Blakeshire (Insight #9)(86)

I had to figure out why Britain was in my palace, how we were going to play this game. Xavier acted as if he had no knowledge of the string, of The Realm, or any and all supernatural powers he or I had. So how was I going to call his bluff? How was I going to tell him I knew that boy was mocking a high school student days ago?

Madison believed we were all being prepped for war; I concurred. But I seemed to be the only one thinking that we were as strong as a house of cards. I was raised here. I knew how powerful the men we were against were. I knew the stage all too well.

I needed to talk to Zander. I needed him to give me insight on the near future—and for Creator’s sake, I needed him to give me a different herbal remedy. I was growing weaker. I knew that. To hold off the cold, I eased my mind and found my way to sleep, hoping against all hope that she would not see my weakness tonight.



Madison



Drake only made it through two episodes before he drifted to sleep; that was almost two hours ago, and I have been staring at the paused screen ever since then. I was lost in my mind, lost in discovering all these memories that all at once belonged to me again. The emotions that were soaring through me were so deep that they were invoking grief, a grief that I should not feel any longer.

Something deep inside was telling me that my vacation from menacing emotions was nearly over. That could not be good. I had to get through this mystery before that moment came.

I knew that time was an enemy. That it moved too quickly. That the bliss I was supposed to be lying in now would soon fade. I’m not morbid. And I’m not intentionally attracting bad thoughts in my mind. It was just the truth. Even if Drake and I were a normal couple cuddling side by side, this time would end. Age would come, and anything and everything could happen to us during that passage of time. Whether it was good or bad, this moment, this beginning would soon be nothing more than a nostalgic memory.

Knowing that truth should have allowed me to cherish this time, it should have empowered me and allowed me to savor it. But I have always been the type of person that saves her dessert for last, meaning I would rather work toward something than own it—for when I owed it, soon, very soon it would no longer exist.

The memories in my mind should have ensured me that life would come again, a moment like this would come in another shape or form, and it would be even more blissful. But God help me, I wanted to stop time. I wanted to hold on to my youth, my ambitions, and look forward, not back, at blissful times.

I think maybe my issue was knowing that death stood between me and the next passage of life. That I would have to cross that threshold alone, and there would be no guarantees that I would ever return to fall into Drake’s arms again.

I wanted to take that risk away so badly that it was nearly causing the fear I shouldn’t feel to absorb me.

I decided to be analytical about this. Though most of my newfound memories were of the emotions between Drake and me, there were reasons behind those emotions, or circumstances rather. I peered deep into my thoughts, using every exercise my mother had ever taught me about meditation and soul searching.

I was looking for a child, a child that could have been mine. I was looking a reason that I would have managed to attract the attention of some obsessive king.

Stairs...I kept seeing rows and rows of stairs, and at the bottom of this erratic pattern was a black abyss, but I couldn’t figure out the glass boat, where it was. I knew one thing: in that life I was far more aware of who I was and what I had to do than I could ever dream to be in this life. That was unsettling in and of itself. It led me to believe that over time I’d become weaker, not stronger.

For no reason, Drake’s body tensed. I moved away, thinking I had disturbed him. Sweat instantly glistened across his skin as his face grimaced.

I pulled myself up on my knees as I debated whether or not to wake him up. He was clearly not enjoying whatever dream he was enduring. In the dark room, I saw what looked like dark blue ice run beneath his skin, and fog breathed out of his lips as he began to shiver. I carefully touched his arm to wake him.

His skin was freezing, but under the touch of my balmy hand the ice faded. Frantically, I started to move my hands up and down his arms as I said his name over and over.

His back bowed up fiercely, nearly knocking me off the bed. To hold him still, I sat astride him, hoping the weight of my body, my hands fighting with this ice that was taking over him would wake him from whatever this was.

His breaths became deep and rapid; it was clear that the heat I was giving him and the ice that should not be there were at war.

All at once, the ice vanished and he lay still—too still. Desperately, I said his name as my hands rushed over his face. With a frantic jolt, he sat straight up in bed. Instead of being freaked out that I was across him, his arms wrapped around me and held me so tightly that I was sure he was seconds away from cracking a rib or two.

I held his head against my shoulder as I laced my fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He caught his breath and looked up into my eyes. “South.”

I furrowed my brow.

“Swim south.”

“What did you dream?” I asked as I moved my hands across his shoulder and arms, ensuring that his skin was now warm.

“I don’t remember. It was just flashes of a good past at first, but then I felt the cold come back. I fought it with everything I had, then...” He let out a breath. “Peppermints.”