Mermaid Tear (The Fated #2)

04 | Impossibilities

Everything was hazy and wrong.

It stung her veins with a pain akin to nightmare venom and a grief heavier than Artemios' death. Shifting through it all was proving impossible, as each sensation felt heavier and more muffled than the last.

It wasn't until she realized that the emotions weren't hers that Iliana knew she wasn't dreaming.

Well, not technically at least.

She could recall falling asleep shortly after Del had derailed their conversation into safer topics. Her hands had been curled around the soft edges of her sheets, not her anklet. Yet, somehow, the "dream" she found herself in felt similar to a trip through the charms.

Furthermore, the owner of it all was someone she knew, but not in that manner. He shouldn't have been one of her charms. Aatami had stated that the anklet was connected to those who had a stake in Reotak's fate. That they were heroes that--through her--the gods intended to use to ruin Zuher.

Why then, was Callias sitting before her with his head in hands?

If her nightmares were real--if everything she had seen through Melitta's eyes had been events of their past--hadn't he already experienced enough? What tasks could the merman do that weren't possible for someone else, someone who hadn't suffered his already harsh fate?

Even as anger singed her thoughts, Iliana realized her emotions weren't natural.

She rubbed her chest, attempting to sort through the twisting mess clogging her insides. She hadn't felt so indignant, so...pissed, when she had realized the charms connected her to Kain. Was that because she hadn't known the meaning at the time? Or was it because her connection to him hadn't felt as visceral as this?

Gods, it was as if she were truly standing before him. As if she could reach out and lay her hand on Callias' head or sit on the bed he leaned against. And a part of her wished she could, because perhaps then she'd be able to ease the knot of anguish that radiated from where he sat.

The scene was one she wouldn't have expected from him, but something that ultimately made sense. Moonlight drifted through an open window, illuminating where alcohol bottles with a familiar label lay strewn about the floor. Everyone of them were empty, save perhaps the one currently clutched in the hand that laid sprawled over his curled knees. The sight turned her stomach into knots, because he had been the one who told her that that particular mix of rum had been brewed with merfolk in mind.

No wonder he couldn't think--that each emotion that swirled through her from him was echoed with a layer of hazy fog. Callias had drank until he couldn't manage another thought.

As she watched, his head turned against the tops of his legs, until his cheek was pressed against the fabric of his trousers. Blond hair tumbled over his neck, nearly blocking the view of his flushed features. She could see enough--however--to make out his swollen, ocean eyes and the hints of tears that still laced his lashes.

She hadn't known Melitta very well, or long. Her passing had felt worse because of the knowledge Iliana somehow gained with it, but still, it hadn't stung as the death of a friend should have. In this moment, however, in a dark room bursting with concealed emotion, it felt as raw as glass being dragged through her insides.

So, even though she knew he wouldn't hear her, Iliana followed her impulse. She leaned over and ghosted her fingers along the top of his head.

"I'm sorry, Callias."

Impossibly, his eyes flicked to hers as his entire body seemed to recoil from the touch.

The dream shattered.