The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga)

by Lane Trompeter

  A man rushes into the room in servant’s livery just as they finish. I’m up next, but I narrow my eyes at his hurried movements. He leans over Duke Paloran’s shoulder at the head of the largest table and whispers into his ear. Paloran’s laughter falls from his face, and he hisses an angry response. The man flinches, but nods, turning and hurrying out of the hall. Either our unconscious guard or the painting’s absence has been discovered. Luckily, it seems that Paloron doesn’t want to disrupt his party, so he forces another laugh, turning and speaking loudly to the elegant young woman next to him. She wears a silver dress, her features recalling typical Donirian lineage save for the darker shade of her skin and the upward tilt of her eyes. I read his lips from across the room, my eyes flicking back to the girl. Princess?

  The young man beside her leans across and speaks to Paloran, eliciting another laugh, and my eyes follow his hand as it comes to rest in the princess’s lap. She doesn’t react, so he has to be a potential lover. Well, then. It turns out our performance is for more than just the merely rich and powerful. Royalty looks on.

  Timo steps up to the fore, the practiced step of trained entertainers, the step which draws the eyes of the audience regardless of their distraction. His time training on the stage has been put to good use. The audience falls silent as Inia, Koli, and Ezil contort around him before turning themselves into rings, their backs bent so that their feet and hands meet in a near perfect circle. Timo casually lifts one of the women by the small of her back, spinning her around the broad muscle of his arm. The audience gasps as he flings her upward, catching her just before she strikes the hard wood of the stage and continuing to spin her taut form. He stomps his foot. The signal.

  I sprint forward, calling on the shadow to draw me farther than I could ever leap. Just as he releases Ezil into another throw high into the air, I soar over him, my arms out straight as if diving into the sea, darting through the circle Ezil’s body makes as she spins through the air, the quiet rustle of silk the only sound in the room as I emerge unscathed out the other side. The audience starts to applaud, then several begin to shout as I simply… don’t fall. Those in attendance will believe it’s a parlor trick, thin wires or some other illusion. They’ll explain to themselves how the dark woman from the Isles defied gravity, floating there above their heads. They’ll never connect me with an element no one has heard of in millennia.

  The attention snaps back to Timo as he picks up the three women and begins to juggle them. The small bits of shadow I left under their clothing allows me to control their ascent and descent, keeping their bodies in perfect lines for his waiting hands. The strength is his own; the control is mine. We have the audience mesmerized. They’ll remember the feats of strength, the impossible tricks. They won’t remember our faces.

  Timo breaks from the performance early, far too early, catching the women on one arm like three horseshoes perfectly thrown. Perhaps he tires… but then I follow the line of his eye. To the servant, the thief, the square canvas of the painting firmly on his back, covered in a dark cloth… and I know him. I realize why he was so damn familiar, even in the dark.

  “Thief! There is a thief in the hall! Stop! Thief!” Timo shouts, his arm pointing unwaveringly towards the servant.

  Towards Jace of the Simply.

  I almost don’t recognize him in those clothes, his hair clean, his face mature. Where the little bastard disappeared to still haunts Timo. He’s never forgotten Grace, never forgiven the rogue thief who inadvertently caused her death. If he gets too far into his cups, Timo still talks about how much he disagreed with letting the boy live, one of the rare occasions he’s questioned my decisions. Now, it appears, he’s going to get his chance at revenge after all.

  The audience turn as one, their heads spinning and chairs scraping. We had them riveted, and Timo’s call uses that attention to great effect. The uproar is instantaneous, the entire room bursting to their feet. Lowering myself to the ground, I catch Timo’s eye. He is viciously satisfied as the nobles and guards converging on Jace.

  “Was dooming Corna worth your revenge?” I ask him, just audible over the shouts in the room.

  He has the decency to look chagrined as I turn and run for the doors. I doubt another opportunity like this will present itself, but the entire estate is now on full alert. We have to get out of here.

