A Strange Hymn
Page 57

The man’s lips curve ever so slightly, his eyes brightening in that manic way that fae eyes do.
“Kill her,” another man says from behind me.
That voice! So painfully familiar. Any other time I’d whip around, but my gut is telling me that the true menace is staring me down, and I will not turn my back on him.
“Her soul is not mine to take,” the black-eyed man says, still staring at me with a dark intensity.
I feel the bite of a blade at my throat, and from the corner of my eye I catch sight of a lock of white blond hair.
“You’re right,” the familiar voice at my back says. “It’s mine.”
All at once the realization slams into me.
Des. It’s Des’s voice at my back.
“Enjoy each small death you have left,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m coming for you.”
And then he slits my throat open.
I gasp awake, my body tangled in sheets, a strong set of arms around me.
Predawn light filters into the room through the window, casting everything in shades of blue. It’s so very different from the darkness of my dream.
I glance up, into Des’s soft silver eyes, and my heart nearly stops.
My ear still tingles where he spoke to me seconds ago, and I swear I still feel the phantom prick of pain across my throat from his blade.
His eyes widen just a smidge at my reaction. “Cherub, are you … afraid of me?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, not wanting to answer.
It was just a dream, and yet … and yet it felt real.
What had Des told me a while back?
Dreams are never just dreams.
He searches my face a bit more. “You are.”
Des runs his hand over my bracelet. “Why are you so scared of me?” The moment he asks the question, Des’s magic settles over my shoulders, and I don’t need to look down at my wrist to know that yet another bead is now missing from it.
I get up from the bed, dragging a bedsheet with me.
“It was just a dream,” I answer.
Not good enough. The magic is still there, still pressing down on me.
“And?” Des says, also aware I’m under the grip of his magic.
I clutch my throat. “And in it, you killed me.” The answer is good enough to release me from Des’s power.
He lounges back in our bed, his face brooding. My eyes drift to his sleep-tousled hair and his bare chest. It’s an odd sensation, to be both frightened by and drawn to someone at the same time, but I am.
“Callie,” he says, seeing me fighting my impulses, “come here.”
I hesitate, and I swear that momentary pause breaks something in my mate.
His voice drops lower. “It’s okay. I would never—” His voice cuts off. “I would never harm you,” he finishes.
And now I feel like a royal schmuck. I know he would never harm me. He’s that one part of my soul that lives outside my body.
I pad over to him. He gets up from the bed, all six plus feet of him staggering, intimidating.
He steps up to me, then folds me into a hug. The presence that, in my dream had felt so hateful now feels immensely loving. The muscles that were used to kill me are now here comforting me.
“Tell me everything about your dream,” he says.
And I do.
By the time I’m done, my unshakable mate looks … worried.
“What is it?” I ask.
He shakes his head, frowning. “Nothing good. Normal dreams I’d be able to wake you from. These ones … these ones don’t release you until they’re ready. I’d assumed I’d lost my touch for waking you up, but now I wonder …”
I search his face. “What?”
“Controlling dreams is a Night Kingdom trait. It’s possible that someone’s targeting you while you sleep, perhaps the same someone who’s taking soldiers.”
He’s coming for you.
“The Thief of Souls,” I whisper.
Chapter 38
Who exactly is the Thief of Souls? And why would he invade my dreams? That’s what I wonder as the two of us head to Mara’s throne room.
If my dreams are more than just idle nightmares, then who was the black haired man? And was dream-Des anything other than an illusion meant to scare me? Or could it be possible that my dreams have nothing at all to do with the disappearances?
All these questions are making my head hurt.
Des and I head into the Flora palace, the walls awash with living, blooming plants. Part of Solstice entails sitting in on the Queen of Flora in her throne room as she holds an audience with her subjects.
“What Night fae, aside from you, has enough power to enter my dreams?” I whisper as we head through the castle.
“Many.”
Er, that’s unsettling.
Des shakes his head. “But,” he continues, “none should have enough power to keep me from waking you. If I had any living siblings, perhaps they’d be strong enough to perform that kind of magic, but my father killed them all off.”
That’s interesting to know—that power moved through bloodlines.
“And your father?” I ask. “Could he—”
“He’s dead,” Des says, his face stoic.
Whelp, guess that takes care of that.
I quiet as the two of us enter Mara’s throne room and join the throngs of other fairies.
The throne room is the same place we met the queen when we first arrived. I look around it again, taking in the vaulted ceilings, the vine-covered walls, and the chandeliers with their dripping candles as Des leads me down the aisle.
My stomach drops when I see Janus at the end of the room, standing off to the side of the queen’s throne, looking like the morning sun.
How does he factor into this mystery?
As soon as the two kings see each other, I feel the tension in the room ratchet up. Others must sense it too because fairies are starting to glance around. The air begins to thicken with magic, making it hard to breathe.
This is what happens when two juggernauts come together.
I touch Des’s arm. “It’s okay.”
If only I was half as brave as my words. I steel my spine.
I am someone’s nightmare, I tell myself.
Sure, that someone is probably the next macaroon I come across, but hey, we all got to start somewhere.
We end up standing near the King of Day, much to the frustration of both Des and Janus.
Janus isn’t the only fairy who has beef with us. A dozen different Fauna fae sit or stand throughout the throne room, and most of them are throwing me and the Bargainer dirty looks.
Guess they still haven’t gotten over the fact that Des offed their king …
It doesn’t help that the whole shebang starts nearly an hour later, and even after it does, it’s been about as interesting as watching paint dry.
The only saving grace is Des, who’s busy whispering secrets in my ears about the audience members who are sitting in the pews.
“He likes to wear his wife’s clothing.”
“She’s sleeping with the entire royal guard, and everyone knows it except her husband.”
“She has a servant who she secretly calls ‘Daddy,’ and she regularly has him punish her.”
He leans in again now. “All morning I’ve been fantasizing about spreading those soft thighs of yours and fucking you until you’re begging me to come.”
I stagger a little on my feet, and my siren nearly bursts forth; it’s all I can do to keep her caged.
Mara’s eyes flick over to us before returning to the subject in front of her.