“What happened?”

“She loved me,” he said. “She trusted me, and I hurt her.”

“Jason?” I touched his shoulder.

“I can't make her smile again.” He stopped rocking and looked up at me. “Look what I did to her. Look how broken she is.”

We both looked back at the girl, and almost as if he forgot I was here, his song started again with a new kind of melody, laden with a sliver of malice, as he continued his vain attempt to suture her up. But she couldn’t be fixed. She was damaged beyond repair, and no matter how tight he pulled that stitch, she would never look at him again.

“Jason.” I tried to make him see, tried to make him realise I was here, but he was lost in his own agony—too far gone for me to save. He was with her, in whatever Hell they had been dragged down to.

“Oh, Ara.” He lifted the girl, making her spine bend in an unnatural way, and cradled the back of her head against his face. “Ara. Ara. Ara,” he said, over and over again.

It started echoing away, becoming a ghostly call, like a wild wind howling through the treetops. I looked up, heard it resonate from over the hill, out there, somewhere in the darkness.

Ara.

I looked behind me.

Ara.

My eyes flashed open to a dark room, my blanket scrunched in a tight fist, the cry of the wind living outside my dream. It howled again, screaming my name. I jumped out of bed and wandered slowly across my room, following the noise. It was so dark I bumped my leg on several things as my bare feet fell carefully over the floorboards and rugs beneath them. When I reached the fireplace, the sound of my name being screamed carried up the emptiness inside it and whirled around my head.

“Aaaaarraaaaa!”

I grabbed the mantle and leaned in, holding my breath, but the noise stopped.

“Hello?” I called cautiously, squatting down, placing flat palms on the hearth. It was empty, deep, nothing but a draft and the smell of soot and ash inside. I slightly crawled into the hollow, praying nothing creepy sprung up out and grabbed me.

And the noise came again; I lifted my head, rocked back on my heels and looked around. It wasn't coming from the fireplace; it was coming from the wall.

I was just about to rush across my room and flick the light on, when I heard glass breaking down the hall. I ran for the door, yanked it open and looked past Falcon to the end of the corridor. Arthur came out from his room, cursing to himself, and walked toward the stairs, carrying his stone mixing bowl.

“What’s going on?” I asked Falcon.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”

“I heard screaming.”

His eyes narrowed. “It was probably just a bad dream. I haven’t heard anything.”

I nodded, but I knew I heard it, even if he didn't. “I don't expect you to understand, Falcon, so you can follow me if you want to, but don't stop me. I need to see what Arthur’s up to.”

I took off walking, vaguely mindful that Falcon was behind me, and also extremely glad. That noise was a sound of pure terror; the person who screamed it, a lost soul, suffering an agony that couldn’t be repaired. I had to find them. I had to set them free.

When I came upon the second floor landing, Arthur was already gone. I spun around a few times, trying to catch his scent.

Falcon cleared his throat and pointed toward the west wing.

“Thanks, Falcon.”

“Don't mention it,” he said, and we started walking.

The noise continued down here, and this time, I knew Falcon heard it. He went stiff, coming up quickly beside me. “What is that?” he said.

“That’s the screaming I heard.”

A door popped open at the end of the hall, and Falcon grabbed my arm, pulling me closer to the wall. A man closed that door behind him, and when he approached, becoming visible in the light, I let myself breath again.

“Arthur?” I said, shrugging out of my knight’s grip.

“Ara?” He stopped dead. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” I nodded to the bowl. “What happened?”

He looked weary, worn. He rubbed his brow and walked past me. “Night terrors.”

“Night terrors?” I looked at Jason's door. “Is he okay?”

“He’s asleep now. As should you be.”

“I heard my name being called.”

Arthur dropped his hand from his brow and pressed it to my back, guiding me down the corridor. “He was calling for you in his sleep.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Who do you think he was dreaming about?”

My heart tightened. “Is it…does he dream about the tortu…”

“Yes,” he cut in. “Leave it in the past, Amara. It’s late.”

And that was that. He walked ahead and disappeared, leaving me in the darkness of the second floor corridor.

I looked up at Falcon. “Night terrors.”

He nodded. “Guilty conscience.”

“But…he shouldn't be feeling guilt.”

“He wouldn't be human if he didn't, Ara.”

I smiled. “He’s not human.”

“Yes, he is. He’s just an immortal human.”

The evening chatter seemed to be louder tonight, the people alive with the presence of our newcomer. And though I was feeling quite refreshed from having seen my husband yesterday, I still found myself looking at his empty chair.

Morgaine hardly took her eyes off Mike all night, and he’d hardly touched his food, even Eric was quiet. None of the knights were yelling jokes down the table at each other and the tell-tale sign that Arthur was in some deep pit of turmoil was when Margret forced her opinions around about the reign of Genghis Kahn, and he just sat there, with nothing to say. Her theories were enough to make me choke. In fact, the only time Arthur came to life was to rap Jason across the back of the head every time he leaned forward to gawk at me.

On the bright side, at least Mike and Arthur shared one thing in common, for once; they both wanted to flatten Jason.

The same conversations we’d had nearly every night continued down the table, except, tonight, Jason was joining in. I tuned out most of it, since it was all irrelevant; my husband was alive, so, who the father of my child should be really wasn't important.

“These discussions have gone on long enough,” Walter said. “Fact is, we need a new king and an heir—the prophecy is of little significance at this point.”

“Well, I’ll do it.” Jason shrugged; everyone looked at him. “Even if the queen doesn’t love me, I’ll be more than happy to step into my brother’s role.”

