![]() ![]() ![]() Unless it was a dream-just a fever-dream in Amarantha’s dungeons, and I’d awaken back in that cell, and. I leaned my head against the wall, flattening my hands against the chill marble floor. Just to the adjacent wall, near the cracked window, where I could see the night sky, where the breeze could caress my sticky face. When it seemed like I was done heaving, I eased from the toilet-but didn’t go far. I focused on my breathing-in through my nose, out through my mouth. Three months of adjusting to my immortal body, to a world struggling to piece itself together after Amarantha had fractured it apart. It had been three months since Under the Mountain. ![]() One of many, asleep and waking, that haunted me these days. Panting, I braced myself over the bowl, counting each breath. I’d been here for fifteen minutes now, waiting for the retching to subside, for the lingering tremors to spread apart and fade, like ripples in a pool. And when I hadn’t been able to tell the darkness of my chamber from the endless night of Amarantha’s dungeons, when the cold sweat coating me felt like the blood of those faeries, I’d hurtled for the bathing room. Tamlin hadn’t stirred as I’d jolted awake. Moonlight leaked into the massive marble bathing room, providing the only illumination as I was quietly, thoroughly sick. I vomited into the toilet, hugging the cool sides, trying to contain the sounds of my retching.
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