Page 110 of A Dance of Water

Hands gripped hers, tugging them away from the blindfold.

"Settle down," Tharen barked.

She jumped at his nearness, the feeling of his hands on her wrists, the tiny tingle that sparked from the touch. The threads cried out. She felt their ends respond, the length of the invisible threads growing shorter and shorter with every passing moment she struggled to take a full breath.

A hard chest bumped into her back, and she felt the silk grow damp from her tears, soaking them all up.

Breath against her skin. Warm, calloused fingers pressed against the back of her neck, rubbing against her spine. "Sweetheart, focus on my voice," said Graves.

She whimpered, caught by Tharen in front of her and the raven shifter behind her.

The feel of their skin against hers was amplified in the absence of sight. Their scents… It was like everything had been magnified.

The icy sharpness of winter before her, cloves mingling with traces of sweet honey behind her.

"Focus on my voice." Graves hushed her, firmly gripping her nape. "Focus on my skin against yours. What do you feel?" His lips pressed against the space where her shoulder met her neck, his stubble scratching her skin.

She shivered. "I f-feel… you."

"Good. What else?" Graves’s voice was low.

Tharen’s thumb stroked over her wrist absently, as if he were not aware he was doing it.

"Tharen is touching my wrists," she whispered.

At her words, Tharen’s soft touches stilled, then he roughly let her go. She stumbled back into Graves’s chest.

There was a thump of heavily booted feet against the floors as Tharen walked away, and her head swiveled as she tried to follow where he may be going.

"I don’t like this," Luella whispered. Her hands fumbled before her, and she reached for the blindfold once more. Graves did not stop her as she skimmed a finger over the cool silk, damp from her tears.

She tried to tug it off, but it would not budge, as if fused to her skin.

A fierce whimper tore from her chest.

"Sweetheart, stop," Graves quietly demanded. "Focus on the sounds in the room, ground yourself."

Her ears strained. Faintly, she heard the trickle of water as it fell into the pools.

And further still, rain.

She imagined water falling from thick clouds. With every breath she took, the intensity grew until it was all she could hear. But the panic within her slowed.

The threads rejoiced, and voices boomed throughout the library.

"What have you done?" The King’s voice echoed; it was all she could focus on.

She jerked her hands away from the blindfold, pressing back into Graves’s chest.

The footsteps grew closer, multiplying.

The threads inside her were a storm of violence, answering to her unspoken terror.

Rich bergamot made her dizzy. The threads tugged her forward, constricting around her soul. Whether it was reacting to her panic or because she was sightless, they were louder and stronger than she had ever felt since she had changed.

"We felt—" Bastian broke off. She wanted to see him. Where was he? She turned her head, searching in the darkness. Bastian’s voice turned steely. "What is this?"

Graves squeezed her nape. "Askhim," he said.

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