  The tenor of the shouts change, and a look over my shoulder reveals Jace sprinting full on in my direction, feet racing atop of the main banquet table, the nobles stumbling over one another to follow. The second I see crossbows being hefted, I want to duck out of the room, but a tug in the back of my mind roots my feet to the ground. A feeling, almost a premonition. I need to be right here. I need to see something.

  “He has the Caldero! The Caldero! Creator's blessed name, stop shooting at him!”

  The cloth covering the painting has come free, the hideous tangle of colors flopping about in the thief’s haste. Timo races past me, darting out the doors with the rest of the Family.

  “Kettle, let’s go,” he calls, but I ignore him.

  The Duke shouts commands, the crossbows lowering as the foot race rages on, but a flash in the brightly lit hall catches my eye. Amongst all the glittering jewelry, the chaos, the screams, the bejeweled ornamental swords, a glimmer of red catches my attention. Around the throat of the Duchess Paloran.

  Is that it? I ask my boots.

  Perhaps. We are too far for me to know.

  I thought that urge to stay came from you.

  Urge? What urge? Wait, Kettle, close—

  His voice cuts off abruptly. He doesn’t answer when I call to him, but I can feel his energy still there, crackling behind the invisible walls in my mind. His energy roils, straining against its bonds. Despite that, he remains silent. I’m on my own. Jace nears the exit, his trail of angry friends stretching behind him.

  I dive back into the chaos, jumping into the side of the pursuing crowd to slip closer to my mark. I reach her as the crowd thins, and just as the wealthy ladies around her begin to relax. Had I arrived a moment before, the distraction of the rushing pursuit would have been total, but instead my window snaps closed. I’ll have to create my own.

  “I’ll simply die if the Caldero is harmed,” the Duchess says, her simpering friends practically fawning to be the welcoming voice of comfort.

  She’s perhaps forty, cosmetics and money doing enough to keep her passably attractive despite the unhappy influence of far too much wine and far too many decadent desserts. I consider bringing the shadow to bear, but sometimes the simplest, oldest methods are best. Feigning a stumble over one of the overturned chairs, I fall into the Duchess with all the grace of a drunken cow. Which is what she calls me before realizing I’m one of the performers and shoving me forcefully off of her. Her friends laugh as I stumble away again, this time the falter in my step real. The necklace seems to writhe in my grasp, a similar energy to Tecarim’s boiling just beneath its metal surface, but many times his strength. Buzzing energy crackles just under my fingertips. Tecarim doesn’t respond to my thoughts, and neither does the necklace. But I know I have what we’re seeking. How did the Duchess wear the necklace? How could she stand the feeling?

  I start to tuck the necklace away, but stop as a pair of dainty white and silver slippers appear, peeking out from under the hem of a silver dress. My eyes slowly track up the slender body, past the delicate silver chain around her waist, and finally meet the eyes of the princess. Her face is stone, her sapphire eyes glimmering in warning.

  “Helping yourself, Islander?” she says, one slim eyebrow rising elegantly over her deep azure eye. We aren’t far from the Duchess and her cohort, but the princess keeps her voice low, low enough to go unheard in the quieting room.

  “I have a feeling no one is going to pay me after tonight,” I answer, finishing tucking the necklace into the band of my pants. It’s a lie, and yet it isn’t. If she’s speaking to me quietly, though, she has a reason.

  “So you’ll pa
y yourself? That doesn’t seem entirely honest,” she answers, studying her fingernails casually. The man who sat beside her at dinner stands off by the door looking stricken. His eyes are wide, his face in agony. Something most definitely went sideways between them in the last five minutes.

  “What happened to your boy toy?” I ask, jerking my chin at him. The princess glances behind herself briefly, turning back to me with a black look.

  “He lied to me,” she says evenly, but the words are edged to cut diamonds.

  “Why did he lie?”

