Chapter 38
ONLY A MORTAL DREAM
I dreamt of the Silver Realm all the time.
Frosted-leaf chandeliers. Tapestries of moss.
Streams of sunlight through the broken stained glass of the westernmost castle ruins.
Dancing slowly between them. I would have preferred dreamless sleep, but as long as my astral visits were solitary and short, they were bearable.
On the night of that storm, the borders between worlds all but ceased to exist. The air crackled, streams reversed course, and huddles of fallen leaves whipped themselves into frenzies:
A-storm a-storm a-storm!
Must be a great one, Cobwebbe gestured from a stone pile. The court’s pan piper habitually expressed their thoughts to whoever was nearby. I was always relieved to see them when I passed through the Silver Realm by dream, because they never showed much curiosity about where I had been.
Who is that, over there?
I stopped among the leaves and turned. A glimpse of white I did not understand, at first. My first thought was a gust of snow, blown in from a realm even colder than ours. Then, I saw her arms, and suddenly, I was standing inside a nightmare of my own making.
My cloak twisted as I ran, almost pulling me to the forest floor, but I got hold of it quick enough to wrap around Trix. Her hands shielded her face, fighting off the leaves and her own hair – the wind was curious, too. It wanted to play with her.
‘Sander?’ She worked a hand free from between my chest and hers, brushing strands of hair aside. Her eyes were sleepy, faraway stars. I put a finger to my lips. Make a game of it. Make her believe it is make-believe.
Only a dream. Only a mortal dream.
She blinked, trying to smile, unsure how. Mortals do not trust themselves in dreams. Astral projection does not come naturally. Try to run, limbs are lead. Try to scream, voice is dust – suddenly, those musical gestures of my childhood did not seem so harmless.
The wind grew stronger. I stared it down – or rather, up. Followed its currents with a threatening glare.
Convey even a whisper of what you have witnessed to anyone, and I will pull smoke all the way from the oil rigs in the Restless Lands to smother you.
The wind dropped. Leaves fell where they hovered, as if we were onstage at the Dance Hall and someone had cut their strings.
I glanced back at the stone pile, but Cobwebbe had vanished.
Not vanished, I told myself, trying to breathe quietly, though my breath was all I could hear. They merely lost interest and wandered elsewhere. All is well. No one suspects. No one need know you were here. Or her.
A breeze threaded around my ankles. I’ll know.
I held her tighter. No. You can’t have her. Not this one. She is not yours.
‘Sander?’ Trix’s head lolled about on her shoulders as she tried her voice again in this new, unfamiliar place. ‘Where are we?’
I held her mouth still, gentle as I could. She was on the brink of fear, her hazy dream curdling into something darker. I squinted through the wind as it started up again, nipping at the back of my neck.
Then whose is she?
I cast about for an ally and found one in a magpie, ensconced in the lower branches of a hawthorn. A path back to wakefulness, I bargained with one hand. And you may pluck a moonstone thorn from my crown. No one would notice; I dipped my head low so it could make its selection.
I would take your mortal, it chirruped, but alas, my talons are too small.
Just as well. It flew down a stream of mist – blessed mist! – and I followed, Trix still mostly hidden under my cloak, falling in and out of sleep.
The wind had moved on.
The mist became a curtain, then the white of morning, and the white of bedsheets.