CHAPTER 27
ain pours from the sky, and the water churns, our tiny boat rocking in the speeding torrent. Raphael shouts instructions that are impossibleR to hear as he tries to free the boat from the deadly current. Viviane’s oar is wrenched out of her hands. I make the mistake of glancing at the center of the enormous whirlpool, an abyss waiting to swallow us. A void.
Nothingness. The end.
With seawater spattering me and my heart thudding with terror, it’s hard to convince myself that none of this is real. But it’s not. I’m sure of it.
Whirlpools such as this simply don’t exist in the normal world—that’s a nightmare thing.
Raphael was wrong. Although the dream is in our minds, we have no control over it. Our fantasy of escape is just that—a fantasy. The Dream Stalker let us think we were escaping, like a cat toying with a mouse, but we’re still there. Our bodies are still in the Château des Rêves, enfolded in a terrible nightmare. Sooner or later, the dark prince and his guards will find us. Fear crackles through my nerves.
If I know I’m dreaming, can I force myself to wake? I pinch myself, but that doesn’t help. Pain is real in this nightmare, and it’s not a way out. If we drown here, I feel disturbingly certain that would mean the end for us.
What does the Dream Stalker want? I’ve heard his thoughts for years. He craves pleasure and beauty, but he always feels alone. If I’m in the château right now, as I suspect, could I slip into his mind as I accidentally did before?
Maybe—only then—we can find a way out of this nightmare.
The thought of going anywhere near him, much less his thoughts, scares the shit out of me. I’ve already come close to losing my sanity by invading too many people’s thoughts. It would be dumb to risk drowning in a sea of consciousness again, but do I have a choice? Not if I wish to escape this nightmare.
Gripping the slippery wooden edge of the boat, I close my eyes and focus on the magic inside me, the frenetic, high-pitched, violet magic that allows me to hear another person’s thoughts.
As I summon it, I recall the way the prince’s mind felt as it touched mine.
Dark, brooding. Obsessed with sex.
I channel my telepathic powers at that mind and feel something brush my thoughts, a shadow of another entity. Dark. Alluring. Seductive. But right now—above all—furious.
But it’s hard to concentrate with the boat heaving up and down, threatening to spit me into the void. My fingers tighten on the wet wood.
With racing breath, I grasp at that other mind, fumbling with my powers, stretching them toward his dark temptation like I’ve never done before.
And then, from far away, a voice.
Where are you, little dreamers? Where are you hiding?
His voice is velvety smooth, but a sharp fury slides beneath it. I can feel his wrath as he holds us captive.
I will drown you, and you’ll wish you were dead, but you’ll keep drowning, unable to breathe, water filling your lungs. In dreams, death cannot save you.
I cling to his thoughts, ignoring the terror filling my heart at the thought of that eternal hell. There must be a way out.
Ah, it’s you again, isn’t it? The little telepath in my thoughts. I can feel you. I may not have seen you, but I felt you. I can let you out of this. You only need to tell me where you are.
Fear vibrates through me. I clench my teeth and try to calm my mind. He can’t read my thoughts, but he can feel my subconscious. And my subconscious is terrified.
Now, where are you and your friends hiding, little telepath? If you show me, I’ll let you wake up. It’ll save us all time…and you a lot of pain. Trust me, you don’t want to be in this nightmare much longer. I can make it exquisitely painful for you.
The boat groans and shudders, and then splits at the center. I plunge into
the sea and sink beneath the water. I kick my legs to rise to the surface, floundering wildly as a wave crashes on top of me. Frantic, I fight my way to the surface again, gasping for air. It’s nearly impossible to focus on the prince’s thoughts. The water is icy, and my muscles are seizing up.
There’s no way out, little telepath. I am in complete control of you—your body and your mind. I have the power to kill you or let you live. Submit to me.
Another hard wave pushes me under. I know the truth. If Talan finds us, the only thing next on my schedule is being slowly tortured to death.
I try to hold my breath, but I’m too late. My mouth fills with water. Water in my throat, in my lungs. I can’t breathe, darkness is all around me, and the bone-penetrating cold. And I know that the prince is speaking the truth. Only he can free me from this nightmare, and he won’t. Not until he finds where we’re hiding.
In my terror and desperation, I draw on my powers again, trying to read deeper into his thoughts. But I can’t focus. Instead of summoning the violet magic, I accidentally draw on my Sentinel powers, too.
My lungs burn as red and violet magic entwine, a tangle I can’t unwind.
A twisted magical hybrid that shouldn’t exist, telepathy that shatters and breaks things. I aim that raw energy at the prince’s mind and let it erupt.
I can feel his surprise as the surge of power hits him. I manage to snap something inside his mind, and he reels back in pain, breaking contact. The darkness around me flickers, and I gasp and open my eyes.
I’m in the room in the Château des Rêves, lying on the floor. Raphael, Viviane, and Freya are all lying on the stones. Their eyes fly open, Freya gasps as if still searching for air, and Viviane’s hands jerk as though she’s still trying to swim. And then they all freeze.
Viviane is the first to lift herself up. She looks around, her face as pale as milk. “We’re back?”
My teeth are chattering, and the cold stings my skin. My fingers are numb.
