At least on the train I could be myself again. There were no rules to abide by. No etiquette I had to follow in order to avoid offending anyone.

The only challenge was sleep, because that was when my defenses were down and Sabara’s presence was strongest. I dreamed still. My dreams, and hers, until sometimes I couldn’t tell the two apart.

In one, I dreamed of a newborn baby. She didn’t cry or kick, didn’t breathe at all. She was a beautiful child, so small and fragile. And so very, very still.

I held her, rocking her in my arms as I whispered a lullaby in a broken language I didn’t recognize. Yet that didn’t stop me from understanding the haunting words.

Close your sweet eyes

Life doesn’t last long

You’d better go sleeping

Flying through dreams

Close your sweet eyes

’Cause life is a lie

Find happiness in dreams

And good night, my child. . . .

A knife pierced my chest as I clutched her to me, filling me with so much ache I wanted to open my mouth and shriek, to howl and bawl and pound my fists against everything and everyone. When I opened my mouth again, nothing came out, just a hoarse thread of whimpers that meant nothing, that said nothing.

Then he was there, taking the baby from me, and I knew: She was ours. Mine and his.

I glanced up, into his golden eyes, and back down at the downy patch of golden hair on her tiny, lumpy skull. I wanted to press one more kiss there, to feel that feathery hair against my lips, but he was already wrapping the blanket over her face. Concealing her. Hiding her.

And, soon, he’d bury her, too.

There were other births, and other graves, but never that same sense of loss. Even in the dream, I wondered: How many babies had Sabara conceived? How many children had she outlived?

Her life was my worst nightmare, losing those whom I loved. Yet she’d done it for decades, centuries, eons.

All except for Niko.

Niko, who came back to her time and time again . . . in a never-ending migration of leaving her just so they could be together once more.

When I rolled over, I fell into arms that enveloped me, and the scent of soap and leather and musk tempted me from sleep. They were Max’s smells.

“You were crying,” Max said quietly over the sounds of the train around us. “Bad dream?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could tell him everything—about Sabara and Niko, and about Queen Langdon. Instead

I whispered back, “Too many to count,” and nestled closer.

But I wasn’t just nestling, I was reaching for him, pulling him to me. We’d been apart for too long, and I suddenly understood a little of what Sabara must have felt, being away from Niko.

I needed Max to stay with me. I needed him to kiss me. To never let me go again.

I clung to him, my hands moving across his bare chest, gently at first, and then not so gently as my fingers dug insistently into his skin.

Tiny earthquakes started in the pit of my stomach, and then trembled outward, raging until I felt like everything about me might shatter into a million tiny pieces. That was how his lips found mine, trembling . . . quivering with a need I had no control over.

His breath was hot against my mouth, inside my mouth, as if he was the only thing keeping me alive. I pressed even closer, letting my tongue find his so I could taste him. I was afraid to open my eyes, not wanting to know if I was as alight on the outside as I was on the inside, but certain I was. Certain I must be.

His hands were as desperate as my own, and his fists balled impatiently over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tugging and pulling and dragging, until I heard a rip.

I felt his unrepentant smile against my lips, and I sighed. “How many of these are you going to ruin?”

“As many as you put on, I suppose.” And then his voice dropped. “Maybe you should stop wearing them,” he suggested.

My lips twitched. “And wear what?”

“Nothing,” he growled and tossed me on my back, stretching out above me.

I giggled and meant to shove him away from me—a game—but the moment my fingertips grazed his skin, I was reaching for him again, unable to stop myself.

He dropped down, covering my entire body. “I’ve missed you so much, Charlie. I haven’t slept, I’ve barely eaten. I haven’t dreamed at all.”

“Don’t . . .” I whispered. I couldn’t hear how he’d been hurting while I’d nearly let Sabara have control, when I’d nearly let Niko kiss me.

“I’m just saying, it’s so good to be together again.” He rolled onto his side, dragging me with him.

I leaned against him, so I could listen to his heart—my own lullaby, one I didn’t need to decipher.

“Tell me what else has happened. Have you gotten any closer to finding Brook’s father?”

Max shook his head. “He’s been quiet, at least in the Capitol. And Xander hasn’t heard anything in the south. I don’t think his people know where your family is, though.”

I sat up so I could see him. “But they’re good? Happy?”

He grinned back at me. “I already told you they were. Angelina’s started with her new tutor, and your father has taken over the kitchen. Xander wasn’t complaining. I think he prefers your father’s cooking over the palace chefs.” He stretched, keeping his arm around me.

I settled back down, matching my breaths to his. “It’ll be good to see them,” I said, wishing we were already there.