But Mr. Lacost’s chest and stomach looked strange to me as I stood there, trembling. No longer round, it was sunken, jagged—
“Don’t look, Poppy. Don’t look over there,” came Momma’s hushed voice as she pulled on my hand. “We must hide. Hurry.”
She pulled me down the narrow hallway, her hand wet against mine. “I want Papa—”
“Shh. We must be quiet.” Her voice shook, sounding too thin. The arms of her dress were torn, the pale pink streaked with crimson. Momma was hurt, and I didn’t know what to do. “We must be quiet so Papa can come and find us.”
I didn’t understand how being quiet would help Papa come to us. It was dark in the room we entered, and the sounds, the ragged breaths and moans, the continuous shouts and cries were loud. Papa had gone outside when they came, went out there with the strange man who’d seemed to know him. I wanted my papa. I wanted Ian, but he had left with the woman who smelled like sugar and vanilla—
A shrill sound pierced the darkness. Momma tugged hard on my hand, yanking me down to where she crouched. She opened a large cupboard behind me as someone screamed. Pots clattered off the floor as Momma tore them from inside the closet.
“Get in, Poppy. I need you to get in and be very quiet, okay? I need you to be as silent as a mouse, no matter what. Do you understand?”
Looking behind me at the small hole of darkness, I shook my head. Momma wouldn’t fit in there. “I wanna stay with you.”
“I’ll be right here.” Her hands touched my cheek. Her skin was damp as she turned my head towards her. “I need you to be a big girl and listen to me. You have to hide—”
The high-pitched howl came again, and I clamored for her, clutching at her sides. My fingers dug into the sticky waist of her dress. “You have to let go, baby. You need to hide, Poppy.”
I held tighter, feeling wet warmth coursing down the sides of my face.
Momma jerked at the sound of something—a voice. Someone spoke, but my heart pounded too loudly in my ears for me to hear. It sounded like a rushing fall of water, and the nightmare sounds were louder, closer. Then, there was a voice again. And Momma, her hands were wetter, stickier…
Someone knocked a lamp over somewhere. Glass shattered. Momma yelled as her arms folded around me, the words mushed together, making little sense except for one—
Screams. Someone was shrieking. Momma? She was torn from me, her hands sliding down my arms, her fingers catching mine and then slipping. A body crashed into us—me—and I tottered to the side, losing my hold of Momma. Fiery pain sliced across my face, stunning me. I fell back. Hands grabbed at me. Hands that were too heavy. Hands that hurt. I screamed—
There was a voice again, somewhere in the darkness, living under the screams.
What a pretty little flower.
What a pretty poppy.
Pick it and watch it bleed.
Not so pretty any longer…
Poppy.
I jerked awake, a scream ringing in my ears, burning my throat as I gasped for air, struggling to move but unable. My arms were trapped against my sides, my legs tangled in thick warmth. My eyes peeled open, and it took a moment for my surroundings to make sense. I focused on the steady thumping under my cheek as I slowly dug out the thorns of panic and fear.
Faint gray light seeped in through the narrow window across from the bed. I wasn’t at the inn, being ripped and torn into. I was in the keep, in bed, with a warm, hard chest against my cheek, a hand that continuously smoothed over my hair, a voice that whispered my name over and over, telling me it was okay, promising me that it was safe. I was nestled in his lap, held tightly to his chest as if he tried to keep the tremors at bay with his hold alone.
Casteel.
Reality came back to me in pieces as the disorientation from the nightmare eased, and I began to realize that he was slowly rocking us.
I knew I needed to pull away, should put some distance between us, but something about his embrace was grounding. Something that felt inexplicably right in the aftermath of the blood and terror. Maybe it was because I often woke alone after the nightmares, shaken and terrified, especially after Ian left for the capital. And even with my screams often waking Tawny, I never allowed such…comfort. I’d always been too embarrassed to seek it from my lady’s maid. But there wasn’t another option now, and it was the first time I’d ever been relieved to have the choice taken from me. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of Casteel’s body soak into mine.
A hint of shame sifted through me even though he’d known about the nightmares. Vikter had warned him about them, and I knew that Vikter had done so not for Casteel’s benefit but mine. Sorrow tightened my chest. I missed Vikter, missed him so badly, and waking from these blood-soaked nightmares, the loss was raw.