The scream came again, three nights after the first.
I was not sleeping. I had not been sleeping, not really, not since Kaelen's nightmares began. I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence, waiting for the sound that would tell me he needed me.
When it came, I was already moving.
The corridors of Frosthold were dark, the torches burned low, and the shadows were thick and menacing. I knew the way to his chambers by heart now—the turns, the stairs, the heavy oak door at the end of the corridor. I did not knock. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was dark, lit only by the dying embers of the fire. The shadows danced on the walls, cast by the flickering light, making the familiar room seem strange and threatening. Kaelen's bed was a tangle of furs and blankets, and in the center of it, he thrashed and cried out, trapped in a nightmare that was worse than the first.
"No! His voice was raw, desperate. "No, I cannot—I will not—"