  I probably should be running as fast as I can for the nearest exit, but something makes me stay. Something tugs me towards her, a quiet sense that this woman needs someone to talk to. I scoff at myself internally. The princess of the Kingdom of the Sea? What am I thinking?

  “It doesn’t matter,” she growls.

  “Doesn’t it? I’ve been told lies by people I love,” I return, glancing around. Servants are fast reassembling the pristine dining hall, the bustle of their movements the only activity in the place aside from the pair of us and the Duchess’ group. We are conspicuous: the only dark-skinned performer and the princess. Someone will grow curious sooner rather than later, and I can’t be recognized as the last performer seen before the Duchess’ necklace disappeared. I need to go, now. Even so, I think of Talan, of his lies, lies meant to protect me, meant to give me happiness. “Some lies are hurtful, some wonderful. Some, honestly, have nothing to do with you. Figure out which is which.”

  She seems taken aback by my words, her eyes clouding. We stand in silence for a long second. Making a decision, I walk past her, and she makes no move to stop me. I sigh in blessed relief, throwing a prayer to the Creator.

  “You’re lucky,” her voice comes behind me. I glance back. “I have somewhere to be… and I never liked that woman in the first place.”

  “You’re lucky, too,” I answer. “That man loves you so much he’s dying over there. It’s so obvious it hurts. Be careful, princess. Love like that is rare.”

  Her eyes narrow like she wants to be offended. I can almost hear the words: you overstep yourself, Islander. But she doesn’t give them voice. Instead, her eyes find her lover over my shoulder, and her mouth twists in an unfathomable expression. She looks back to me and gives me a tiny, fragile nod.

  I don’t reply other than to nod in return, getting the hell out of there before I can run into any other important people. The doors are all heavily guarded as I make it out of the hall, and I feel more and more like everything is descending farther into the Depths the longer we’re here. Just as I start to consider cutting my way through a window, though, I spot Aurelion, still in the guardsman’s gettup, the lone man in charge of one of the side servant’s entrances.

  “How do you keep showing up in the perfect place at the perfect time?” I ask him as he opens the door for me and bows as if I own the place.

  “Honestly? Tonight has been one of the strangest...”

  Aurelion trails off at the scene awaiting us in the courtyard. The guards at the gate question everyone as they try to leave, examining their clothing and checking them for any ill-gotten gains. My heart drops. In my scandalous attire, there’s nowhere to hide the amulet. Even as we watch, a temporary guard is accosted and led back into the estate, his indignant curses falling on deaf ears.

  “I’ll make a run for the fence,” I say quietly. “I can make it over and be gone before they can stop me.”

  “They’ll recognize you,” Aurelion answers. “You’re too distinctive in that outfit. No one can know you, or we, were involved.”

  “What do you suggest then?”

  “Something… something is guiding me,” he responds, his eyes unfocused. “Tonight, as no other night, I’ve had hunches, feelings, urges… and they’ve all turned out to be correct. All of them.”

  “Do you realize how crazy that sounds?” I ask incredulously.

  “We’re going to walk out the front gate,” he says, his eyes clearing. He reaches up and grabs my arm as if I’m a thief and he’s my captor. He marches purposefully towards the gate, dragging me along behind. “No one is going to stop us.”

  “What? Let me go, Kraft, or I’ll geld you,” I snarl, clawing at his hand.

  Before I can pull away, though, we come in sight of the guards at the gate, striding past the waiting line of performers and mercenaries trying to leave. I stop fighting and meekly follow along. My stomach clenches as we approach… and pass through the gate. No one stops us. No one so much as glances our way. We’re out of sight in less than a minute, and Aurelion releases my arm.

  “How?” I ask, dumbfounded. “How in the name of all that dwell in the Deep did you do that?”

  “I have no idea,” Aurelion answers honestly. “I don’t know how I knew… I just knew.”

