“It doesn’t make sense, feeling tired in a dream,” I mumbled. But I took off my backpack in unspoken agreement.
Oliver didn’t respond. We began putting up the tent, removing the pieces from our bags one by one. The backpacks must’ve been waterproof, because nothing was wet, like I’d expected it all to be. As I snapped the metal rods into place, I mentally reviewed the fight with the minotaurs. I should’ve been thinking about the scene with my parents, and yet, I didn’t want to.
I was afraid to.
So I thought about the minotaurs. Why had they attacked us? Why were they even in the dreamscape? You’re missing something, my instincts insisted. There was an obvious detail I was missing. A pattern I wasn’t seeing.
Another piece of the tent snapped into place within my hands. I stared down at it, frowning in thought. When I finally made the connection, it felt like I was in a roller coaster car, plunging into the first freefall.
They were guarding something.
“Fuck. This is going to be harder than we thought. Fuck,” I repeated, feeling like I could fall asleep the moment I stretched out in my sleeping bag. I lifted my head and caught Oliver’s questioning look. He hadn’t put it together, I realized. He’d probably been so focused on keeping me safe that he hadn’t been able to think about much else.
“The minotaurs were guarding the memory,” I told him. “Trying to keep us from reaching it. That’s why they stopped like that, and stood in a line once we reached a certain point—we’d gotten far enough away from the memory. Something tells me that’s going to be the case for all of them. It’s why the ceti were there, too, at the last memory we saw. I’m not sure why the tree one wasn’t guarded, though. Maybe it wasn’t significant enough.”
Oliver’s brow lowered, a strand of hair blowing into his eye. The tent popped up between us a moment later, and he came back around to me, making adjustments as he went. “But this is your own mind,” Oliver said once he was close enough. “Wouldn’t these creatures recognize you? Why are there things guarding your memories at all?”
It was a question I’d already asked myself, and I hadn’t liked the answer. Oliver would probably be even more unhappy about it. Gathering my courage, I inclined my head toward the flaps, and Oliver nodded. We both retrieved our backpacks and ducked inside.
“I think I used my mother’s stories, and this dreamscape, as a way to forget my childhood trauma,” I said, resuming our conversation. I undid the clasps on my sleeping bag while Oliver pulled the space heater out. We were so attuned to each other that our movements were like a choreographed dance. “I may want to remember now, but my subconscious hasn’t gotten the memo—it’s still trying to do what I told it to all those years ago.”
Oliver frowned in thought. He flicked the switch on the heater, and that darkened square slowly filled with a warm glow. Outside, I could hear the wind picking up again. “Do you believe it would keep guarding your memories, even if you were hurt?” Oliver asked.
He’d avoided saying the words, but I knew what he was really asking. Can pursuing these memories get you killed? Stalling again, I set my weapons out to dry and pulled off my drenched, chilled coat. Despite my reluctance, I didn’t want to lie to Oliver anymore. Lies were like little seeds scattered throughout the foundation of a relationship. Time and silence allowed them to sprout into vines that eventually broke and crumbled everything.
I turned to Oliver and saw that he’d taken his wet clothes off. Wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, he knelt on the other side of our makeshift bed. There was a cut on his rib cage, but it didn’t look big enough to require stitches. Following his lead, I removed my own sopping shirt, then sat to tug off my fleece-lined leggings. Now as naked as he was—there were newly-formed bruises along my body from hitting the ground so hard—I met Oliver’s gaze, keeping mine steady to hide the shiver traveling down my spine.
“If I was frightened enough to hide my past behind sea monsters and minotaurs, I’m not sure there’s anything my mind wouldn’t do to keep me from it,” I answered at last.
I waited for arguments or protests. I’d also steeled myself for questions about the memory itself, and the things my parents had said. There has to be a way to stop it. Her power grows by the day. Life or death. No price is too high.
Instead, Oliver slid into the sleeping bag and, without missing a beat, pulled me closer to him. I didn’t resist, and he tucked me against his hard body as if I were small and breakable. I felt his fingers linger near the wound Viessa put on my shoulder. Our conversation didn’t feel over, but neither of us wanted to continue it. Tomorrow’s problem, I told myself. We’d talk about this tomorrow.
Because, no matter how badly I wanted to learn more about Tamar and why my parents had gone to her, I wasn’t sure I was willing to risk our lives for it.
“Ollie?” I said, speaking in a whisper. The tent walls snapped.
“Yeah, Fortuna?”
“Don’t keep watch tonight. Just sleep. Okay?”
He paused. Then he said, “Okay.”
Within minutes, another storm howled outside the glowing nook we’d made for ourselves. But the ferry’s gentle sway was soothing, rather than disconcerting. Oliver’s breathing had already slowed in my ear. I nestled deeper into the sleeping bag, feeling safer than I had in days. Little by little, the tension left my body.
With my back pressed to Oliver’s chest, his warmth keeping the icy night at bay, I closed my eyes. For the first time in weeks, since the day I’d learned Collith’s terrible secret, burned away my soul, and found myself whisked away to the Seelie Court, I fell asleep knowing that I was safe, in this world and the next. I was in Ollie’s arms.
I was home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The first beams of light poked their way through the cracks in my window blinds.
I peered toward the glass through my eyelashes, sleepily admiring how morning had spread its arms and embraced the trees. It felt too good to be true, waking up in this bed, surrounded by my family. But I didn’t let myself question it. Instead, I burrowed deeper into the mattress and pulled the covers tighter against me. If this was a trick or a dream, I didn’t have the will to fight it. A drowsy, contented smile curved my lips.
That smile faded too quickly. Even though I’d just spent weeks being tortured, and I could use time to recuperate, my mind inevitably turned to thoughts of rent and energy bills, groceries and baby clothes. Damon and I had some savings, but it would only last a few more months at most. I refused to ask Emma for help—she’d already given so much and made too many sacrifices. I couldn’t depend on the small salary I’d been receiving as the Unseelie Queen, either.
Damn it, Fortuna. I was frowning now, my eyebrows knitted together. I really, really should’ve given it more thought before handing the throne to Viessa. Unless I wanted to drive Nym further past the brink of sanity, I’d have to live with my impetuous decision.
I was so consumed with worry that I didn’t realize someone had entered my room until a small, soft finger touched my cheek. Startled, I cracked one eye open and found myself staring at Matthew. His small face loomed near mine, his eyes wide and curious. He wore long john pajamas that were covered in polar bears, their red scarves flapping like a cheery wave.