Once Upon a Nightmare

the grave of lilies

xviii: the grave of the lilies

 

When I glance over and see not Armand by my side, but Donovan, I almost scream. The hand in mine hasn’t changed, so I keep the scream in, but only just, my tongue hitting my clenched teeth like a car braking. “Don’t do that,” I hiss.

He raises an innocent eyebrow at me. What? Without Donovan’s icky, hateful soul shaping his expressions, I’m reminded once again that the Dream used to be handsome.

We weave through the camp unnoticed. Armand favors his weak side. I hope Lana will stay true to her word and not alert Donovan once she realizes we’re gone, but I don’t think her grudging respect for Armand will carry her past her loyalty to Donovan.

I feel it the moment we cross into the mountain’s boundary. I’m suddenly more tired, more fearful. The atmosphere has the opposite effect on Armand. His step gains energy and he doesn’t wince even when his torso twists as he surveys our surroundings. Though we move out of sight from the camp, Armand waits until he finds a small enclave before transforming back to himself. Except he gives himself a shirt that wasn’t there before (unfortunately).

He keeps his eyes on the tops of the cliffs, searching, no doubt, for more of our friends. His long hair is loose, shifting occasionally with the slight traces of breeze, one black strand sweeping over his face. I’m not sure he notices the difference, but here in the mountains, his eyes are nearly black.

With that reminder, my anxiety fades. This is his territory. But my heart clenches thinking what a dark, sad place it is to possess.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “About the Dream. Gloom was his name?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He raises his hands, like an offering, then lets them fall back. “I haven’t known what I am a week, and already I’ve—”

“Stop,” I interrupt him. My tears are quick to rise to the surface, but I press my lips together, pushing the emotion down. Gloom’s death is a raw wound; the smallest reminders sting. I step closer to him, enough that I can put my hands on his arms, look up at his face. “It’s not your fault. You were trying to save us, which you wouldn’t have had to do if it wasn’t for me.” I lean my forehead on his chest. “It was you all along—at the marketplace.” The disappointment in his eyes when he realized I was helping the Dreams is much worse to bear now. It’s too easy to imagine him thinking of a way to save me, just as it dawns on him that I’ve betrayed his brother. Instead of leaving me to my fate, he stepped in to protect Alexander, and then Genn, and then me.

“I have an idea,” he says, touching the top of my head, running his fingers through my short hair. It feels so good I almost start crying again, this time for another reason entirely.

“What’s that?” I tilt my chin up. My unshed tears rim my eyes without falling out.

“Instead of blaming ourselves—let’s just blame everything on Alexander.”

I laugh loudly—it feels so good to laugh. “Fine by me.”

“He’ll probably take care of the Dream camp for us soon,” Armand adds.

“I don’t think so. He knows we’re here—or at least that I am. He helped me get Genn back.” I don’t say the other half of that statement—the ‘but-not-me’ part.

I admit, I’m expecting just a smidge of outrage in my behalf from Armand. A little anger at the unbelievable breadth of Alexander’s selfishness. Instead, he only looks thoughtful.