminding me.” I grumbled. “I sometimes feel as if I am a pawn, only needed for my magic and the prophecy that foretold it would be a new generation of Stormshade Kotova blood that would save the realm from darkness.”

“That isn’t true,” Tess assured me. “We care about you. The council cares about you.”

“I know,” I replied, mouth thinning. “It’s just complicated.”

“What isn’t?” Tess laughed.

I wasn’t sure how long we had spent in the library but the sun in the arched windows had faded, night descending upon Siraleth and cloaking it in darkness. I grabbed the grimoire and held it against my chest.

“I’d better get some sleep. I have my first training session with Annelise tomorrow.”

Tess raised her brow at me. “You’ll have to tell me how that goes. I’d imagine you can’t wait to go head-to-head with her.”

“That’s what I’m nervous about.” My teeth worried my lower lip.

“But you won’t lose control this time. You’re bound,” she reminded me.

“I’m not sure that’s the problem when it comes to Annelise. I’m still angry with her for everything. I’m not sure anything but time will cure that.” I stood, pushing my chair back into the table and heading for the library door, Tess following behind.

“Time heals all wounds.”

“All?” I replied, skepticism in my tone.

Tess shook her head. “Yeah… maybe you’re right.” She laughed. “Time can’t healallwounds, but itwillheal this one.”

As we pushed out of the library and towards our bedrooms, I couldn’t help but glare at Nikolai’s door, hoping it would open. I said goodnight to Tess and turned my back on his door, everything within me urging me to walk across the hall and knock. He had asked for space, and I would give it to him, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to stay away.

I returned to my room, stowing the grimoire in the dresser and taking a long soak in the claw-foot bathtub among the lavender salts that were always stocked here. I had missed this place. I was happy to know it still felt like home to me, even after everything that had transpired over the last few weeks.

By the time I climbed into the satin sheets I was freshly scrubbed clean, my skin smelling of sage and lavender, my auburn curls wet against the pillow. I snuggled deeper under the covers and tried to sleep, but all I could think about was that the right side of the bed shouldn’t be cold.

Shouldn’t be empty.

That Nikolai should be here, with me.

When sleep finally took me, it wasn’t to dreams of the future—dreams of a better Istmere.

It was to nightmares.

The sensation of dream walking overtook me as I fell under, deeper and deeper. I hadn’t felt this sucked into a dream in a long, long time. We weren’t in the throne room, where my dream walking usually took me. We were in Donika’s personal bedchamber. Donika stood at the vanity, a black sheer robe tied around her waist, her blue and white ombre hair falling in curated ringlets down her back.

She inspected herself in the mirror, pulling against the frown lines on her forehead, the textured skin at her cheek.

“I’ll need more elixir soon,” she said, casting her gaze to the wrought iron bed beneath the crescent window.

“Of course, My Queen,” a voice purred.

I turned my gaze expecting Corian, but it was Zachariah Dragovya. Nik’s father.

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