A Most Dangerous Weapon

Chapter 51: Sweet Dreams

I can feel the heat of the sun beating down on my skin instantly as a gathering of birds call out to one another. My eyelids flutter open. I raise my hand above my brows to offer some protection from the startling sensation of blindness. Once my vision has readjusted, I take in my calming surroundings.

Before me lie acres of tall grass and colourful blooms of scorpion grasses, more commonly known as forget-me-nots. I was always amazed by the contradictory names this flower had been given; how can this plant be named after something so vile and dangerous, but also such a sweet sentiment? Pops of blue, violet and blush bled through the greenery in an almost unnatural way, taunting me as I tried to make sense of this new location.

I wasn't in the empty, nor was I on the battlefield fighting the faceless man. This wasn't supposed to be happening. For the first time in months, I wasn't having a nightmare. Or at least it didn't seem to be one...

"There you are, sweetheart! We've been looking for you."

I turn around at the familiar sound of my father's voice. I suppose the calming effect of my new surroundings wasn't meant to last. I open my mouth to ask him to explain the meaning of all this, but unfamiliar words stream out. I even find myself smiling at him.

"I was just taking a break before the others get here. Everything alright inside?"

A dozen yards or so behind my father sits a very small, but homey cottage. Smoke puffs out of the chimney, carrying the sweet smell of a roast in the breeze. A soft voice spills out through the ajar window, whispering the melody of the lullaby that carried through my memory. I want to frown and order whoever it is to stop singing, but again I have no control.

I look up at my father for an answer, raising my hand to my eyes again to block out the blinding sun. He senses my discomfort and repositions himself, bending down to kneel beside me.

"We're all set! No need to worry."

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that my father has aged considerably. He was no longer the man who died in the arena all those years ago. The wrinkles on his face and the marks on his hands betrayed him. He was a decade older, and he didn't seem at all affected by the war or gladiator service. He looked genuinely happy and calm, nothing like the figment from my nightmares.

What is this place? What's happening? Why am I here? Who is this version of my father, and where is the demon I had become so accustomed to?

In my head I'm screaming out a million questions and demanding answers, but this body and voice seem to be playing out a scene of their own. There is no way to gain control. I just have to let this dream play out until I wake up.

Despite his assurances, I shift to stand. "I should help mother bring the dishes out."

Mother?! Is the Empress here?!

My father places his strong hand on my shoulder to push me back down. "Relax. You've been up since dawn preparing for this. You can take a moment to catch your breath."

The door to the cottage swings open with a thud as the wood smacks against the stone wall. My mother saunters out with an infant in her arms and a broad grin on her face as she continues to sing the lullaby, lightly bouncing the swaddled babe to lull it to sleep.

It is the Empress, only she is not dressed as such. She's wearing the same worn and cheap fabrics that my father and I are, and the only glimmer of jewelry I spot is the simple iron band around her ring finger. I'm starting to think that this dream revolves around the idea that my parents had never been separated. In fact, the cottage was starting to look familiar in my mind; this was how I'd imagined it whenever my father told me of our early years as babies after my mother supposedly died giving birth to us. As if to contradict that falsity, here my mother was holding a new born babe in her arms.