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Aelin stumbled as she raced down the stairs, only a quick grab at the railing preventing her from falling despite her enhanced Fae senses. Even if she had tumbled, though, she wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop, not until she was breathing the crisp Terrasen air in the courtyard, hands on her knees as though she’d just run a weeks-long race rather than a simple sprint.
It was only a dream, she told herself over and over, even as her mind’s eye displayed a litany of all she’d been through and her flesh and bones ached with the memories.
A strong ache in her ankle, a sprain long since healed. Tell my Elide that I love her very much.
A sharp pain in her hand. You’ll learn to use it with both hands, and you’ll do it now. If you don’t have the guts to break that hand, I’ll do it for you.
Long searing lines down her back, three lashes laid perfectly parallel to each other and scrubbed with the salt she mined. You deserve this and worse, you murderous Terrasen bitch. Consider it payback for the good men you butchered.
A blade in her side, cold and sharp. I don’t care.
The skin of her back, splitting around a whip. What number was that, Aelin?
Cold, hard iron sealing her away from everything she knew and loved. We’ll continue later. Get her ready.
Something less tangible but no less real, the sensation of her heart breaking over and over again. You can have this perfect world, Aelin. All you have to do is tell me where they are.
The sucking emptiness where her power had once coiled within her. What has begun can’t be halted.
An acrid scent reached her nostrils, and dimly she realized that she was now on her knees with a pool of vomit before her. Gods, what a mess. It was only a dream. It was only a dream.
Except it wasn’t only a dream. All of it, every single moment she’d relived, had been very real, and now the weight of it all pressed down on her until she braced her hands on the grass beside her as her stomach churned again. It was only a dream, she desperately reminded herself, but the words rang hollow even in her own mind.
The cool scent of pine and snow washed through the courtyard, and Aelin turned her head to see booted feet walking through the door she had used. Gods, had her frenzied panic awakened her mate? Or had he simply turned over and found cool sheets instead of the wife who had been sleeping beside him? Either way, he was here now, and she was sure if she looked up she would see concern written all over his strong features and glimmering in pine-green eyes.
She couldn’t manage that, though, not right now. She barely had the strength to keep her hands planted on the ground and maintain her balance on hands and knees. Looking Rowan in the eye was more than she could handle, and he likely knew it as well as she did.
The booted feet paused beside her, and then she watched his knees come into view as well. A few moments later his hand brushed her shoulder, and she knew his next move would be to pull her back against him and wrap his arms around her.
A surge of strength rose in her, and she shoved the hand away. “I don’t need your charity, Rowan,” she snapped. She went to brace herself again, but the movement had knocked her off-balance. Before her face could meet the mess she had made, though, a cool breeze urged her to fall to the side instead.
Rowan sighed. “I know you need no charity, Fireheart, just as you know I’ve offered you none.”
Aelin rolled, allowing the cool ground to soothe her back as it ached with memory. The strength she had found to push him away had vanished in an instant as if carried away by his winds, and she could no longer find the energy to reply to him. She could barely tilt her head enough to see her husband kneeling beside her, the silver hair that now brushed his shoulders falling into his eyes as he leaned over her.
She didn’t need an unobstructed view of his eyes to read the question there, however. The dreams again?
She simply nodded, allowing her eyes to close. She knew she wouldn’t sleep again tonight, but she simply couldn’t muster the energy to keep them open any longer.
His fingers gently carded through her tangled hair, gently working it free of knots. “It is no charity to offer comfort to someone whose pain causes me agony. Nor is it charity to offer my queen strength when her own falters.”
Despite herself, she felt the faintest stirrings of her usual reaction to his words. “Mmm, call me your queen again?”
“We’ve discussed this already. If I say it as often as you wish, the words won’t hold the same value.”
She knew he was probably right, but right now it was hard to see it that way, when every Fireheart and my queen and mate became warm embers deep within her. Dimly, she wondered if it was possible for him to simply talk her back into warmth and happiness.
Just like that, though, reality set back in. Those warm words and kind gestures would only be temporary fillings for the holes in her life and her heart. Another sigh escaped her. “When do we get to live, Rowan? It’s been two years.”
His fingers paused their movement through her hair for a moment, then resumed their ministrations. “Your wounds are still scarring over, Fireheart, and prone to aching. I can’t promise the nightmares will ever vanish entirely, but with time you’ll likely find they become softer and less frequent.”
She hoped he was right. Right now, though, it was hard to see how to put her memories to rest when she could hardly stand the barest of loving touches. “And if they don’t?”
His hand slipped underneath her back again, and this time she allowed him to lift her into his warm embrace. “Then I remain by your side, doing all that I can to chase them away on the nights they grow too strong to bear.”
He stood then, lifting her as well and beginning to walk toward their chambers, and if any of their court witnessed their Queen clinging to her King-Consort as though her life depended on it no one said a word.