The Lord of Dreams

by C. J. Brightley

  Chapter 30

  Cold pulled Claire back to wakefulness from the comfort of sleep. The fire had died, and the king sat staring into the ashes. Silvertongue sat with his legs crossed and his elbows on his knees, but his head drooped in sleep.

  The image of the mountains turning to mist and floating away remained in Claire’s mind, and she stared at the king.

  “Is your name Tu—” She stopped abruptly as she realized that perhaps she should not say it aloud.

  At her voice, Silvertongue jerked to sudden wakefulness and glanced at her, then at the king. His eyes flicked to her pendant and then back to her eyes.

  The king turned to her, his eyes slightly glassy with fever. “You may speak freely. Silvertongue knows my name.”

  “Is your name Tuathal?” She stumbled a little over the unfamiliar pronunciation. The name tasted like starlight upon her lips.

  Silvertongue turned wide eyes toward the king and wrote something hurriedly in the dirt.

  “Yes,” the king said, a spark of hope in his eyes. “Where did you hear it?”

  “In a dream.”

  Silvertongue’s eyes widened.

  Claire glanced between them, noting the golden Fae’s poorly hidden alarm. Tuathal gave me a gift so important that giving me his name is little more, and yet Silvertongue is shocked that I know his name.

  And her mind discarded the thought.

  She tugged on the pendant on the chain around her neck absently.

  I want to see the truth.

  She had seen through the morrigan’s illusions and through Silvertongue’s troll illusions. Something about the king seemed… odd. Something was missing. Something important.

  She could see the blood caked on his shoulder, dried dark navy blue. She could see no illusion, but something was still …

  Something sparkled, and it was distracting.

  Her mind kept chasing something else, something it could never quite find.

  And she forgot.

  With a great effort, she fought the distraction. This keeps happening! Every time! I keep getting distracted and forgetting… something! Something important!

  So what is it that I need to remember?

  The pursuers must be getting close by now. We need to leave.

  “No! I need to be able to see! I need to see through whatever it is. Focus, Claire!” she muttered.

  Silvertongue’s golden eyes flicked toward her necklace and then toward Tuathal’s face.

  “You gave me the necklace!” The revelation broke over her like a roll of thunder.

  “I did.” Tuathal seemed to straighten almost imperceptibly.

  “But… how is that possible? You were so young!”

  “Didn’t I tell you dreams could be stuffed full of paradoxes?” His smile gleamed bright, full of exquisite hope that she would understand something else.

  Claire pulled the pendant over her head and held it in her open hands, examining the design. The king’s eyes followed it, but he made no move to take it from her. Three straight lines converging at the top, spreading wide at the bottom, topped by three dots, all surrounded by a circle. The bronze was dull in the crevices, slightly brighter on the high points where her fingers had rubbed over the years. Silvertongue sucked in a breath through his nose, his eyes wide as he saw the pendant.

  “But aren’t we close to the same age? We were both children when we met in the wood and you saved me from the cockatrice. And then you were an adult when you came as the villain, and I was only sixteen. And then,” she glared at him, “you were a child when you made me draw the cats. How is that possible?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I did no such thing. I suggested, rather emphatically, that you draw the cats.”

  Her frown deepened. “But… How did you bring me to Faerie the very first time, when we were both children?

  Something dark flickered in his eyes, some memory of pain immediately hidden. “I was lonely. I must have wished you here, albeit by accident. You would have been wishing too; I had no authority or power to take you against your will.”

  “You think I wished myself to Faerie? I did not!”

  “Not exactly. You wished for adventure, and a friend, and a purpose. All of which, I might add, I gave you.” His smile widened as she glared at him.

  “So all of this is my fault?” Her voice rose in frustration.

  “Not at all.” Tuathal pressed his lips together in an expression of dismay. “Not at all, Claire. You wished something magnificent, and I took the opportunity to grant your wish for my own ends. I used your humanity, your essential malleability, your latent courage that you did not yourself realize or acknowledge, and gave you opportunity to become yourself. I presented you with a challenge and a role and a villain to vanquish, and you did so.”

