Page 37 of What Whispers in the Dark
Why didn’t he just … stay?
The welcoming sting of liquid burned his throat, swallowing deep until it emptied. And on a Smokeshadow wind, another appeared in its place.
Garrik touched it to his lips and accepted its offering to dull his pain, but it did nothing to comfort him. Did nothing to keep them away. The nightmares.
It usually kept them away…
Kept …heraway.
Why wasn’t it keeping them away?
Where are you?
Again, he ignored that voice—that plea.
He refused to ignite torches tonight. No. Tonight, the darkness would be his only companion. No one else deserved to be dragged into the hollow echoes Garrik’s mind forced him to relive. Again and again. It never ended.
He needed it to end.
Garrik reclined against a tall pine in the forestfaroutside camp, where he had dawned after watching Alora pluck a book from her new bookshelves and settle beside the warmth of their firesite’s flames.
It was too much; the celebrations honoring his birthday. They continued into the clear night, but he needed to escape. All day he had needed to.
Being surrounded by fae and soldiers—his Mystics—felt too similar to the prison he had suffered for thirty years—and the seventeen Blood Years after that. Playing the pretender. That happy High Prince, who they thought deserved another turn on Elysian.
If they only knew that the day they were celebrating was the day he had pleaded the most for death.
Shemade certain of it—called it a cause to celebrate. For her to impart anoh-so-graciousgift.
No. While his Dragons danced around their fires stacked high into the night sky. While his shield allowed them a night of frivolity and carelessness under his and his magic’s careful watch, the only gift he wished for was the soundless darkness six feet below him. For the memories to eddy from existence.
Stars burn him.Thalon was right. He was breaking.
Thalon had fumed at his unwillingness to admit it, and his nearly healed, busted lip—and being locked inside Aiden’s cell on his ship after he lost control—was evidence.
But they could not see. He would not allow them to see. They didn’t deserve to be crushed under his burdens.
Another bottle.
Then another.
Nine more until his Smokeshadowsrefusedhim, knowing how dangerously close he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.
Glass shattered and rained glistening shards when he hurled a bottle at a tree.
Peace. He just wantedpeace.
Everything pulled at him. Everythingtouchedhim with phantom hands. Even the air he breathed was too much for his lungs. The air felt too warm when confronted with the permanent chill housed in his body. It clashed and clawed its way out of him with every breath, as if the very air surrounding him rejected his right to breathe.
He could not stand the feeling of his own tunic against his rigid scars. So, his frantic fingers scratched along the fabric, finding every button and popping them open. He could not endure it. That every brush of the fabric, today and every day, reminded him ofher.What she had done for thirty years.
Reminded him of her touch in his dungeon the day before.
And the day before that.
Three torturous days serving at Magnelis’s feet only to kneel at hers?—
Where are you?
