A Dream of Fate & Flesh (Courts of Malice #2)

24. I Need Eoin

twenty-four

I Need Eoin

Alessia

T he moment I’m alone again, an eerie feeling washes over me—an awareness prickles at the back of my neck.

“ Alessiaaaaa ,” a voice hisses.

I spin, catching a dark figure standing against a mirrathyst wall. At first, it almost looks like Char, but slowly, the inky, partially translucent blob shifts, taking on another form.

The first time I saw the menacing shadow at Umbra Court, I was sure it was Char… but I was wrong. It was never her—it was pretending to be, to lure me in.

“What do you want?” I ask, choking on my words. “Why are you following me?”

It laughs, mimicking my voice.

I whirl around, catching sight of it behind me in each reflection. Gasping, I jerk backward and land on my arse.

“Char!” I cry out. “Help!” But it’s no use. She’s long gone.

The figure wavers, taking a new form. This time it’s me I see in the shadow. My eyes bulge as I take it in.

“What are you?” I whisper.

“It’s time to stop being weak,” it says.

It sounds eerily similar to my own voice but deeper and darker. It's the voice I've been hearing. Before, I couldn't tell if the voice was coming from within me or from someone else—a little bit of both, perhaps. But right now, it's definitely speaking aloud and not in my mind.

Was it a shadow-spirit harassing me this whole time?

“Stop submitting to the will of others. Stop being weak," it repeats.

“I’m not weak,” I grit out, pushing myself to a stand.

It laughs, and the tiny hairs on my neck rise. Can it hurt me? Is this the test? It wavers closer, and I reach for Ken’s dagger. My fingers shake and fumble as I pull it free.

“Stay away,” I hiss.

It laughs again, moving in on me like a dark tide. When it glides close enough to brush my arm, I strike. The shadow weaves, and I miss it.

This whole time, this thing has been following me—calling to me—I thought it was Char’s spirit. Dark energy roils off it, and I almost choke on the thickness.

How could I think this was Char?

Even as Fate's Threadweaver, Char emits a calming energy, which is the opposite of whatever this essence is.

A noise catches my attention, and I glance at the mirrors to catch the stone fogging. The reflections go blurry as they shift again.

Bright, orange flames erupt in the mirrathyst. I squint against the brightness, bracing for the onslaught of heat and burning. But I quickly realize it's only an illusion.

“Mama!” A scream rings out. “Mama! Papa!”

The flames whip violently in the image, cracking and snapping. My young, childlike face stares back wide in alarm. Terror keeps her pinned in a ball in the corner of the room. She coughs and sputters as the smoke thickens, curling around like death’s embrace.

Someone else appears, dashing through the flames with a cry. “Come, now!” they say.

I squint, getting closer to the reflection, trying to make out who it is. I watch as my young self curls in, shying away from the outstretched hand.

“We do not have time, my dear.” The woman squats, grabbing the little girl’s hand and pulling her up.

Something about it feels oddly familiar and important, like I should know this scene.

A stray flame catches on the woman’s leg, burning the fabric away. The woman smacks her leg, desperately putting it out before fire consumes her.

No longer being patient, she yanks me into her arms and scurries to the window. The seared, raw wound on her leg is visible beneath the gaping fabric.

Little me screams as the woman speaks low and reassuringly. She half bolts, half limps to the window.

Throwing it open, she says, “Grip me tight, my Alessia. Hold me, and do not let go. You will survive this. You will grow long and strong. I promise you.”

With a single backward glance toward the flame, the woman pauses momentarily.

The breath catches in my throat.

Her face is smoother, her hair more pepper than salt, but I would recognize her anywhere.

“Char,” I whisper in awe as the woman launches out the window with the little girl clutched in her arms .

The vision disappears, and I drop to my knees. Small, loose pebbles bite into my skin, grounding me in the present reality.

My vision swims as tears drown my cheeks.

In the deepest, darkest parts of my heart, I know this vision is honest. My bones ache with the ghost of a memory as if my body knows the truth, but my mind has refused to see it.

Char was the one who saved me from the fire that killed my parents. I was meant to die there, but Char saved me.

The hand of Fate saved me.

And she paid the price.

Her wounds were not from the mines in Illynor at all but from saving my life.

My pulse pounds erratically, and I grasp my chest, trying to quell the concoction of emotions overwhelming me.

“It is your fault Char is wounded,” the shadow whispers in my voice. “It is your fault your parents died. You were the one meant to die that day.”

“It’s not!” I shake my head adamantly, refusing to let this shadow figure shove guilt down my throat. “I was just a girl.”

“Your fault,” it taunts.

“No!” I yell, my throat aching.