  She stared at him, appalled. “I wished to be a hero, and I was the worst, most selfish hero who ever wore the title. I lost my temper at the little fairy. I deserted Feighlí even though he saved my life. And I almost killed that servant in the hallway, and then I didn’t even feel guilty about it until later.” Her throat tightened and tears welled up. “I’ve always regretted that. I wish I could tell them how sorry I am.” She choked on her guilt, pressed her fist to her mouth to hold back the sobs.

  He let out a soft breath, and she wished desperately that she had the courage to meet his eyes. But she didn’t; she kept her eyes on his thin, elegant hands, one finger absently drawing patterns upon his knee.

  “I admit I was… not entirely satisfied with the results of the challenge.” His voice was tightly controlled, but she heard the raw edge of grief in it, sliding like a knife between her ribs and into the tender place of her heart, the place that wished to be better than she was. “I had hoped you would rise to become the Claire I knew you wished to be, a shining beacon of hope and impossible courage. You could change your nature, and I gave you opportunity, but I did not see the fruit of the seed I had intended to plant.

  “It was no dream. I was only seventeen, barely older than you were. What you saw was a glamour to make myself older and conceal my grief.

  “After the challenge, I did not think to see you again. But then you were pulled into Faerie by the force of your wish, and your brother’s, to be somewhere else, somewhere safe. In the instant of the car wreck, between consciousness and death, you wished, and you found yourself in my infirmary.”

  Claire blinked. “I did that?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “In a manner of speaking.”

  She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “What do you mean by that?”

  His lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile, or say something clever, but he only said, “Paradoxes, Claire.” At her steady look, he added, “Did I look as though I had expected you to appear in my infirmary in the middle of a storm?”

  She frowned, thinking back. No, he had looked rather surprised to see her, though he’d hidden it well. Still playing the villain. “So somehow I wished us to your infirmary? I had no idea that it existed, much less that it was safe.” She pondered that a moment. “In fact, I’m quite sure that if I had known of it, I would not have thought it was safe at all.”

  His eyes glinted, shadows shot through with the light of hope.

  “But it was safe,” he murmured. “There was, quite literally, no safer place in all of Faerie. It was warded with layer upon layer of the most intricate and powerful spells, and guarded with the very best and most trusted of my personal guard.” He watched her, waiting for her to understand something that she did not yet grasp.

  “Can you fly? I thought you had wings in the dream.”

  His frost-kissed eyelashes flickered. “I… have in the past. At the moment it is a bit beyond me.” His voice had a strange, tight sound, and she glanced at him.

  Claire’s eyes met his, and the spark between them made her tremble. “What have you done?” she breathed.

  I went to the infirmary because he gave me power and authority. He gave me the rig
ht to be there. He gave me himself.

  Oh.

  OH.

  She fumbled with the necklace, thrusting it into his hands. “Take it!” she cried.

  As his hands touched the necklace, he made a strange sound deep in his throat and a shudder ran through him.

  Then he straightened, and he was again the king.

  He was himself, with all the danger and grace of a fairy king, with fire in his eyes and electric power in the air around him.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice velvet seduction, rose petals on ice. He smiled, teeth sharp and white, eyes bright and triumphant.

  He put out his hand to her, graceful and impossibly elegant, and his eyes asked a question.

  She licked her lips, took a deep breath, and put her hand in his.

  A distant horn sounded, and he pulled her to her feet.

  “Come, Silvertongue!”

  They ran.

  They ran without stopping for what felt, to Claire, like several miles.

  I’m more out of shape than I thought. Her breath came in gasps.

  The forest seemed to part before them, never exactly presenting a path but never impeding their way.

  At last the king slowed to a brisk walk. He brushed his fingertips across the tree trunks as he passed, murmuring in a low voice.

  “What are you doing?” Claire huffed.

