Page 81 of War Queen
They were supposed to be past this, past the vision. Mikael was supposed to be safe.
The cool air sat stagnant around her. It was suffocating.
How could this be Mikael’s fate still?
And Alexander. Soren was so certain there was someone else behind it all—someone tricking her. But the vision in the painting had been clear, as had the one in her mind. It was Alexander.
Norah sat up and looked at the vial in her hand. She tilted it to one side, then the other. She knew Alexander, more than anyone else. She would know if it was him, or if it wasn’t. Wouldn’t she?
She would.
Then why was she doubting?
She needed to see him again. She would know. She would know if it was him. Norah clutched the vial tighter. She would know, she told herself again.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she dabbed a smear of blood across her palm and closed her eyes.
Her skin prickled with nervousness. This was a stupid idea. Soren would rage through the floorboards if he found out.
No, it wasn’t stupid. She had to see Alexander. She needed to know how he came to her, and if he truly posed a threat to Mikael.
She waited, but all was quiet.
This was a stupid idea.
Her pulse quickened. It wasn’t too late. She could wipe off the blood.
But she didn’t.
And then she felt him.
He entered her mind like a gentle breeze, not as invasive as the traveler seers Nemus and Bhasim. He entered softly, gracefully, as if it were natural. As if he’d done it a thousand times.
He stood in front of her, in normal attire—dark brown breeches with a white, long-sleeved tunic. He looked every bit the Alexander she knew.
Norah eyed him warily, then rose from where she had been sitting on the bed. She studied him—every part of him, every detail.
He seemed to know this was a different calling, a different visit. He didn’t speak, but he waited patiently.
Norah stepped silently to him. Her eyes moved over his face, his hair, his eyes, his mouth. To his chest and down his front and back up. Around him, she walked, moving slowly. Every line, every detail—it was everything she knew. And yet something she didn’t… Something wasn’t quite right. She moved closer as she came back around in front of him.
Still, he waited.
Norah reached out and took his hand. She expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. Unlike the previous visits, he was… amenable. She pushed up the sleeve of his tunic and searched his arm, looking for the markings she’d seen in the painting. There were none. Her eyes moved to his neck, and she reached and pulled down his collar. No markings were on his skin.
He stood, unmoving.
She released him. The Alexander in front of her was not the Alexander in the painting. His eyes didn’t hold the same hatred, the same rage.
“How are you here?” she asked him.
A question he wouldn’t answer.
Yes or no questions, she told herself. “Can you come whenever you want?”
He eyed her for a moment, then gave a single shake of his head.No.
Her pulse quickened. “You need the blood.”
