THIRTY-TWO
FAELAN
My eyes snap open. I gasp for air, feeling like I haven’t breathed in decades. The chill of the stone room shifts to the warmth of my cottage; the bed melds into my nest; the smell of snow turns to the smell of green life.
What did I just see . . . feel? That wasn’t Sage in that vision. It wasn’t Sage.
And with sudden clarity I know why Sage feels a connection to Kieran, what memories she’s sensing when she’s with him. It must be one of these dreams. One of Lily’s memories of the king.
Because that was Queen Lily. I can barely believe it. Sage was living her sister’s memories in her sleep. A striking, vivid dream of a real moment from long ago. How is that even possible?
It’s not possible. Unless . . .
Unless Sage was given the blood memories by someone.
No. That’s not—it can’t be. Who would do that? And how would I have missed it? It takes a fairly complex spell, and whoever did it would have had to store the memories for centuries. Not to mention the fact that Queen Lily isn’t dead, so she wouldn’t have released her memories yet. They’d still be inside of her, and she’s in the Pit.
What I just saw is . . . impossible. You can’t have memories from a spirit that’s still among the living—even if they are in hell. I’d believe Sage’s mind had made it all up if it wasn’t for the striking accuracy of details she could never know—of Lailoken, how and where he lived at that time. The knowledge of how to contact the goddess. How the King of Ravens would have fed.
None of that would have been in the annals, even if she’d read them all.
The repercussions of what I just witnessed are unfathomable—for Sage, and for the House of Brighid. Sage carries the memories inside her, the truth of what happened between Lily and the king. Marius needs to know. Right away.
Sage sighs, shifting in her sleep. Her hand moves to my thigh and her fingers twitch. The sting of her pull shoots through my leg.
I snatch up her wrist, returning her hand to her side.
“Aelia?” My voice comes out more like a croak. Like I’ve been asleep for years instead of minutes—or hours? How long have we been under? “Aelia, are you here?” I ask.
Only silence answers back. Of course.
Sage releases a sudden gasp, her back arching a little. And then her eyes flutter open, locking on me.
Pink fills her cheeks, and she goes still. “Faelan?”
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
She starts to prop herself on her elbows, nodding, but then she shakes her head. “I don’t know.” She licks her lips and coughs.
“Let me get you something to drink.” My stiff body moves slowly, but I climb down from the nest and fetch her a bottle of water from the fridge, then make my way back up beside her.
Her hand shakes as she reaches to take the offering. Her gaze stays trained on the grass between us.
She drinks a few sips, then asks, “How long have you been awake?”
“A few seconds before you.”
She lifts her thumb to her mouth and begins to chew on the nail.
The silence stretches out. I realize she’s not going to say anything, so I go first. “I saw everything,” I say. “And felt it. I was there with Queen Lily in the castle—it was a memory. And you were Lily.”
She nods and takes another sip of water.
“How long do you think you’ve been dreaming her memories?” I ask.
“Not sure,” she says. “But a bunch of moments flooded in just before I opened my eyes. I remember so much—it’s all mixed up, like it’s my own life. Burning the boy I loved—I mean who she loved. There was a ceremony with blood and chanting and . . . well, it was the Bonding, I think.” She shakes her head. “I remember this beautiful owl that I had—I mean . . . you know what I mean. His name was Fionn; he was white. But it doesn’t make any sense. Why? Why is all of this spilling into my head?” She finally looks at me, adding, “Why do you have that expression on your face?”
I shake my head. “We really need to talk to Marius.”
She searches my face like she’s trying to figure out what I’m not saying. But I’m fresh out of explanations. Marius will need to handle it from here, especially if Sage is confusing Lily’s experiences with her own. After everything that we just saw, everything that happened between Sage and me last night at the Introduction, the kiss, the moment with Kieran . . . I need a clear head to make sure I can see it all straight.
“Why don’t you get cleaned up, and I’ll call him to see if we can go to the office.” I’m not sure we should wait until dinner for this.
“Okay,” she says, not sounding too sure. Then she adds, “You seem worried. This is bad, isn’t it?”
I decide to be honest. “I have no idea. But I know we did the right thing, opening up the dreams. It could be the answer to everything.”
I leave her in my cottage and step outside to call Marius. His secretary, Dana, tells me he’s indisposed, which is code for feeding, so I let her know I’ll be coming by the office in an hour or so. I hang up, feeling unsure. I need to tell Marius everything. But I know he’ll be seriously pissed at what I’ve kept from him about Sage and her shortfalls. I’m not eager to experience his wrath.
I spot Aelia sitting by the pool, sunbathing. “Did we bore you with all our sleeping?” I ask. “Way to keep your eye on the ball, Lia.”
“Oh please, you should thank me.” She rolls over onto her stomach. “Once I felt all the steam, I was out. I wasn’t about to be the third wheel on that ride.”
“How much did you see?”
“Enough. It’s obviously some kind of memory implant.”
“Seems so.”
“But how’s that possible, with Queen Lily still alive?”
I shake my head.
“I called Daddy and left a message about twenty minutes ago telling him we had an update on the newblood. I thought he’d want to know. Are you going over to the office?”
