Red Ruse

Chapter Twenty Seven

Mare

It follows me.

It hangs on Maven's head as he nudges me to answer in Council. It shimmers in the air as Ketha floods the ground with shrapnel, an explosion too potent for Anabel to dismiss. It flickers in and out of focus as Gwendolyn cheers Lupa on.

I don't remember making it. I don't remember anything but ash on my fingertips, heavy breathing and delirium. It was Elara. It had to be. How else could I lose myself to such a pointless meltdown?

It didn't feel pointless.

My palms sweat, blood evaporating to fumes and adrenaline. It's his fault. If he had taken my hand on the bridge, I wouldn't be here. Wouldn't be pacing my room in a breathless rage. Wouldn't be clawing every scrap I could from Maven's good will. Wouldn't be destroying myse–

Calm down.

No.

Make a mark.

Sheets tangle between my legs as I squirm awake, not to a bedroom ceiling, but my cheek pressed against hard floor. A scrap of pillow is clutched between my fingers, feathers trailing a path contained not within my chambers, but the hallway, a hallway I did not fall asleep in. What an interesting development.

I curse.

A glance at the window confirms my suspicions: the sun hasn't risen yet, nor has anyone else. I should return to my chambers before they notice.

Should.

My nails dig against my palm as if it were his back, as if his suffering were enough to lift me from the abyss. It never is. It never is, and yet I keep coming back. Shade was right.

If only I could tell him so.

Not for the first time, his death spears through me, claw marks on the floor and tears in my eyes. I can't let myself forget it. Can't let the image of his body fade. Instead, I rise, wobbly, but still standing. The newbloods still look to me. The newbloods still need me. And there is one person whose heart still beats for me. Who won't turn me away, even as I itch and ache for his demise. A foolish hope.  One I can't bear to deny myself any longer.

His room is easy to distinguish from the rest. More guards flank the knob than any other, eyeing me with suspicion as I knock. The creak startles me, adrenaline racing as he takes me in. Not a king. Not a monster. Those masks have been packed away for the night, leaving annoyance in their stead. "What is it?"

"I–" Now or never. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

He jolts.

"Not like that." I wince. "I--Nightmares."

"Oh." Maven parts the door. "Of course."

My hair is plastered to my forehead, skin slick with sweat as he guides me through gray walls and barren shelves. It is a hollow, empty space, and I shiver. Perhaps it was a mistake to come here.

"You can sleep there." Maven gestures to what must be his bed, though it barely extends past his height. "I'll take the floor."

My heart pounds. "You don't have to."

Pause. "Is this--"

"I sleepwalk." The words are fevered, desperate. "I need someone to hold me down so I don't–I–I don't know. This was stupid. I should–"

Maven softens. "It's alright." He tugs the blanket free, letting it ripple to the edge of my feet. "It'll be a tight fit."

"I don't care." I slip beside him, arms nestling in the crook of his back. He smells like ash and lavender, a bush set aflame by the noonday sun. At least I'm not the only one.

"If you're having nightmares, Mother–."

I stiffen. My fingers loosen from his shoulders, gripping his shirt as if I could crawl inside his skin. "Bad idea."

"Maybe." He can't meet my eyes. "She helped me when I was younger."

"And look how you turned out."

"I'm serious." Maven shifts, pulling away as if to guard himself. "I used to have nightmares, so much I couldn't sleep through the night. I'd crawl into Cal's bed and beg him to protect me. It was mortifying."

"You were five."

"Old enough to know better." He shudders. "She cured me of my nightmares. Of all dreams."

"That doesn't make sense." I clutch his pillow, digging past the silk coating to the stuffing beneath. Sweat pools at the pads of my fingertips. "What did she–"

His breath is cool against my neck. "She couldn't cut out the nightmares on their own. So she ensured I'd never be forced to dream again."

Bile rises in my throat, and I force it back down. "That's not okay."

Scoff. "We're not okay." He sits upright, fists clenched as if struggling to hold on. "You shouldn't--"

"Maven." My voice lowers to a dangerous octave. "Elara's been in my head enough."

And I tell him everything.

It's hard to read him as I fumble over the details, each mistake an easy point of attack. He grows cold as I dream of Cal's hand in mine, colder as my initial sears on his wall, and colder still as Elara pries the knife from my hand. My eyes squeeze shut, praying for frost: a death his mother cannot resurrect me from.

"Look at me." A whisper, one I can't bear to obey. The pillow squeezes to feathers, my palm to red crescents, searching for something, anything to hold onto. My ledge is shrinking fast. And he cannot pull me up.

Maven sighs. "I'll fix this." His voice bleeds. "Please. Go to sleep. I'll keep the nightmares away, I-I promise."

My heart turns to ash. "You can't."

He hugs me tight, tight enough I can feel his chest beating against my own. His hands are warm, glowing embers, and I'm reminded of another Maven, another broken promise. I'm so good at collecting them.

"I'll make her stop."

Another hope, another lie. I don't have the strength to argue. No strength but to lay beneath the covers and pray sleep finds me fast.

And that the nightmares do not follow.