A Court of Graves and Flowers

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Callisto jolted awake, the scream still echoing in her throat, a phantom sound in the quiet room. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against her swirling emotions. She clung to the sheets, the dampness of cold sweat clinging to her skin.

The room, bathed in the pale light of dawn, slowly swam into focus. The familiar carved wooden bedposts, the tapestry depicting a playful hunt, the scent of pine needles from the open window – it was her room, her haven within the Spring Court. The monsters, the blood, the screams... they were just nightmares, fading wisps of a tortured past.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, willing her heart to slow it's fervent race. The air tasted of peace, of pine and lavender. It was a stark contrast to the metallic tang of fear that still clung to her tongue.

Suddenly, a soft creak at the door sent a jolt through her. Her head snapped up at the sound.

Tamlin.

He stood there, hesitant, his golden hair a halo against the dim light. He'd heard her scream, the echo of her terror tearing through the quiet halls. But he also could't bring himself to enter her room. To intrude.  The last time he'd startled her from a nightmare, she'd flinched from his touch.

"Callisto?" he asked, the emotion he felt at hearing her screams still evident in his voice. "Are you... alright?"

She swallowed, the memory of the nightmare still clinging to her like a second skin. "Just a... bad dream," she tried to downplay her terror. "I just... need a few moments."

Tamlin hovered by the door, his face etched with concern. He watched her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He felt useless. Unable to do anything against the ghosts of the past and the monsters in her head.

"What can I do?" he finally pleaded. "Anything to make it better."

Callisto sighed. The nightmares, they were her burden, an unending echo of the past. But the longing for solace, for a momentary escape from the shadows, was too strong to deny. "A distraction," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "Just... answer a question."

Tamlin hesitated, his brow furrowing. Somehow, he had a feeling that he wouldn't like her question. But he'd already made a promise. "Anything," he repeated, his gaze unwavering.

"Why? Why did you let me escape? When your father... when your brothers..."

He immediately knew what she was talking about, and the confession spilled from him faster than he intended, the need to explain, to make her understand, fueling his words.

"I couldn't," he admitted. "I couldn't bring myself to hurt you. I thought I could. I'd just gotten home from the war camps. I was a heartless warrior sent on a mission. I chased you through those woods, resigned to follow my father's orders, but I caught up to you, and you looked at me with those eyes, Callisto, those gods damned purple eyes—they disarmed me better than any trained warrior ever could."

The memory, unbidden, played in her mind.

Tamlin's blade hovered, a silver crescent against the tapestry of leaves. Callisto met his gaze, her purple eyes pleading, the word "Tamlin" slipping from her lips like a stolen prayer.

He faltered.

With a growl that tore through the sylvan hush, he sheathed his knife, the metal hissing against leather. "Run," he rasped, the word a shard of ice in the balmy air. "Find help."

Callisto, her eyes searching his face for any hint of deceit, didn't waste time questioning him. The raw terror that gripped her heart propelled her forward. With a desperate cry, she launched herself into the air, wings beating frantically against the dense canopy. But the fall, the struggle with Tamlin, had taken its toll. Her wings felt heavy and sluggish, betraying her with each flap.