  ***

  We ditch his uniform in an alley the second we’re out of the Palace District and back into the relative safety of the Pennies. He tries to engage me in conversation several times, but I offer him nothing. Despite having saved me—repeatedly—the kernel of anger in my heart drives me to ignore Aurelion. We head to the inn chosen for our rendezvous in case of shit heading south. Which of course it had.

  “Kettle,” he finally says, grabbing my arm.

  I snatch it out of his hand, a blade of shadow at his throat before he can react. The only potential witnesses are a trio of drunk young men out on the town, but they’re too absorbed in their own nonsense to worry about us. I back him against the bricks behind, and he keeps his arms wide and unthreatening.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.

  “Kettle, listen to me,” he says. The bobbing of his throat draws a small bead of blood, but I don’t lower the thin blade of darkness. His eyes trace the dark symbol of my power as it winds about my face. “What happened before, between us…”

  “What of it?” I snarl into his face. “You’ve lied to me from the beginning. You are not the Master of Light.”

  He blinks in surprise, his expression going confused.

  “I never said I was,” he says honestly. I think back through all our experiences. Damn if he isn’t right.

  “Then how?”

  “Your boots are not the only thing with a silent voice,” he answers. He deliberately leaves off which item he might possess that gives him power.

  I told you he possessed the Ensouled, Tecarim suddenly speaks again. He draws his power from the soul of another, not from his own.

  What happened before? Where did you go?

  What are you talking about? he responds in confusion.

  We were talking, and then… you cut off. Right when I needed you.

  His only response is a quiet hum of contemplation.

  “Listen, I’m sorry. I am a professional. I can’t believe I lost control on a job. I’ve never allowed myself… I’m sorry that happened.”

  “It is nothing,” I say, though the not-so-tiny wound in my heart says otherwise. “It was a convenient bit of… ugh. I hate this inelegant language.”

  I step away from him and continue walking. He hurries to catch up.

  “Bit of what?” he asks curiously.

  “A word like hiding.”

  “Camouflage?”

  “Close enough,” I mutter, thinking of the long days hidden in the jungle smeared with mud, waiting for the passing wild boar, Talan a steady and reassuring presence at my side. The memory saddens me, my heart aching around a wound I thought to be scarred over. We walk for a brief moment in silence, the warm air of Summer—for it’s past midnight, and Summer has begun in earnest—a pleasant melody against my skin.

  “I don’t regret the kiss,” Aurelion speaks abruptly. He studiously stares at anything but me. “The timing, yes. I don’t know what came over me, why I let my discipline lapse. But I don’t regret it. It was one of the wonderful moments of my life.”

  The statement, spoken so simply, so honestly wrought, erases the sad thoughts of Talan from my mind. I smile without reali
zing it, the knot of tension in my stomach disappearing as if it never existed. In its place, my heart races. I can tell he notes my smile, his expression relaxing as well. My head grumbles of the idiocy of growing close with a potential enemy, regardless of how attractive or talented. But the reassuring weight of the amulet tucked into my pants allows my heart to take the lead. I’ve done as Gordyn asked. Despite his reputation, he’s treated me honorably, and none of his words have rung false. Soon, Corna will be safe with me, and I can be free to explore whatever ends I desire. With whomever I choose.

  I walk a bit closer to him, closer than is strictly necessary. Close enough that our hands can touch, if he wants them to. His fingers brush mine, and we walk.

  Together.

  ***

  Three nights later, I dress comfortably for my second meeting with Gordyn, not bothering with the fancy dress or the elegant hair. The comfortable black leathers of my trade are plenty enough, my hair bound tightly as always when I work. The only cheek I dare give is wearing Tecarim openly to the meeting. I’m not certain if giving the boots back is part of the deal, but they weren’t mentioned in our agreement. The thud of Timo’s reassuring footfalls allows me the leisure to let my mind wander as we head to the meeting place, which is when a thought strikes me.

  Tecarim?