Faelan closes his eyes, a pained look on his face.
But Aelia straightens and gives me a nod, her teal eyes sparkling. “Challenge accepted, bitch.”
By late afternoon they have me lying down in Faelan’s nest while Aelia makes her potion in his kitchenette. The air smells like salad dressing and snappy greens.
Aelia seems to be thriving on being in charge. She’s been ordering Faelan around for the last half hour, telling him what ingredients she needs, reading out loud from her spellbook in some other language.
“So,” Aelia says loudly from the kitchen, “your part is pretty self-explanatory, Sage. You drink the potion and go to sleep. The important thing will be making sure your dreamworld is kept partially in the here and now so you don’t float away and turn into Rapunzel.”
“You’re worried I’ll grow super-long hair?” I ask, pretty sure that’s not the faerie tale she’s thinking of.
“I meant the sleeping one,” she says, annoyed.
“That’s Sleeping Beauty,” I say dryly, then mutter, “Really not instilling confidence.”
She just humphs and continues with whatever she’s doing.
“You’re not going to let that happen,” Faelan says from somewhere down below, “are you, Aelia?”
“Nope,” she says. “Because we’re going to use a tether.”
“You’re planning on tying me to the bed now?” I ask.
“Nope.” Her tone grows a mischievous edge. “I’m going to link your consciousness to Faelan’s.”
The snark evaporates from my tongue. I sit up, and Faelan and I say in unison, “What?”
I glance over at him from my perch in the nest. He’s leaning on a tree branch near the kitchenette. He doesn’t appear as worried as I feel. “What’s that even mean?” I ask.
“It means I’ll go into the dream with you,” Faelan says, his voice tense. He doesn’t look at me. “But I’ll only be observing, so I can pull you out if it gets too deep.”
The idea of Faelan joining me in a dream sends a wave of vulnerability through me. What if I dream about him? Or worse, Kieran?
Heat fills my cheeks. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’ll be fun!” Aelia says. It’s like she can tell there’s a possibility it’ll all end in my personal humiliation.
“Can’t I just go in without a tether or whatever?”
“Nope,” Aelia says, sounding joyous.
Faelan stays quiet, maybe sensing my unease, knowing full well why I’m not thrilled with him joining me in dreamland.
“I’m almost ready,” Aelia announces. “Get your sexy butt up there, Faelan. The tether has to touch the subject during the spell.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pausing before moving to comply. My heart pounds as he climbs up and over the edge. After he settles in to lie beside me, we both just stare up at the vines and branches that coat the ceiling. He clears his throat and shifts a little so his hip isn’t brushing mine. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“All cozy up there?” Aelia asks from below.
“So why are we doing it?” I ask through my teeth.
“You already decided we need to dig deeper—this is the best way I can see to do it,” he says. “I’m your protector; it’s my task to keep you from being lost. It might show us something, it might not, but I think it’s worth a shot. It’s your call, though, since this is your mind we’ll be riffling through.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, biting back a grumble. He’s right, yet again. Maybe we won’t see anything helpful, but it’s worth it if we can. And a little embarrassment with Faelan isn’t going to kill me. It’s not as if this thing I feel between us can ever really go anywhere.
I ignore the pang in my chest when the thought comes. Because it sucks, but it’s true. This can’t go anywhere, whatever it is or isn’t. No matter how attracted I am to him. Nothing in my world lasts. And I really don’t want him to be another item on my long list of broken things.
Aelia appears over the edge of the nest, bowl in her hand. She sets it down beside me, the red liquid sloshing. “Three big gulps each, alternating, don’t skimp.” She disappears over the side again.
Faelan and I sit up, looking down at the bowl.
“Once I lock in,” Aelia says, “I won’t feel what you guys feel, but I should see glimpses of imagery if it works right. You can explain anything I miss when you reemerge—oh, and you should remember the dream really clearly once you’re conscious again. I’m going to begin the chanting for the casting as soon as you each take your first drink. So tell me when.”
I pick up the bowl, cradling it in both hands. My pulse thunders in my head, my nerves raw. All I want is to get away from this crazy. But it looks like the only way to do that is to walk right through it.
“Bottoms up,” I mumble. And I take the first big swig.
The bitter taste of something like raw beets and the tang of vinegar mingle in my mouth. My stomach rises, but I manage to swallow it all. I gag as I pass the bowl over.
Faelan takes his drink and Aelia starts her chanting. We pass it back and forth, and by the third gulp things are becoming a green blur, the nest tipping under me, my heartbeat a slow whooshing in my head. I lie back. And the warmth of Faelan settles in beside me.
We turn to face each other, and his slow breath brushes my face. We blink in unison for a few seconds, sinking into the moment.
My eyes slide closed, his fingers gliding down my arm to settle on my wrist. As everything goes still.
And we drift into sleep.
Three days have passed, and the king still hasn’t woken from hibernation. His raven, Bran, perches on the headboard, and his wolf is curled at the foot of the bed, both guarding their master. I sit close by, either beside the king’s bed or near the fire, warring with myself, seeing my chance to run. But for some unfathomable reason, I’m unable to make myself leave his side as he sleeps.
His shade, Eric, a large Norseman who came in with the first invasions and died in battle, stays with me at all times, never leaving me alone with his master. He insists that the king hasn’t ever been down this long after a healing, but he also mentioned that the king’s feedings have decreased these last three months, so perhaps he’s just weakened.
“Why has the king cut back?” I ask.
Eric merely looks at me.
“Shouldn’t he have been paired with a shade for hibernation then?” I ask, a helplessness weaving through me. I’m not sure how the children of the Morrígan pair for hibernation, but my guess is it’s bloody. I can’t think how else he’ll rejuvenate if he’s alone and hungry, though.
Eric shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable.
“Speak, fool!” I bark.
The raven echoes my annoyance with a screech.
Eric clears his throat. “He wouldn’t wish for me to speak of it with you, mistress.”