Page 78 of Of Blooming Embers
In horrified fascination, the group wandered, observing the prisoners. None of them were aware of anything outside their entombment.
Scenes of intense fear or sorrow surrounded us; people rocking or curled in a ball. Women tearing at their hair and skin. Men writhing or grasping at their chests. Running, falling, slamming into the glass.
“We need to help them.” My whisper echoed through the darkness, bouncing off the globes. In response, my scar tingled faintly. Shadows moved along the edges of my vision, but maybe I was seeing things. The weight of fatigue pulled at my joints, but so did the guilt of not being able to save everyone.
A brief glimmer of empathy flickered across Marek’s face—the most I had ever seen from him. Breaking the moment, the look dissolved so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it, reminding me of the walls he had built around himself. Marek tapped the orb floating above us, and it lit up with a younger woman within. Hefrowned. “You’re not wrong, but we need to conserve energy if we’re to help your friend and figure out a way out of this. Get back to Yaya.”
My spine wilted; he was right.
Rhaegar nodded. “We’ll devise a plan, but he’s spot-on. In our current state …”
His words tumbled away as he was distracted by the female above us.
“Ancients take me,” Breena muttered, staring.
Light hair and clothes fluttered around the young woman as if she were in water. Her limbs sluggishly paddled through the mist until her body jerked, and she pawed at her throat, choking on invisible liquid.
My lungs seized with hers as she drowned, anxiety and memories tumbling through me as she convulsed. Then her limp form hung within the glass for a moment, mist caressing and sticking to her.
I sucked in the breath she couldn’t before her form arched painfully back and animated once more. The horrific scene replayed all over again.
“They’re trapped in their nightmares,” I blurted, panic tearing at me as my fingers grazed my neck. Images of my near-drowning and Kaden writhing in agony poured over me like icy shards.
Gavrel’s brows dipped, understanding in the deep wells of his eyes.
A wisp of movement brought my attention back to the female, my eyelids disappearing under my browbone.
“Everyone, step away. Now!” I snapped; my eyes glued to the thing creeping from the darkness beyond.
The creature was made of night itself. At least seven feet tall, its bony frame stretched thin under a robe made of black shadows with a gauzy veil that draped over its bone-white visage. The netting sank into pits where its eyes, nose, and mouth should have been.
Hovering above the floor, there were no legs under the wispy fumes wavering below, but long, spindly fingers stretched toward the glass we’d been observing. Moving like fog drifting over a twilit horizon, it didn’t show any signs of attacking us.
Yet.
Rhaegar’s brow rose along with his sword. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Er, stabbing practice?” Breena muttered, mouth dropping open.
Marek stepped toward the creature, but I blocked him with my arm across his torso. “Dream reapers. Don’t you recall the stories?”
Breena shook her head, her short hair flicking against her jaw. “Ryn, you know you’re the only one who read all the beastie books ever written, yeah?”
Gavrel blinked slowly at her. “They used to tell us bedtime stories about them. They can’t see, hear, or smell.”
Breena snapped her fingers. “Oh, right. Gran mentioned them once, but stopped when she realized they didn’t scare me into behaving.”
I moved my head from side to side. “They feed on your night terrors … the crumbs that Phobetor doesn’t consume. They won’t attack unless they sense a nightmare … or extreme fear.”
Head tilting, Breena’s mouth twisted. “Still, what if I stab it?”
“Breena.” Gavrel narrowed his eyes.
She grinned.
Amusement tugged at my lips. “If you touch them, they’ll likely attack.”
“Let’s move. It looks like more are drawing near.”
