“Wait, Lee!” Phelan struggled through the crowd, who began to turn on him. The peaceful guise of the ballroom shattered, and Phelan had no choice but to divert his attention to defend himself.
My father stepped forward, entering the fray. I watched him strike down one of the countess’s victims with a beam of light. He cut the Duke of Seren in half, unrepentant, and Isidore gasped, melting into smoke.
The countess must have been waiting for her brother to be conquered, for she interfered at last, her face flushed from the mortification of watching her dream on display. She ignored the phantom of herself and the teeming violence, and withdrew the dagger from her belt.
“Kill her,” she ordered Lennox, nodding at Clem.
My eyes drifted back to Clem, and my body coiled with energy, preparing to impede the countess should the dream break. I watched this phantom of myself, who continued to stand, docile and gentle, and I wondered if I would go down quietly, if I would do nothing while Lennox attacked me.
Lennox drew back his sword, preparing to strike Clem.
And she waited until he had begun his forward thrust, the rapier glinting in the light. She moved her hand in a terribly familiar way, a movement I had performed many times, and her magic caught the blade before it could pierce her breast. The rapier submitted to her, bending back on itself to sting its wielder, and Lennox went wide-eyed in shock, emitting a scream as his own blade punctured his shoulder.
How pleased I was in that moment.
I stood in the shadows and watched with satisfaction as Clem flicked her fingers and hurled Lennox back. He landed on the floor with a groan, his rapier still lodged in his shoulder, and he mewled in pain, blood soaking his clothes.
The countess turned bug-eyed, glancing between her son and Clem.
“Phelan!” she cried, shrill. “Come and finish this.”
Phelan’s clothes were shredded. There was blood splattered across his waistcoat and hands, although I didn’t believe it was his. His hair was tousled, dark threads of it framing his face. He stopped fighting, and I could tell he was weary by his shoulders, how they curved inward. His old wounds must be hurting him.
“Come here,” the countess said, sharper, and he obeyed.
Phelan walked to her in a heavy gait. My father continued to fight the remaining phantoms in the dream, but his attention was now split, divided between what he battled and the sight of Phelan approaching his daughter.
“Go on,” Lady Raven prompted. “This is yours to vanquish.”
Phelan stared at Clem, his breaths ragged. He held up his rapier, pointing to her heart, to that promise of gold. The nightmare’s fault line.
He froze in that stance, but his arm quivered.
Gradually, he lowered his sword and said, “I cannot do this.”
“Yes, you can,” his mother encouraged him. “This is just a phantom. Whatever power this girl holds over you . . . now is the time to break free, Phelan.”
He took a step nearer to Clem, unable to look away from her.
From me, I thought, and a warning rang deep in my bones.
I moved silently, drawing closer. Blood soaked the hem of my skirt. It rippled in my wake, and yet no one noticed my approach. No one but my father, who had finished slaying the rest of the dream’s phantoms and was sore for breath.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Clem, if she would treat Phelan with the same regard as she had Lennox. My stomach clenched when Phelan gently reached out to her.
I saw the shift in her expression, the cold glitter in her eyes. There was no love, no forgiveness, no mercy within her. Vengeance had devoured those parts of her, scraped her clean, and she was hollow, so endlessly hollow. I felt an echo of that emptiness as Clem prepared to strike Phelan down, her magic gathering.
He stiffened and inhaled a sharp breath, his realization coming a moment too late.
I lunged forward and cast a shield. My magic came between them, absorbing the brunt of force that had been directed at Phelan. The shock of my interference rocked all three of us, and we stumbled back a few paces, our surroundings rumbling in response. A crack formed in the floor, and the blood began to drain through it, filling the ballroom with a perpetual trickling sound.
I regained my balance and stood a few paces away, my hand aching. I watched as Clem likewise straightened her willowy frame. Auburn hair tangled across her face like a net. I remembered that feeling; I could nearly sense it over my own face. Her eyes met mine over the fissure and blood and shadows and firelight, and she smiled, as if she had been waiting all along for me to appear.
“Anna!” the countess cried in relief. “Thank gods, dear one. Finish what my sons cannot. Break this dream, Anna, and I will extravagantly reward you.”
I hardly paid her any attention. I was focused on Clem. I stepped over the crack in the floor, into her striking range. We circled each other, prey and predator, girl and phantom. I was both, and yet I felt like neither. My emotions were snarled, cold and hot feelings entwined together, radiating a pleasant numbness in my chest.
How was I to defeat her? I knew her arsenal of spells. As she knew mine.
Clem at last came to a halt.
I mirrored her motions.
Over the slender slope of her shoulder, I saw the dais behind her. The throne, gleaming like it was carved from bones, and Emrys standing beside it, watching me with wicked amusement. And then the countess walked into that view, waiting on the dais stairs. She was positioning herself, I realized. As soon as I broke this dream, she would claim the sovereignty of the mountains.
And more than anything . . . I didn’t want to bend the knee to her. I didn’t want to see her sit on that throne.
I held Clem’s stare, and I knew she saw the cascade of my thoughts. My desire for her to take victory over the dream.
She nodded and lifted her hand toward Lady Raven. Down went the countess, with a shriek and a tumble. She lay prostrate on the stairs, frozen. Had my phantom just killed her?
There was no time for me to wonder. Clem pivoted and shot a spell at Lennox next, even though he was still writhing along the floor, wounded. He went limp as a rag doll, limbs splayed out.
Phelan, I thought, and panicked. I took a step toward him, the phantom’s spell grazing my ear. The enchantment hit him square in the chest, and I watched, wide-eyed, as a trail of blood began to flow from his nose. He sank to his knees, his gaze fastened to me. I was the last thing he saw as he surrendered to the floor.
And then my father, who was swift, but not swift enough when the nightmare was his daughter. He could have struck Clem down; he could have broken the dream. But he hesitated, and she took advantage of that moment. Down he went, like a folding house of cards.
I stared, stricken, at his unconscious form. Blood also trickled from his nose.
I tried to convince myself this was just a dream; they weren’t dead. But a wave of devastation broke over me, and pain sparked from my chest up to my neck. As if I had been branded. Hissing, I touched my throat. My fingertips traced sleek marks, embedded in my skin.
“The throne is yours for the taking,” said Clem. “I will concede, but only to you.”
I stared at her. Before I knew it, I struck her down with a spell, aiming for her heart. She melted into smoke, into oblivion, and I realized on shaking legs that I had just vanquished the nightmare.
My eyes drifted to the dais. To the throne, where Emrys continued to wait. He held out his hand, inviting me to take the chair.