A Court of Stars and Memories

20. Craving Security

Lysander jolted awake to his heart pounding against his ribs. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and brought his head down between them, inhaling through his mouth in an effort to steady his breaths. He tried to swallow despite the dryness of his mouth and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

The dream was rapidly fading from memory now. Lysander grasped at it, but could only recall fractions. There had been ice and terror and someone chasing him. He couldn't remember who or why.

Lysander scrubbed at his face and slowly sat up. He spread his wings before falling back onto the bed and crossing his arms over his face. Faelights twinkled down at him, almost taunting in their serene glow.

Lysander closed his eyes and tried to remember the dream one last time. There was nothing familiar about any of it. Just terror that coated the back of his tongue like bitter salt. He shoved off the bed and left his room abruptly.

Lysander made his way down to the kitchen, lighting candles with a wave of his hand as he went. He grabbed a glass of water and managed to take a few sips, restoring some of the moisture to his mouth.

Despite that small relief, he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. He could go for a flight, but they would be working on some wing training in Windhaven come morning and he didn't want to be sore beforehand.

Lysander glanced at the stairs. He could try to work on one of his paintings again. He hadn't been able to for a while now. Perhaps he could paint what vague images lingered from his dream.

Again, that terrible fear welled up inside of him. Lysander stamped it down, knitting his brows. He drifted towards the wine cabinet and snatched a small bottle from one of the nooks. Mother knew he was going to need something to smother his senses for at least an hour or two.

He remounted the stairs, uncorking the bottle as he went. Lysander entered his art studio and took a drink, then set the bottle aside and scanned his collection of unfinished paintings. His gaze snagged on the one of the female, still marred by a smear of silver.

No, he wasn't even going to think about working on that one tonight. Lysander grabbed a new canvas and set it on his easel. He sat down before it and took a pencil, then began to sketch.

He was hardly aware of what he was drawing. Only that his hand seemed guided by something else. He switched from pencil to paintbrush and took another long draught. He coated the canvas in white and began to add smudges of gray, blue, and purple, until icy snowdrifts formed.

He painted a foreboding cloudy sky with no moon to light the path. He painted the dark silhouette of a man, highlighting his sharp features in shades of gray. He switched to the second figure in the painting and highlighted her silhouette as well.

At last, Lysander sat back and examined what he'd painted. The scene was so detailed and yet so vague. He couldn't identify either of the figures, despite how many of their features were highlighted. And why had he painted a female when he'd been the one being chased in his dream? Lysander peered closer while rubbing his bare sternum, easing the faint ache within it.

The female's eyes were blurred. So were the male's. He knew if he tried to add more definition to them, he'd ruin the painting and any resemblance it might have to a living person. Lysander stood with a frustrated sigh and tossed his empty drink into the nearest bin. He returned to his room, but try as he might, sleep would not come again.

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Mitsi didn't bother to knock before entering Mina's room the next morning. Her sister didn't look up from lacing her pants. "What is it?"