18Lena woke with a start. Her heart was pounding. She could feel her pulse vibrating in her ears. Only a dream, only a dream.
She brushed the damp, matted hair away from her forehead, reaching for the swiftly vanishing fragments of whatever it was that had terrorized her sleeping mind. But it was like trying to wrap her hands around water. All that remained was a cold quiver of fear, and the vivid memory of herself—gasping for air. She tucked her thighs against her chest and hugged her shins.
Only a dream. Shut your eyes. Go back to sleep. That’s what Carrick would have said.
Instead, her gaze wandered to the window. A breeze slipped in and rustled her sheets, cool on her cheek. But behind her knees . . .
Lena crinkled her brow. The shell she wore, the merrow queen’s shell, was glowing
