Chapter 581: A Recurring Dream
Low clouds hung across the Vale of Mists, wrapping the ancient fortress in a soft, cottony layer of dense fog that made it impossible to see more than a few dozen paces beyond the reach of a person’s own hands. For Ashlynn, as she sat behind the writing desk in her room, it meant that the world beyond her terrace vanished into the fog, leaving her feeling like the tower she had claimed for her coven was an island, floating in a vast sea of gray.
The fire in her hearth crackled merrily, filling the room with the faint fragrance of cedar smoke as it pushed back against the autumn chill in the air. Near her hand, a cup of hot jasmine tea added a faintly floral scent to the air that helped calm her heart.
She’d intended to sleep for most of the day after returning from the celebration of Ollie’s awakening but after a handful of hours, she woke gasping for air, trembling with remembered terror from a dream that seemed to come more and more frequently the closer she came to Lothian March.
Ever since forging a bond of blood with Nyrielle, Ashlynn’s dreams had become more vivid and more memorable, but one dream had haunted her more than any other.
It began with a familiar conversation with her mother. The pair of women stood alone in a luxurious sitting room hung with white lace curtains and filled with the earliest flowers of spring while the Blackwell Countess helped Ashlynn make the final adjustments to her wedding dress.
"Mother, what do I do if he sees the mark?" Ashlynn asked, just as she had on the night of her wedding to Owain Lothian. "How can I hide it when we..."
Looking back, it was almost embarrassing how flustered she’d been at something as simple as an act of intimacy between a man and a woman. In the months she’d spent with Nyrielle, she’d learned all too well the ways that leaving clothing on while hands roamed beneath and tongues danced along the slight gaps where a bit of skin showed could build pleasure in a way that simple nudity never accomplished, but the Ashlynn trapped in her dream had none of that experience.
"Just do as I’ve taught you," her mother suggested. "Dim the lights and..."
The advice was useless. By the time Owain reached the bedroom where she had prepared to give every last bit of herself to him, he was already aware of the mark on her hip. She never had the chance to dim the lights or slip into bed without him seeing her mark... everything ended before she could even try.
Sometimes, when the dream came upon her, she tried to run the moment she realized she’d returned to the same dream. If she could just make it to the Vale of Mists, if she could steal a horse, or a carriage, if she could find the place where Nyrielle had hidden herself, waiting until nightfall, if, if, if...
But fleeing never worked. Sometimes, her mother stopped her from fleeing. Other times, she escaped her chambers only to be brought back by a smiling guard, a wandering priest of the temple, or someone else. Once, it had even been Bors Lothian who brought her back to her wedding with Owain.
"It’s fine to be nervous," the gray-haired Marquis said when he caught Ashlynn trying to slip out of the temple through a side entrance that led to the stables. "My Isla was as nervous as a young colt on its first ride to war the night of our wedding. Her mother found her pacing in the gardens until just before the ceremony."