I screamed, striking him with my Phaetyn power, throwing him into the sunflowers surrounding us. I was sick of doing only what was necessary. I refused to live in fear any longer. Yet fear was driving me as I clenched my fist, bringing the yellow blooms and their long stems tight to his body, wrapping him in their growth to bind him to the ground. No one would enslave me again. No one would hurt the people I loved.
I grinned in glee at the shock on his face. Yet my grin faded as I looked beyond Lord Irrik to Jotun. The Druman was blurring and fading—the sunflowers, bars, and dungeons dissipating as though sucked from the surrounding air.
The darkness and fear in my chest was replaced with a sense of panic and fury, emotions distant enough I knew they weren’t mine.
“Ryn!” someone shouted from far away.
Bright light exploded in my mind, my vision of the world around me obliterated with the force, and then all was dark.
17
I blinked, staring up at Tyrrik in a daze. Shredded pieces of plants littered the space of our tent, covering most of the blankets and pillows in green bits. I was standing. When did that happen?
The quilted fabric of our tent hung askew, pulled off its supports by the upright Drae. He stood, watching me, his eyes wide. His chest, where I’d fallen asleep earlier, was wound with vines—not vines, long sunflower stalks.
I fell to my knees on the fragments of plants and pressed my hands to my temples.
“What happened?” I asked weakly.
“Are you . . . you?” Tyrrik asked, pulling pieces of stem and vine from him.
I sucked in a slow breath and nodded, though even I didn’t believe myself right now. “What was that?”
I’d never had a nightmare that real before. Was it even a nightmare? It was like I’d been fighting against my own mind. As though someone was trying to . . . to remember things in a different way. That someone had wanted me to hurt Tyrrik.
There was only one person besides Tyrrik who had access to my mind. “That was my father.”
The shock sucker-punched me, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My voice was gone, but I forced the next question out, despite dreading the answer. He can do that?
Tyrrik’s glower spoke louder than if he’d shouted actual words. He reached out for me, but I pulled back. I needed a moment to collect myself, to remind myself I was here with Tyrrik, not in the dungeons with Irrik. The simple fact Irrik had featured instead of Jotun proved my mind wasn’t driving the nightmare.
How can he do that? Never once in my time in the dungeon had someone taken my mind. That’s how I’d survived, by finding my corner. My father had seized control of me once already in the forest. But this? He’d warned me; he ruled through fear first. He’d even said leaving me with control of my mind had been a reward. But to not even realize I was being manipulated as I slept? He’d accessed my fears and used them against me. I remembered the way the nightmare blurred at the end. Did you pull me out of that?
Yes, once I realized what was happening, Tyrrik answered.
I’d thought what happened in the Zivost forest was as bad as it could get. I’d been wrong. I shook uncontrollably. There was nothing more frightening than what just happened. Ever. He’d plunged me into my most haunting memories. He made me hurt Tyrrik.
I turned to my mate. Was it because I’m more vulnerable asleep? Is that how he got inside my head? Draedyn was only able to get in at all because of the familial bond, but . . .
I thought I was protected against Draedyn with you near.
The silence stretched between us.
Tyrrik’s eyes were flooded, and his mental voice faltered. He sat still, but his jaw was clenched, and his fisted hands trembled. Ryn, I need to touch you.
I nodded, exhaling slowly, and he pulled me into his arms, his body shuddering as his tension waned.
Tyrrik squeezed me, burying his nose in my silver hair. He kissed my head then let go to straighten the tent above us. He brushed the greenery out of our small space while I sat and watched, waiting for him to regain enough control to speak.
I was so shaken, I hadn’t even process that there were horrible lashes across his chest from where I’d bound him to the ground with the sunflowers. I’d attacked him in my sleep. Worst mate ever. I’m so sorry, Tyrrik.
Tyrrik’s movements were short and sharp, and his jaw clenched as he moved about the small space, setting it back to how it was, or close to it. Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. Neither of us could’ve predicted that.
And yet I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault. Fear burgeoned my chest, and I forced myself to say the words out loud. In a voice just over a whisper, I choked, “Are you worried it will happen again?”
He froze, pillow in hand. A moment passed, and he tossed the pillow to the ground, now covered with shorn stalks. Now that I know what to expect, I’ll be better prepared. I won’t let him do that to you again.
He was not taking the burden for this. How did you get him out? Maybe if I understood that, I could understand how to keep him out myself.
We are mates. Our bond is stronger than any familial bond you share with Draedyn. In the forest, he was able to attack you because we hadn’t mated and I was too far away.
I glanced up at him. You think that’s why?
The males of my kind occasionally would leave their mates behind to go and fight, knowing their bond would not diminish over distance, nor the ability to send energy to the male in battle.
But you’ve always said we’re stronger together, I countered. And what about now? Do you think our bond still weakens with distance?
Yes, we are stronger together, he agreed. And I’m not referring to our bond or the sending of energy between us. I think your mental barrier against your father is stronger when I’m near. When I’m away, it’s easier to shatter. He is not only your father but the alpha of our kind. Tonight, I was able to push his presence away when I realized what was happening. He’d cut you off from me somehow. It was only when you started attacking me that I noticed.
So he can affect you. I wrapped my arms around myself and thought about how I could’ve attacked Tyrrik. What did you see?
No, he can only affect me through you. I’m a male Drae, not sworn to him, and no relation. And I saw an emerald-green coating the blue strands of your Drae power.
Could Draedyn do this from anywhere? I had to sleep sometime. I shivered, looking out the tent flap at the dozens more tents housing slumbering Gemondians. What could’ve happened if Tyrrik wasn’t sleeping next to me tonight? How many could Draedyn have made me kill? The entire army? I stared at the lash wounds on Tyrrik’s chest again. They’d healed into thin red lines already, but my chest squeezed.
I wish I remembered more. His thoughts were laced with frustration. Male Drae would never have left their mates if they knew their female would be left vulnerable.
Maybe they didn’t know. How many ancient alpha Drae are there to force their way into their daughter’s heads? And weren’t the Drae supposed to be the protectors of the realm?
Tyrrik’s eyes gleamed in the dark as he watched me. True on both counts.
He faced me, crouched in the tent, and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”
I closed my eyes, bowing my head in defeat. I can’t keep him out. I’m not going to go back to sleep.
He sighed, his chest rising and falling. I’ll watch over you, my love. I know what to look for now, and I won’t let anything else happen to you.
He’d stay awake so I could sleep? Because that made me want to sink into a dreamless slumber. I could feel how much he wanted his promise to be true, however, and I realized he felt just as much guilt for what happened.
I crawled across the tent and tapped on his leg. “Come down here with me.”
He joined me on the blankets and pillows. Our lapis and onyx threads wound together, and I opened my heart to him, uncaring which emotions were mine and which were his. Our bond and emotions merged, unidentifiable as belonging to each of us, and I rested both of my hands on his chest, using my restored Phaetyn power to remove the physical evidence of the pain I’d just caused him.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, speaking for both of us. “And I’m so afraid.”