Chapter 2 The First Dream

The whisper followed Elian into sleep.

"He's waiting."

Darkness swallowed her, thick as oil, and then-

-light.

Candle flames flickered to life around her, their golden glow licking at stone walls covered in tapestries depicting battles between winged shadows and armored knights. The air smelled of wax and something older-blood and burnt sage. Elian tried to move, but her body wasn't her own. The weight of velvet dragged at her limbs, the bodice of the unfamiliar dress (too tight, too ornate) constricting her breaths to shallow gasps.

A silver pendant-a crescent moon cradling a single drop of ruby-bit into her palm as her fingers (too slender, too pale) clenched around it.

This isn't me.

The realization should have terrified her. Instead, a strange calm settled over her, as if she'd slipped into a memory that belonged to someone else.

A hallway stretched before her, lined with doors carved with snarling wolves. At the end, a figure stood in silhouette, his broad shoulders tense beneath a coat that seemed woven from night itself.

Raelith.

The name echoed through her, vibrating in her bones.

She tried to call out, but her lips moved without her permission, forming words in a language she didn't know:

"Tes vé maelith."

The figure turned.

Midnight-blue eyes met hers, and grief-his grief-slammed into her chest like a spear. Centuries of it, festering, rotting him from the inside out. She felt it all-the betrayal, the rage, the hollow ache of love curdled to poison.

"You promised," he said, his voice rough as broken glass.

Her hand lifted without her consent, reaching for him-

-and the dream shattered.

Elian woke with a gasp, her sheets tangled around her legs, her skin slick with sweat. The room was freezing, her breath fogging the air in ragged bursts.

Across the room, Mira snored softly, one arm dangling off the bed.

Elian pressed her palms to her eyes, willing her heartbeat to slow. Just a dream. A weird, hyper-realistic dream.

But the pendant's weight had felt so real. And the grief-

She shuddered, rubbing at her sternum where the phantom pain lingered.

And the name-

Raelith.

Morning light did little to soften Veyruhn's edges. The mist clung to the cobblestones like grasping fingers, and the gargoyles perched on the hostel's eaves seemed to watch their every move.

Elian picked at a plate of rubbery eggs in the dining hall while Jason regaled their table with his "dungeon exploration," the rusted manacles he'd found now clamped around his wrist.

"-and then I found this bad boy," he said, rattling the chains for emphasis. "Authentic medieval bling. Probably used to lock up, like, witches or something."

Mira snorted into her tea. "Or drunk people. Which, given your future, seems more likely."

Jason gasped, clutching his chest. "Miracle! Was that... a joke? From the queen of historical footnotes?"

Mira flipped him off, but there was no heat in it.

Elian tried to smile, but her attention kept snagging on the window, where the cathedral's spires speared the gray sky. Last night's dream clung to her, its edges too sharp, too real.

And the name-

"Earth to Spooky." Jason snapped his fingers in front of her face. "You gonna eat that?" He eyed her untouched toast.

She pushed the plate toward him. "Knock yourself out."

Mira frowned. "You okay? You've been spacey since we got here."

Elian hesitated. She could tell them about the dream-about the pendant, about him-but Jason would laugh, and Mira would give her that look, the one that said maybe you should lay off the gothic novels.

"Just didn't sleep well," she muttered.

Mrs. Lowell clapped her hands. "Listen up! Today's tour starts at the Cathedral of Saint Aurelius. Meet back here in ten, and Jason-" She fixed him with a glare. "Lose the shackles."

As the group dispersed, Elian lingered, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. The wood was carved with strange symbols-interlocking circles, jagged lines like fangs. The same ones from her dream.

"See something interesting?"

Alistair's voice made her jump. He stood too close, his breath sour with last night's wine.

Elian pulled her hand back. "Just... the carvings."

"Ah." His yellowed teeth flashed in a smile. "The old language. Few notice them anymore." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Fewer still understand."

Her skin prickled. "What do they mean?"

His gaze slid to the window, where the cathedral loomed. "Protection. Or punishment. Depends on who you ask." He tapped one gnarled finger against the table. "They say Saint Aurelius himself carved the first of these, to keep the dark things out of his church." A chuckle. "Didn't work, of course."

Elian's stomach twisted. "Why not?"

Before he could answer, Mira called from the doorway. "Elian! You coming?"

Alistair straightened, his smile widening. "Ask your king when you see him."

Her breath caught. Raelith.

She fled, his laughter chasing her like a cold wind.

The Cathedral of Saint Aurelius was worse up close.

Its stone facade was pocked with age, the gargoyles leering down with hollow eyes that seemed to track their every move. Elian's skin crawled as she stepped inside, the scent of incense and damp stone thick in her throat.

"Built in 1347," their guide-a pinched-faced woman with a voice like dry parchment-intoned, "this cathedral was the site of the infamous Veil Purge, when Saint Aurelius drove the night creatures from Veyruhn."

Jason nudged Elian. "Night creatures. Nice."

Mira shushed him, but she was leaning forward, her historian's curiosity piqued. "What kind of creatures?"

The guide's lips thinned. "Heretics. Witches. The usual." But her eyes flicked to a shadowed alcove near the altar.

Elian followed her gaze-and froze.

A painting hung there, half-hidden in the gloom. A woman in a velvet dress, her green eyes bright against the darkness. The pendant at her throat-a crescent moon and ruby-glinted in the flickering candlelight.

From my dream.

Elian's pulse roared in her ears. She drifted away from the group, drawn to the painting like a moth to flame. The plaque beneath it read: Seraphina of Veyruhn, Beloved of the Night's King.

Beloved.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out-

-and the candle beneath the painting snuffed itself out.

Darkness swallowed the alcove.

A whisper brushed her ear:

"You're not her."

Elian stumbled back, her shoulder hitting something solid.

"Easy there." Jason steadied her, his grin fading as he took in her face. "Whoa. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mira appeared at his elbow, her brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Elian swallowed hard. "Just... dizzy."

Mira pressed the back of her hand to Elian's forehead. "You're clammy. Maybe you're coming down with something?"

Jason snorted. "Or maybe the ghost of Hot Painting Lady cursed her."

Mira shot him a glare, but Elian barely heard them. Her gaze was locked on the painting-on Seraphina's face.

Because for a heartbeat, she'd sworn the eyes had moved.

That night, the dream returned.

This time, she stood in a moonlit garden, the air thick with the scent of roses and iron. Raelith's back was to her, his shoulders tense beneath a black coat that seemed to drink in the light.

"Why?" His voice was raw.

Her dream-self (Seraphina? Her?) reached for him. "I had no choice."

He turned, his eyes burning. "Liar."

The grief hit her again, worse this time, a blade twisting in her gut. She woke with a sob caught in her throat, the sheets damp with sweat.

The room was ice-cold.

And at the foot of her bed-

The shadow.

Closer now.

It had eyes-two pinpricks of crimson light in the darkness.

Elian's breath froze in her lungs.

The shadow tilted its head-then dissolved like smoke as Mira stirred in her sleep.

Elian lay there, her heart hammering, until dawn crept through the curtains.

The name echoed in her skull, louder now, inescapable:

Raelith.

And beneath it, another whisper:

"Find me."