“And what a powerful king you would be, too,” Old Margret said, grinning bashfully at Jason. “I’ve only heard stories of your talents.”

He winked at her. “Even then, I bet you haven’t heard the half of it.”

You tease!

He looked over at me and scratched his nose, attempting to hide his laughter.

“Yes, imagine the gifts their child—our future queen—would possess,” Walter said.

“Remarkable,” another said.

“I still believe she should pair with Arthur. He is, after all, a firstborn son,” a vampire woman said. “Perhaps we can achieve the prophecy child, and I am sure Arthur would make a great king.”

“Can we stop deliberating who my best friend needs to have sex with, please?” Mike said and dropped his head into hands. “We’re at the damn dinner table, for God’s sake.”

I reached over and pried his hand away from his hair. “It’s okay, Mike.”

“No. It’s not.” He looked around at everyone. “Forget the prophecy child. She is not having sex with him or him!” He pointed at both Arthur and Jason.

“I disagree. I think she should unite with her former husband’s brother. If the prophecy child was supposed to be with blood of David Knight, then surely his own DNA would suffice in place.”

“Yes, in magic this works, too,” Grey Beard said. “With a spell based on one’s blood, a twin can offer themselves up in place.”

“But,” the other grey beard man said. “Our runes never predicted anything which indicated your child need be blood of a firstborn, or that she would be powerful—only that there were two options; one path would lead to the end of all this, the other would see it resolved but not final.”

A few arguments broke out across the table. I looked at Morgaine.

“Ara, what matters is what Drake believes,” she said, obviously sensing my confusion. “He’s the one we’re running from.”

“Okay, but, what does it matter if we have a prophecy child or not, I—”

“Because she is the one foretold to free the Damned,” Morg said, practically singing each word out in an impatient tone.

“I disagree.” I folded my arms, finally ready to challenge her. “You said the prophecy foretold her making a change, seeing an end to Drake, not that no one else could.”

“I agree with Ara,” Jason said, smiling as if he’d been in our conversation the whole time. “Our queen may be the key.”

“Shut up, Jason. You're just saying that because you want to be the one who fathers the child!” Morgaine spat.

Jason sat back in his chair, his smug grin making him look incredibly cute. “Last I checked, prophecies foretold events that happen. If this child were meant to be with my brother, he wouldn't have died. It was always meant to be me.”

“I agree,” said a woman. “I say they marry at once.”

Mike spat his food out on his plate, coughing.

“Well, for now, we’ll just see what happens.” I looked at Mike then Arthur. “Jason and I aren’t even together.”

“Well, your majesty, you have a duty to uphold.” Margret sipped her drink, her pinkie in the air beside her goblet. “I agree with Francine; you should marry tomorrow and conceive immediately.”

“Now, just a minute.” Mike stood up. “Ara is only nineteen. There are plenty of years for a child.”

“That may be so—” Arthur stood too and glared at me, “—but she has a responsibility to her people. If there is a possibility of a child, she should take it.”

“That’s it. There are to be no more discussions about this,” Mike said, slamming his hands on the table.

“Perhaps you’d be more willing to discuss it if you were among the options,” Arthur said.

“This has nothing to do with my feelings for Ara. She is a young girl, goddamn it, and I won't see her forced to have a child with someone she doesn't love.”

“Well you've got no choice. Neither does she.” He pointed at me, his face red with fury. “None of us bloody well do.” His voice softened on the end and he walked briskly from the room, shaking his head.

A wash of stunned silence rolled over the table until, one by one, everyone went back to their meals and Mike sat down.

“Mike?”

He looked at me, clearly biting his teeth together inside his mouth.

“None of this matters.” I motioned around the table, referring to the topic of childbearing with other men. “Our informant will see to it.”

He looked around, probably checking no one caught on to my not-so-cryptic remark. “That's not what this is about, Ara.”

“Well, what are you so upset about?”

He sat back in his chair, shaking his head, then exhaled and pushed out from the table.

“Mike?” I called, but he kept walking.

“Wow, this party is getting smaller and smaller,” Morgaine said.

“What’s wrong with him, Morg?”

“He’ll be all right,” she said. “He was kind of hoping the people wouldn't support a union with anyone else for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because they can make you marry and sleep with Jason if that’s who they choose.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why do you think Lilith hated Peter so much?”

“Oh.” I smiled down at my empty plate. “And Mike’s worried I might end up with more than one husband?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll have to get over it,” Jason said, sitting in Mike’s chair.

Morgaine’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “You’d better hope Mike doesn't come back and see you sitting—”

“Shut up, Morg.” He threw a pea at her from Mike’s plate. “I'm not afraid of him.”

“Should be,” she scoffed under her breath.

“So—” he grinned, leaning closer, “—care to sneak away from this dreary evening?”

“No way!” Morgaine sat forward, throwing her napkin down.

I rolled my eyes. “Morg, stay out of it.”

“No. Mike will freak.”

“Yeah, and Mike is about this close to getting replaced by Falcon.” I held up an imaginary tiny thing between my fingers, “He needs to chill out. He’s making me tense all the time.”

“You wouldn’t replace him.”

“Yes, Morg. I would.” I stood up with Jason. “I can only take so much of his over-protectiveness.”

“It’s for a good reason, Amara.”

“Well, Jason is officially my boyfriend, now.” I stared her down. “If my advisor says it’s a good idea, then you can damn well go along with it, Morg. Discussion closed.”

She sat back, folding her arms, practically resting her bottom lip in her lap with its pout.