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Thicket shook her head, flinging tears down her face. “No,” she said. “No! You are going to be fine. I will fix this. I can fix this. Gayrir.” She put every ounce of strength she had into it.

You are destined to destroy them, a voice hissed in her ear.

“No! Gayrir!”

Elian’s grip on her wrist started to slip.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded, willing her magic to staunch the blood. To knit his skin together just like she had done with the glass. “You can’t die,” her voice cracked on the last word. You can’t leave me, were the words she couldn’t say. Not when they hadn’t fixed things.

You cannot save him, the voice echoed all around her. You cannot save anyone.

You are the prophesied plague upon our kingdom.

Now you will reap the death you sow.

Elian’s hand fell from her wrist. His cobalt blue eyes clouded. His mouth opened, trying to get out one last final word—but it never came.

“Elian!” she screamed, shaking him. “Elian!”

“Thicket!”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Thicket screamed. She screamed and screamed and screamed.

“Thicket!” the voice came again. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No, no, no, no,” she sobbed, pressing her hands to the sides of her head. Her hands were warm and wet, slick with Elian’s blood. “You can’t be dead.”

“Thicket, who is dead?” Hands grabbed her face. “Who is dead?”

She shook her head, writhing against their grip. “No!”

“Look at me!” Her face jerked up, surprising her enough to make her open her eyes. Cobalt ones stared back, flooded with concern.

“Elian?”

“It’s me,” he said, stroking back her sweat soaked hair.

Thicket’s throat let out a long, body wrenching sob. She crumpled, unable to control the shake of her body as tears ripped down her face, feeling as though they were dragging her entire soul right along with them. Elian crushed her body to his while she cried.

“You died,” she said. “I watched you die.”

“It’s okay,” he said, tightening his hold on her. “I am okay. Whatever you saw… It wasn’t real.”

“B-but the blood—I felt it. I still feel it. You… your blood. It was everywhere.”

Elian pulled away and grabbed her hands in his, holding them out for her to see. They shook but Elian’s firm grip steadied them. “Look. See? There’s nothing. Everything is okay.”

She glanced down. Her hands were slick but weren’t stained red. There was no blood. There was no injury. No attack.

Then… What had she seen?

“Lavender,” Marcellus growled. “She infiltrated your dreams again. And clearly, she’s getting better at it.”

“A dream?” Thicket grabbed a fistful of her curls. “It felt so real.”

“She probably tried to hide it, wanting you to believe it was.” Marcellus crouched in front of her. “Think, Princess. Were there any signs it was a dream?”