Chapter Three
Ireena gasps awake, shooting straight up from her sheets.
Her head throbs, and her throat is dry. Blood rushes in her ears as she gasps for air, as though something had been sitting on her chest and had suddenly released her.
A soft breeze whistles through the window, stirring the curtains. That’s strange. Hadn’t she closed the window before she’d gone to sleep?
She swings her legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand. Immediately, she drops back down to the bed, head spinning. What in the moon is wrong with her? Groaning, she presses the heels of her palms to her forehead, trying to steady herself.
When she manages to lift her eyes again, she catches sight of herself in the mirror across from her bed. She grimaces, sliding her hands to the sides of her face. She looks like she hasn’t slept in years. Her eyes are sunken, the circles under them dark enough that they’re visible even against her dark brown skin. Her dark auburn hair is an absolute mess, far more tangled and mussed than it had been yesterday. She must have been tossing and turning in her sleep again. It would explain the ache all throughout her body, as though she’d been carrying heavy bags of flour all day without rest.
Slowly finding the strength to stand up again, she rises carefully from the bed and walks to the window. The shutters are thrown open, and the panes lifted. She doesn’t remember opening this window last night. As she reaches through to grasp the shutters, something makes her pause. A flutter of movement, perhaps? Something shifting in the night?
She stares out into the darkness. There’s little light except for the moon, and it doesn’t do much more than outline the tops of the trees that move gently in a quiet breeze. Underneath the canopies, she can’t see anything in the dark.
Anything, except for the quickest flash of silver white...
Ireena chokes on a gasp, and steps back from the window. What was that? What had that been?
“Ireena? Are you awake?”
Ireena clamps a hand to her throat to deny the yelp that would have otherwise escaped her. Then she winces, as her fingers squeeze against the skin of her neck, and a faint, bruising pain answers. Did she hurt herself? Why does her neck ache?
A soft tap follows at the door.
“Ireena?”
The voice is more urgent now, heavy with concern. Ireena swallows and pulls herself back together.
“I’m here,” she whispers. “Did I wake you?”
The door cracks open an inch, and the shiny eye of her brother Ismark appears in the crack. After confirming she’s there, he opens the door the rest of the way, holding a candle aloft.
“Mother Night, you look awful,” he says, frowning as he comes towards her, cupping her cheek. “Another nightmare?”
“I think so,” Ireena said. “I don’t remember it.”
There’s not a thing the two have in common in way of looks. Ismark is taller than her, and pale as parchment. His eyes are a sharp blue to her deep brown, his hair a dusty blond. Where she’s slender, he’s broad. But his hands are gentle as he examines her, concern tugging at his lips. She’s used to that look on his face — that worry. It seems to be there more often than not whenever he looks at her nowadays. His eyes flash suddenly as his fingers move from the side of her face down to her neck.
Another breeze rustles the curtains, drawing his attention away. His gaze narrows.
“Did you open the window? I’ve told you not to open it at night.”
“I...if I did, it was in my sleep.”
That gets Ismark’s eyes to tighten at the edges. Ireena watches as his eyes flicker back towards the hallway. That dark, guarded look passes over his eyes, the one that he tries to not let her see. If only he’d stop seeing her as nothing more than a child to be protected — if only he’d trust her with whatever thoughts are passing behind his eyes.
But he just puts a hand on her shoulder, squeezing briefly as he passes her. He leaves the candle on the nightstand so he can pull the shutters closed. He slides the glass down and draws up the curtains.
“You’re going to get a chill if you keep leaving it open,” he says. “Do you need me to sit with you until you fall asleep again?”
“I’m not ten years old anymore,” she says, rolling her eyes.
He smiles, but it comes out as more of a grimace than anything.
“I’m fine,” she says again, more firmly. “Go back to sleep, Ismark.”
He hesitates. But after she glares him down, he sighs, letting his shoulders slump.
“All right, all right,” he says. “Try to get some sleep then, all right? Call for me if you need anything.”
“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes again, but she doesn’t pull away when he draws her into a brief hug. He smells like sawdust and metal, and she briefly closes her eyes, letting herself, for a moment, feel like a little child again, able to be completely hidden away in his arms from everything that frightened her.
If only she understood what was going on in his mind. What he was whispering about with the other young men in town when they came by the burgomaster’s on excuses. If only he’d trust her — take her into his confidence. Explain to her why he was acting so strangely around her lately. Tell her why he was even more annoyingly protective than usual.
“Sleep well,” he says as he finally releases her.
“You too.”
He takes the candle with him, and she considers for a moment lighting her own. Instead, she just closes the door firmly, locks it, and climbs back into her bed.
She lays there for a moment, listening to the wind whistle around the house, listening to the floorboards settle. Listening to the distant, echoing howl of a wolf.
That silver flash. What had it been? Her stomach twists, and like a child, she almost wants to call out for Ismark to stay with her after all. To chase away the bad dreams like he had when she was a child.
She closes her eyes, but in the darkness behind her eyelids, all she can see is that flash of silver. Not the one she saw tonight, but another, from a long ago memory she aches to bury. A whirl of white and silver, of snarls and fangs, of the starkness of bright red blood against the snow. Of two large yellow eyes looking right into hers, with a deep pleading that she was too afraid to understand.
Another howl echoes from beyond the shutters, and Ireena flips herself over, hiding her head beneath the pillow. The howl sounds so...sad. Lonely. Like it’s calling out for help. Stop asking me, she begs silently. I can’t do anything for you. Stop calling for me.
Pain throbs through her again, and she feels a soft, stabbing echo of pain against her throat. The howl twists around her, and she feels like she can almost taste the desperation. Can almost hear the pleas.
Help us. Help us. Help us.
Set us free.