Dance of Fate

Chapter Twenty Two

I awoke drenched in sweat and twisted in sheets, reaching beside me for the male I had fallen asleep next to.

My hand was met with nothing but empty, cold sheets. I willed myself to breathe, to think- to make myself note that there was still that inexplainable feeling in my chest that assured me Azriel was alive, despite the dream I'd just had, and despite the fact that he was no longer in my bed.

It was my fault, of course. I had told him time and time again that our relationship was purely physical. And he had respected my decision, even though I could sense it pained him.

Forcing down the fear that still clenched me like a fist, I willed myself to stand from my bed and shrug on the first piece of clothing I could find.

I could never fall back asleep after nightmares. I could barely fall asleep at all, not with all the haunting memories my brain seemed to be struggling to breathe under, as well as the fears of the few good things in my life being taken.

That, and the growingly restless power that lurked in my veins, struggling against my every will to be used. I had released a great deal of it yesterday- had gone to a far away mountain and let so much of it out that I'd felt light headed. But only a few hours later, it seemed to be back at its full force.

The claims the witch had made rang in my ears as I silently padded towards the kitchen. I was still feet away when I sensed another presence lurking inside.

I was about to turn back, but a familiar female scent filled the air. I paused right outside the door, contemplating whether I should go back to my room.

"I can smell you from here." Feyre's voice sounded, slightly muffled from the door that separated us. I cursed myself in my head as I pushed open the door.

"I still haven't gotten used to that," she whispered, more to herself than to me. I examined the female- dark smudges under her eyes that suggested she hadn't slept very much, a tenseness in her shoulders that suggested she wasn't entirely comfortable in my presence. That was deserved, I supposed, although it still stung.

"Rhys told me what happened." I said, my voice as soft as I could will it. Feyre turned her blue eyes to me, filled with emotion, yet... empty. "Come to gloat?" She asked in a bored tone, putting down the half eaten slice of cake she'd been holding. I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Did you not hear what I said at dinner?" I snapped, irritation bubbling up in my blood. Feyre blinked, as if she just realized what she had said, or as if she had just recalled that I had told Rhys not to take her to the Prison.

"Why were you in there?" Her blunt question took me aback. I paused before responding. I hadn't been asked that question by anyone other than Azriel. But unlike then, Feyre's question seemed to be purely out of curiosity, not caution or fear. Perhaps that was why I found myself speaking before I could think better of it.

"My father thought I was uncontrollable, even by him. I couldn't control my magic, especially when I was angry. I would have... outbursts. After a particularly bad one, he threw me in there." Each word was smaller than the last, the air growing too thick as memories flashed in my mind.

"What did you do?" She whispered. I stared at her for many heartbeats. Maybe it was the fact that there was no disgust or hatred on her face, or maybe it was just the exhaustion that grasped at me, but I said,
"I misted one of his legions. And not a small one, at that."

I carefully watched Feyre. Her eyes widened in surprise, and I braced myself for the smell of her fear to stain the air- but it didn't come. There was awe in her eyes, and sorrow. I didn't know how to feel about it. I never would have imagined someone feeling sorry for me after I revealed one of the many awful things I had done. And I didn't know if it was better or worse than what I'd expected.