“We never left,” I say. “It was all a nightmare, including the moment we
thought we got away and the boat.”
“And now?” Raphael asks grimly.
I clear my throat. “I think I got us out of the nightmare.”
His eyebrows flick up. “You got us out? How—”
Shivering wildly, I force myself to stand. “I’ll explain later. We don’t
have much time. They’re searching for us. The Dream Stalker knows we’re still here. It’s only a matter of time before he recovers and traps us again.”
Freya glances at the door. “Won’t he send his guards after us?”
I think about the flash of pain and surprise I felt when I let my powers explode in the prince’s psyche and cracked something in his mind. “I bought us some time. But we have to leave. Now.”
Two months ago, they would have argued. Viviane would have asked who the fuck I thought I was. Freya would have subtly rolled her eyes. But they follow my suggestion without discussion. In the past few months at Avalon Tower, I’ve managed to earn their trust.
When we leave the room this time, we head straight for the door. This time, the rug doesn’t suck me in.
At last, we’re outside, and the night air stings my skin. I know it’s not arctic, but it feels that way.
Does anyone else know yet that the prince was hit with a magical attack?
Is he sending people after us? I hope to gods not. I can’t imagine what the prince’s vengeance might be like.
I glance back at the castle but don’t see any signs of alarm. I breathe in the cool, salty air and long for the comfort of the fur coat.
Raphael sees me shivering and wraps his arm around me as we hurry down the stairs.
“Did he see you?” asks Raphael. “Does he know what you look like, if he sends guards searching for the telepath?”
I shake my head. “No, he never looked at me. He saw inside my memories, but that’s it.”
Keeping to the shadows, we hurry down the zigzagging stairs overlooking the rocky beach. Despite the lacerating cold, I feel a wild euphoria. It was a near miss, but we escaped.
I glance up at the stars. Is it really possible that dawn hasn’t arrived yet?
The past few hours felt like days, stretched out through the nightmare. When we reach the dock, I half expect the boat to be in pieces, shattered by the enormous whirlpool. But it’s still intact, waiting for us. My fur coat sits dry on a bench. The four of us hop in, and I pull the coat around me, trying to warm myself. In no time, Viviane and Raphael are churning their oars into the sea.
This time, we’re off without a hitch. The marine wind whips at me, and I hug myself tightly, trying to feel my blood flowing again, my muscles
softening after the glacial post-magic chill. Still, my teeth hammer against
each other.
“Ship,” Freya says, her voice low.
I look back and see a large ship, moving fast and piercing the water. The misty, pearly veil glows behind it, and I see it in silhouette. It’s aimed unerringly straight at us.
“Another one there.” Viviane nods to the north, where a large shadow is looming closer.
My stomach drops. The ships are moving between us and the veil. Our anchored sailboat waits for us on the other side.
“How did they find us?” asks Raphael sharply.
“The prince.” I swallow. “He knew we were heading for the boat. He saw it in the nightmare and read our intentions. He must have given the order to
search for us on the water.”
“They’re catching up,” Freya mutters.
Cannons thunder in the distance. Then, a terrible shriek, becoming louder and louder.
“Grapeshot!” Raphael shouts. “Everyone down!”
I flatten myself on the bottom of the rowboat, and a second later, something screams past me. Splashes echo all around us as the deadly shots hit the water, tiny cannon rounds aimed to wound and kill people. Grapeshot scatters and doesn’t need to be accurate. Our pursuers don’t need to sink our boat. They only have to hurt us and slow us down so they can catch up.
“Faster,” Viviane grunts, sitting up.
She and Raphael row as quickly as they can toward the shimmering mist.
The hum of the veil buzzes over my frigid skin.
“They’re getting closer,” Freya shouts.
“Viviane’s hurt,” Raphael says.
“I’m fine,” she says, though blood pours down her arm.
After a few seconds, she drops the oar into the water and groans. I lunge and grab it before it’s lost.
“Can you row, Nia?” Raphael asks. “Can you row and lift the veil at the same time? ”
It would have been better if I switched seats with Freya, but there’s no time. “I can do it.” My muscles are frigid with the cold, but if I can’t row, we’re as good as dead.
I lock my sights on the veil and start to row. I’ve only done this a few
times, on short boat trips on a lake or a pond. Rowing in the ocean isn’t the same. I know that I need to paddle in rhythm with Raphael, and I do my best to adjust to his pace.
The veil thrums loudly against my skin as we pull at the oars. The cannons boom again. I hunch in my seat and pray but keep rowing. One of the rounds hits the boat, and Freya lets out a shriek of pain. I don’t know if she’s hurt or dead, and I can’t afford to look. We’re nearly at the veil—way closer than I thought. The ships are almost on top of us. No time to stop or focus my powers.
Raphael and I keep rowing as I mentally focus inward, grasping at the blooming crimson magic. I let it swell, then fling it desperately at the veil.
The hum goes silent as our boat plunges into the mist. We drift through to the other side, and I heave out a slow, shuddering breath and look back. Freya is still alive. The ships in pursuit are maneuvering. The cannons boom again, but in the dark night, with the veil hiding us, the shot goes wide.
Shivering, I let myself relax. Not only did we make it out, but we’ve got the map with us.