“Yeah, Sage is getting cleaned up.”
“You know she’s even more of a walking treasure now, right?” she says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She rolls back over and sits up. “Once word gets out that she’s a vault of intel on King and Queen Tragedy, this Emergence will get even more nuts, Faelan—everyone will want her. And you still haven’t gotten this locked down. You should see what tributes came today: Lyr dropped off a race horse, which is still in the front yard; your brothers sent over a Tiffany lamp; and I peeked in an envelope the House of Morrígan left, and there were keys to his vineyard in Spain.” She laughs. “Oh, and Kieran sent an invite to his house in the hills tomorrow evening—some swanky party.” She waves at a black envelope on the glass table beside her. “He was nice enough to invite you. And me.” A sly grin tips her mouth.
“This isn’t a game, Lia.”
“Everything’s a game, Faelan.”
The drive to Marius’s office is slow, traffic on the 10 not cooperating. Sage has been silent the entire ride. I should talk to her about everything that happened during the dream and find out how she’s processing it all. We should at least be talking about her powers to see if she’s had any slips since her manifestation last night with Kieran. There’s a myriad of things we should be working through, but I have no idea where to start. She seems content to stare out the car window at the city passing by, so I leave it at that.
The big question right now is how these imprinted blood memories got spelled into her. And, almost as important, how will she deal with it? Because blood memories can become completely overwhelming over time, and we have no idea how long they’ve been bubbling up in her sleep. I’d heard that the visions feel strong, as if you’ve lived the moment yourself, and now I’ve felt firsthand how accurate that is. One druid from the fifteen hundreds was addicted to the process. He stole blood memories from the Cast’s collectors several times, absorbing them into his consciousness through the holy ritual, before he was caught and executed for it.
Whoever did this to Sage took a very serious chance at getting their own head removed. Only the Cast sanctions blood memory removal, and only the House sanctions when they’re passed on.
Why would someone take such a risk? The dreams were bound to be discovered.
We pull into the parking garage and leave the car with the valet. When we get in the elevator, Sage leans on the rail and hugs herself like she’s cold. “What do you think Marius will say?” she asks.
“About what?”
“My brain reliving my homicidal sister’s life.”
“Hopefully he’ll be able to help us figure out why the memories are there.”
She releases a breath. “It’s obvious something’s wrong with me.”
“Sage—”
“The first torque didn’t work, and I burned down the cottage in my sleep. I’ve somehow attracted the most manipulative guy in this whole freaky world into stalking me. And now I have this new torque on that only he can take off.”
Damn, I forgot—I have to break the news to Marius about that too.
She continues, “And we don’t even know if this torque works either.”
Gods, another thing. “We should test it,” I say, pressing the button for the floor just below Marius’s. He’ll want to know whether this torque is effective, no matter how mad he might be that Kieran is the one who placed it. I should’ve thought to test it last night.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to the empty floor. I step out, and she follows me hesitantly. She looks around at the bare drywall and steel beams of the unfinished offices.
“The floors above and below Marius’s offices are empty,” I explain. “He owns the building so he doesn’t lease them out. This floor is glamoured to look like an ad agency to the humans, I think.” I pick up a scrap piece of cardboard from where it leans against the wall and place it in the middle of an open area. “Okay, you’re going to try and light this on fire.”
“What if I can’t?”
“It’s not a can or can’t. It’ll be what you feel inside when you try.” I turn to face her, wondering how best to spark her power. Unfortunately, the most effective stimulations are pain or passion—not things I want to ignite in her. “There are a couple of ways we could do this,” I start, not sure how to put it. “We could use force, like pain from a cut on your arm.” I tap the sheath on my side. “Or I could . . . we could . . . touch.”
She blinks up at me. “Like, I could try to feed from you again?”
I nod.
“Or you could cut me?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, both sound so great,” she says dryly. “I barely know what to pick.”
“It’s your call. We could also wait and let Marius do this.”
Her feet shift, and she shakes her head. “No, let’s just cut my arm.”
My chest constricts with disappointment, surprising me. She’d rather cut herself than have a repeat of last night—so what? Why the bloody hell am I bummed she doesn’t want to feed from me?
She must see my conflict because she adds, “I don’t want to hurt you by accident. At least this way it’s just me.”
I nod, not commenting, then pull out my dagger and hand it to her by the hilt.
She takes it and starts to point it at her arm, but then pauses and holds it out to me again. “Sorry, can you just do it? Apparently I’m a horrible masochist along with everything else.”
I take the blade back, but I hesitate. My body refuses to move. “I’m not sure I can,” I say, literally unable to do it. It’s as if I couldn’t hurt her even if I wanted to. And then I remember the protector spell. Of course I can’t.
I stare at her, overwhelmed by my need to shield her. I’ve never felt this way for anyone. Even Astrid. But . . . if it is just the protector spell, then why am I noticing how her pale lashes frame her eyes and highlight the gold specks in her irises? Why does the slight upturn of her nose make me want to pull her closer . . . and kiss her?
Being in that dream reminded me of something I can never have again—the joining of soul and body with someone, the feel of connecting, caring, worshipping. And in this moment, I realize it’s her I want that forbidden thing with.
It’s her.