Thread of Gold

Ch. 12: the king's toy

Too late.

She had been too late.

Anna stared down at the tankard. The ale had turned sour as cherry wine, and she realized what that silver glimmer near Tristan's pocket had been. Nightmare somnium. The effects hit her a moment later, and she stumbled.

Oh, shit.

She wasn't frightened. Nightmare somnium wouldn't affect her like most mortals. The average person lost their mind, caught up in a world of private torment. They clawed at their skin. They lashed out. Sometimes, they even died.

As a Nightweaver, Anna had some natural immunity to another weaver's somnium; given this small a dose, she'd see a few hallucinations. That was about the extent of it.

But nobody else knew that.

This, Anna thought grimly, was going to have to be the gods-damn performance of a lifetime.

White flames exploded, burning a path up her thighs. Anna didn't have to fake her flinch. Fire. Gods, she hated fire. Sophie had made her do this dozens of times before, but it never got any easier. She could feel the heat of the flames, smell the singed fabric. Her mind was using her own worst nightmares against her.

Tristan tucked the glass phial back into his pocket. "Something the matter, little healer?"

"What did you do?"

It was Ryne that spoke. His green eyes were hard as sea glass, and there was a heat in them that Anna hadn't seen before. He looked ready to seize the fire poker and whack Tristan over the head with it.

Tristan's lip curled. "I provided some entertainment."

"She had it coming." The blonde girl smiled. "That's what you get if you refuse to bow to the king of Wynterlynn."

Grayson scowled. "Oh, shut-it, Elsie."

Anna's heart sped up. The invisible flames kept spreading over her clothes. She let out a string of mental curses, so foul that Henry would have threatened to wash her mouth out. Could she make a run for it? But, no; people under the effects of nightmare somnium could hardly walk by themselves.

Don't panic.

Sophie's words. But they mocked her, now. Panicking was exactly what everyone in this tavern would expect her to do.

"Oh, dear," Elsie crooned. "Is your dress burning?" Her blue eyes sparkled. "Perhaps you should take it off."

A heartbeat later, Anna realized what Tristan wanted her to do.

Strip naked.

Fury swelled in her chest. That bastard. The entire tavern had stopped to watch her now, their expressions torn between horror and glee. Anna's stomach clenched. She was going to have to do it, wasn't she? Scream, and then tear off her dress. That was what they were expecting of her. That's what any regularperson would do.

Oh, to hell with it.

Anna screwed up her face into an expression of terror. She let out a blood-curdling scream, staggering backwards. Even as she hated him. Even as she thought about shoving Tristan's stupid, smug face straight into the fireplace.

She reached for the hem of her dress, and whoops exploded. Camille sprang forward, forcing her arms to the side. "Enough." Camille's voice was tight with fury. "That's enough, Tristan. Call it off."

"Too late." He shrugged. "You'll have to let it run its course."

"What's wrong, Camille?" Elsie's eyes danced. "Does it bother you to see people lose control like that?"