The Night Curse (Book one)
Chapter 29 The Dreamwalker

I decipher a slight figure, standing by the rose garden, as I ride back to the Harling Manor.

It had been dusk when I left the witch’s abode, and her revelations had tormented me the entire ride home, under the darkening heavens that seemed to mirror the heaviness of such words.

His eyes are still that of a Dreamwalker, but to the world, they are as ordinary as the blue sky.

The closer I canter to the shadowy silhouette, the more I recognise their form. Clemmy’s dress flutters languidly in the light breeze. Her arms are folded. Her unbound hair whips high around her head, yet she remains as still as a statue.

Without a word, I dismount the horse and return her to the stables. Once secured in her paddock, I head for the manor, half-expecting Clemmy to have vanished into thin air. But as I step across the estate, there she stands, arms crossed and hair flying. There is a shimmer in her eyes, and I realise then that she is on the verge of tears.

“Where have you been? Mother and father have been worried,” she snaps as soon as I am close enough to hear. She avoids mentioning her own worry, if she has felt such a thing during my absence.

“I’m surprised you care.” It’s a childish response, but one that I can’t avoid making considering our spat about the Marquess.

She sniffs and roughly wipes her eyes. When she looks up, they are no longer glimmering with water. Her features are hardened marble in the moonlight and something else…a swollenness to her cheek. “You’ll be glad to hear I’ve called off the engagement.”

I scan her expression, wondering whether it was anger or upset that Clemmy was trying to hide from me. My gaze settles on the swelling of her cheek, and despite the night, I recognise bruising on her skin. “Did he do that to you?” I try to stroke the hurt away, but she withdraws.

“What did you expect? Turning down a Marquess, embarrassing him so…it warrants repercussions.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I wince at her own ridicule, her own low opinion of herself. “Clemmy, no man should ever lay his hand on you. Not like this.”

She cackles huskily. “I suppose it shows his true colours and just how impulsive I was to agree to marry him so quickly.”

“You couldn’t help it.” My voice is small and layered with remorse.

“No, I guess I couldn’t, could I?”

Pointed moments pass between us. Finally, I drum up the courage to open my mouth. “Why did you decide to break off the marriage?”

Clemmy unfurls her arms and lowers her lashes, unable to watch my reaction. “I was furious at first. Furious at your betrayal and puppeteering. Then I spoke to mother, and she confirmed your suspicions. I read Hyacinth’s diary that she gave you. Then later, I saw Elliot at dinner and observed the cufflinks etched with eyes around his wrists. When he held my hand, I found myself swatting it away, fearful and distrusting. I realised that I could never marry someone that wished you and our family harm. No matter what he meant to me, I couldn't risk it.” She flashes her large eyes upwards, facing me square-on. “You mean more.”

I gulp down her words. The sacrifice that she had made. She is so strong, so honourable. I don’t deserve her. It takes all my might not to throw my arms around her in a bear hug, but I refrain for the grimace on her face warns me to tread lightly. “Is there anything that I can do? Anything at all?”

She tugs her lips into a narrow smile. “Don’t let it be for nothing.”

And it is she who reaches for my palms, she who strokes away the fallen tear running down my chin.

I tell her everything—my visit to the witch, who I decidedly dub The Crone, and the truths she’s unveiled until I’m panting with exhilaration.

Clemmy’s chest heaves with equal emotion. “What are you going to do?”

“The only thing I can do…I must tell him what he is before it’s too late.”

“Harlow,” I beckon into the dreamscape. He shelters by the river's bank, and the end of a soaring rainbow.

“Mia,” he responds like he’s been sleeping for days, awaiting my return. “Have you managed to—”

“I must speak with you about…”

Where to begin?

How to shatter one’s entire life?

“About what?”

The hair on the nape of my neck stands to attention, and I know it echoes the body that lays atop my bed. “About the story that your father told you.”

He takes a step towards the river, away from me. “Which story?”

“The one about a Dreamwalker killing your mother.” I suck in my lips, bob on my heels. “It was you,” I breath. “You were the Dreamwalker. Your mother died in childbirth.” Harlow doesn’t speak, so I go on. “I saw the memory, Harlow. I saw your mother die, and your father look upon your violet eyes. I saw him take you to a witch and allow her to drown you in a bath of potion…potion that concealed your true identity.”

He sways too close to the river’s edge. I know no harm will come of him if he falls, but the act still unnerves me so that I coil my fingers around his forearm, pulling him close.

“I was a Dreamwalker.” The way he says the words, distant and cold, isn’t to me but to himself.

“You still are.”

“What?” he emphasises the letters with bugging eyes. The rainbow evaporates and the dream turns deathly black.

“All this time, you’ve been one but without the mark.” I tuck his hair behind his ears and keep my palms fixed on his skull, burrowing my gaze into his. “And a strong one at that.”

I inform him of my travels to the witch and regurgitate The Crone’s prophecy all the while watching Harlow’s face for a flicker of happiness.

I don't see it.

“Don’t you see that this is a good thing?”

Harlow stays quiet, playing with his nailbeds, avoiding my stare. “Forgive me if I don’t beam at the notion that my entire existence has been but a lie and a lie of my father’s making at that.”

I glide my thumb across his knuckles, slow and soothing. “Harlow, if you can awaken your powers then you can infiltrate a guard’s dream and convince him to let you go free. We could be together.”

He frowns, but a glint fights to break free within his pools. “How? I don’t even know how to begin.”

I plant a kiss on his mouth and lean back, grinning at the pockets of light now blooming within the darkness. “I can teach you, my love.”

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