“Look,” Giles says from some distant place. “It’s Dreamsong.”
We stand at the top of a ridge where the trees have broken. Below us, a city has been erected. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. My eyes water as the world goes sideways. The blurry metropolis tilts, spinning as I do.
Everything goes black.
* * *
I groan softly,rolling over on my feather mattress. The duvet is heavy on me. It’s as soft as it always was, pulled right up to my ears, blocking out the late morning’s sunlight.
As I yawn, consciousness slowly returns to me. I had the strangest dream. It was a long dream, too. And so vivid… I dreamed I was in the land of the fae, that I was pulled there following a ritual in the woods.
Laughing softly at myself, I push back the covers, expecting to be met with my room at Lord Fenwood’s manor. I stop with a sharp inhale. This is not that room.
Sheer curtains waft in the breezes of a late afternoon, teasing me with glimpses of a city sprawling beneath my second-story, arched windows. The bed is a simple platform, as comfortable as anything, but a stark reminder that I am very far from anything remotely familiar. I run my hands over the linens. They’re almost identical to the ones Davien used in his estate.
Did he import them from Midscape? I wonder. He must have. It occurs to me I’ve never felt any material this buttery soft. Of course it was made by magic.
My room is sparse. Whitewashed walls are split by dark beams that support a high ceiling. There’s a mirror hung above a dresser to the right of the bed. A chair is situated by the far opening.
But…that’s it.
I push back the covers and sit cross-legged to massage my feet. Just like the last time I woke up here, I’ve been healed. The soles of my feet show no signs of blistering or trauma.
So I have magic. And I can use it. Just not consciously. “Great, simply fantastic.”
When I stand, I notice that my robe and nightgown are nowhere to be seen. I’ve been dressed in a simple, silken shift. Delicate embroidery lines the neck—a similar design to the markings Shaye and Giles have on their flesh. I’m too grateful to be out of those soiled clothes to be horrified by the idea that someone stripped me down while I was unconscious.
I inspect myself in the mirror, turning right and left. The usual pallor of my skin has brightened. My hair seems a richer, more vibrant chestnut. This is more than the change I saw from the good food and easy life of Lord Fenwood’s manor. I look positively radiant. I should get forbidden, ancient magic more often.
As I twist, though, I notice the low-cut back exposes the upper edge of the gnarled scars that stretch between my shoulder blades. Whoever dressed me must’ve seen it. I feel sick and try to situate my hair over the old wound. It aches at my mere acknowledgment of it so I try and put it from my mind.
Opening the door to my room, I poke my head out into the hallway. There’s no one. I start down the hall toward a stairway at one end. The other doors along the hallway are closed—more bedrooms, I presume.
Voices drift up from the bottom of the stairs. They’re murmured and soft. But one sticks out.
“Okay, I think Shaye said it clearly enough. But just for emphasis—you were being an ass. Like a donkey. But more…stubborn and frustrating.” Giles. And I suspect I know just who he’s speaking to.
I’m not intending to creep down the stairs, it just sort of works out that way. My footsteps are light enough that no one notices me. And it’s not my fault that the table in the great hall is positioned in such a way that no one sitting around it has a clear view of me when I emerge.
“I was trying to keep us safe,” Davien insists.
“You were trying to wear her down,” Shaye says, shoveling food into her mouth. “Either because you were frustrated with her because she has the magic…or because you were trying to push her to the point of using the magic for you again so you could see it. Regardless, still an ass, and you should get yourself together. It’s no way for a king to act.”
Davien glares at her. “We were being hunted by the Butchers.”
“There was a single Butcher,who we killed. Well, she killed. Great trick, that, especially to do it without a ritual to prepare the power. Once you get the magic you should learn how to do it, too.” Giles tears a piece off a loaf of bread and takes a large bite. He continues talking with his mouth full. “We might be the town screwups about most things. But we can at least make sure no one lives to tell the tale of how badly we mess up.”
“Just like that woman in the woods,” Hol murmurs over his goblet.
“Exactly like that Butcher in the woods,” Giles agrees.
They’re talking about the woman who attacked me, I realize. Shaye had mentioned something, too, about patrolling the woods on either side of the Fade. I might owe my life to more than just Davien.
“She exploded that man. A magical outburst like that certainly drew the attention of fae near and far,” Davien insists.
“Good thing no one lives in the woods, huh?” Giles grins.
“I’m certain King Wotor felt it.” Davien leans across the table. His voice becomes heavy and serious. The teasing stops. “Which means he’s going to come after me—and her by extension. He knows the old magic has returned to these lands.”
“Who’s King Wotor?” I ask, drawing their attention to me. “Yes, hello, just woke up. Is he the head Boltov?”
“He is. King Wotor Boltov the…what are we on? Tenth now?” Giles leans back in his chair, looking oddly smug. “Just stick with ‘Boltov’ because it’s easier. Anyway, he’s going to try and kill you the first chance he gets.”
“Lovely. I’m noticing a trend that, in the fae world, everything is going to kill me sooner or later.”
“Our sweet deadly home,” Giles muses to Hol, who rolls his eyes in reply.
“So how do we make sure that doesn’t happen? Because I very much like breathing.”
“Now that you’re up, the first step is to talk to Vena.” Davien stands. “If anyone will know what to do…it’s her.”