“Feel that?” The apparition appears to smile, still vaguely reminiscent of my face. “That fury is yours—let it consume you.”

I turn away, gritting my teeth. Despite the turmoil inside me, I work to keep my breath steady.

Grief will not consume me.

Sorrow will not destroy me.

Anger will not define me .

I can feel all those things without becoming a prisoner of my emotions.

The mirrathyst shimmers again, and I push my hair out of my face, desperate to see more. I’m searching for answers, explanations, anything.

Another flame flickers in the vision. This time, it focuses on a fireplace. Eoin and I materialize off to the side a second later. We stare at each other, mouths racing, but no words come out. Instantly, I recognize Ez’s cottage.

Except this time, an expression of rage crosses my face, and I shove Eoin with all my might. He tumbles backward into the fireplace. He screams in pain, and the image of my face flickers with relief, mouth curving up into a cruel smile.

I make no move to help him. Not even as he lurches from the fire, writhing on the ground in an attempt to extinguish himself.

The image disappears, and I sit back on my heels, stunned. But there’s a slight niggle of satisfaction, deep down, as I watched.

Guilt muddles with confusion in my chest. That hadn’t happened. I’d had an urge to push him, a little voice encouraging me to, but I didn’t act on it.

I’m not evil.

“Not evil ,” the shadow whispers in my ear. “ Strong .”

“No!” I jolt away from it, readying myself to fight.

The shadow only laughs again, moving away from me.

Without leaving me much time to process, a new scene bursts into action. It’s me again, as I am in my current age and appearance. But my eyes have a crazed twinkle, and my mouth twists into a sneer. Strands of hair protest my braid, framing my face.

I lift a blade over my head.

Two new people appear in the vision.

Lord Edvin and Lady Nilda.

They sit on their knees before me, rope bound around their wrists and ankles. Twigs litter their hair, and their frames are bony and bruised as if they’ve been starved and brutalized.

With a battle cry, I burst into action, slicing Nilda’s throat while her husband watches. His hoarse scream scratches my ears. Wasting no time, the illusion of me turns and grips Edvin by his wispy hair, tilting his head back. She gets in his face and says something I can’t make out. With controlled precision, I drag the blade across his neck. Blood spurts out in thick, crimson rivulets.

My stomach roils as I watch it play out, transfixed by my illusion’s confident, violent edge.

The mirrathyst fogs briefly, and when it clears, I’m left staring at my own damp, horror-stricken face. I wrap my arms around myself. Bile claws at my throat.

All that violence.

Death.

Pain.

Because of me?

“Because of you,” the shadow whispers in my ear. “But we are capable of so much more .”

“Those visions aren’t true. I didn’t push Eoin.” I shake my head, rocking on the ground as I hug my knees to my chest. “I didn’t kill the lord and lady.”

“You want to.”

“No.” I push myself to a stand, facing my darker form. “That’s not true.” But even the words sound like a lie to my ears.

I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone before… not like this.

“Because you never embraced the darkness,” the shadow whispers, as if it's privy to my thoughts. “You are a prisoner of your own making—suppressing yourself.”

The shadow reaches up, its dark tendrils caressing my cheek. The touch shocks my skin with a bitter coldness. I gasp.

“Embrace me,” it says. “Embrace yourself, and we will finally be free.”

Its eyes gleam with mischief as I stare past me into the depths of my soul.

“Embrace me,” it whispers.

“Get away from me.” I wield the dagger between us in a warning. This must be the test—staying true to myself and not giving in to this dark calling. I won’t let it win.

The air grows starkly cold as it touches me again.

With a suppressed shiver, I’m quick to strike, lashing out against the shadow. It dissipates like steam, there and gone in an instant. My blade never connects.

Allowing my reflexes to take over, I slash again. This time, my dagger drags through the shadow's arm. It's like slicing through air.

Blinding pain erupts in my arm, and I shriek, nearly falling to my knees. I glance down to see blood gushing from a wound on my forearm. A gasp of horror rips from my throat.

Confused, I fix my gaze on the shadow, which wavers tauntingly only a few paces away. I lunge, striking again. I shove the blade through the area where I imagine its stomach to be.

Sharp pain strikes my gut as I realize too late what’s happening. I drop to my knees—the dagger clatters to the ground.

My hand flies to my stomach, coming away sticky with blood .

“No,” I moan, my vision flickering. Putting pressure on the wound, I try to staunch the blood loss.

“Stop fighting yourself .” This time, the voice sounds like an echo from within, and I can't tell where it's coming from.

I gasp for air, trying to keep my wits through throbbing bouts of agony. My vision goes dim, a black ring wavering around my line of sight. It closes in on itself until everything fades away.

Eoin.

I need Eoin.