The Amulet Of Nicmir (The Scripts Of Neptune, Book 1)

Chapter 53

It was the fire that got to him in the end.

The darkness had failed. The claws and teeth had failed. Even his mother, bleeding from the work of his own hands, hadn't jolted Nyle from his terrible dreams. But the fire, the memory of his sister's screams as she burned with that barn, unable to escape, pulled him into reality with a harsh tug.

He woke with a start, tangled in the sheets and trembling, drenched in sweat. His heart was still racing, and his breathing was deep and uneven, his throat raw enough that he wondered if he'd been screaming. He hadn't been able to, in his nightmare. He'd been mute, unable to cry out, forced to face the ghosts in silence.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Nyle leaned over and put his head in his hands, tasting salt on his tongue. Sweat or tears; he couldn't tell. It didn't matter. The nightmare was over.

It wasn't real, he reminded himself, digging his fingers into his hair. It was a dream.

Telling himself that didn't quell the fear still seated in his bones.

Even with the window in the wall, the room was stuffy and cold, the air too close to his skin, the ceiling too low. He needed space. He needed air. He needed to breathe.

The stone was ice-cold under his bare feet as he made his way out the door and down the hall. It was pitch dark, so he used the wall as a guide, heading toward a balcony he'd seen earlier, when he'd walked Lillian to her room and said goodnight.

The balcony was empty, and it would've been just as dark as the hall if not for the stars. The moon had long since set, leaving the pale points of light glimmering on their own in the heavens against an impossibly inky backdrop. Nyle hardly noticed them as he leaned his elbows of the wooden railing and gazed out across the sleeping city. It looked a little different from a vantage point on the second floor. Windows were doorways into shadow, curtains billowing gently in a breeze. There were lamps in a few of them, long since blown out.

The scent of burnt sand was faint on the wind, but Nyle savored it. It smelled of wide open places, like the sea and the sky. He liked that. He needed that. The air was so cold it stung in his chest when he breathed, loosening the panic that'd been there before, if only a little.

"Hey."

The drowsy greeting made him turn his head. Chad rubbed his face as he leaned on the railing beside Nyle. He hadn't made a sound approaching. Silent as usual.

"Hey," Nyle replied, looking back out at the quiet streets. "Couldn't sleep?"

Chad shook his head and stifled a yawn with his baggy sleeve. "Craventi summoned me. We talked, and he taught me a bit of magic. Couldn't get back to sleep after that."

"Ah." Deciding to try lifting the mood, Nyle nudged Chad lightly in the shin to get his attention. "So, you've lost your lip virginity. How does it feel?"

Huffing a laugh, Chad ran his hand through his hair, his face reddening. "Weird," he admitted. "I barely knew her."

"Sometimes it's better that way, I think. Keeps it from getting too complicated," Nyle said. The subject in his mind shifted like cracking ice and took him back to his own first kiss, back in that inn, with a girl he'd known for years. He remembered the terror he'd felt the next day, the fear of losing her friendship over a single mistake.

Without his bidding or control, that terror hit him again. The fear of losing her as he watched that desert rider drive his blade into her gut. It made him breathless, cold fingers closing around his throat. Then it was Rhamarr's hand cutting off his air, crushing his voice, strangling the life from his body. The fear he thought he'd left in his room swamped him in an overwhelming wave.