  “Thanking them for the easy passage. The border is just ahead.”

  A low murmur rose behind them, and the king’s steps quickened. He stumbled once, but did not fall.

  Come on, Claire. Don’t give up now.

  The murmur grew into a roar like ocean waves, distant and yet terrible in its immensity.

  They emerged from the trees into brilliant sunshine beating down. A long, low slope lay before them. At the bottom of the hill flowed a river. The banks were made of pebbles, and the water appeared to be only as deep as Claire’s waist.

  A thread of fear curled through Claire’s veins, but she did not stop to analyze it. Not with the roar of approaching terror so much more insistent. The branches of the trees behind them swayed in a wind Claire could not feel.

  As they approached the water, Claire hung back. “Wait!”

  The king stopped, blue-gold-silver eyes turning to her. “Come, Claire.”

  “There was a kelpie! And a water woman who almost ate me!” Panic made her voice shrill. “I don’t think it’s safe.”

  The king caught her hand and pulled her forward without a word. Silvertongue crowded her shoulder, pushing both the king and Claire forward even as he looked back toward the forest.

  They splashed into the water as their pursuers broke through the trees behind them.

  Chapter 31

  The naiad’s pale face rose out of the water. “Hello.” Her eyes gleamed with delight at Claire’s sudden inhalation. “I see you have learned a little respect since we last met.”

  The king stared expressionlessly at the naiad for an interminable few seconds. If he had been anyone else, she might have wondered if he were terrified, or didn’t understand that the naiad was dangerous, or were simply so lost in pain and hunger that he was unaware of the creature at all. But none of those fit what she knew of him, and for an instant Claire dared hope that he was exerting some sort of authority she could not perceive.

  “The mad king!” breathed the naiad. “Tuathal, beloved of all Seelie. Oh, we have missed you, my king.”

  A bolt of lightning shot past the king’s ear, and he swayed.

  Perhaps he’s about to faint.

  “Mad no more,” Tuathal said in a low voice.

  “Let us pass!” Claire cried. She reached for the knife with her left hand.

  The naiad’s eyes widened, and she hissed, “No need for that.” She opened her mouth and sang. Her voice eddied and flowed, dripped and rang and thundered and swirled in the air, calling sisters and brothers and allies.

  The water rose around them, and the king pushed Claire forward.

  Cold fingers touched Claire’s shoulders, and she tried to flinch away, but the naiad surrounded her, watery arms holding her in place. “Get the king to safety. We will hold the border against all threats.”

  “I will.”

  The naiad’s eyes were deep pools of blue. “Do not lose the king, nor let him be further injured. He is beloved by all our people, water folk and land folk. Our wrath shall be upon you if you let him come to harm.”

  “I understand.” Claire’s heartbeat thundered in her ears.

  Then the naiad was gone, and the water was a wall behind them and a shallow stream before them.

  The king and Claire splashed across the river in three inches of water, and the king fell insensible into the grass on the other side.

  The battle raged on the other side of the wall of water, but Claire couldn’t see much. At times the water seemed lit from within by a strange greenish light that hurt her eyes, but for much of the evening the battle was merely a subdued, irregular roaring devoid of meaning or import.

  Silvertongue was gone. Claire didn’t know whether he’d been eaten by the naiad, was fighting the Unseelie, or perhaps had merely drowned in the chaos.

  A dull grief settled on her, along with exhaustion that pulled at her bones.

  She stared fuzzily at the water for an hour before she fell asleep still sitting up, her elbows on her knees.

  Chapter 32

  Tuathal strode beside her, long strides eating up the distance effortlessly.

  “Come, Claire!” he encouraged.

  Claire scowled at him and jogged to keep up.

  “Where are we going now?”

  He glanced at her and slowed his pace a little, offering her his arm in a gallant gesture. “Time is running short,” he murmured.

  “Time for what?” Claire’s fingers gripped his arm, the lean muscles tight beneath her fingertips, and the contact sent electric desire through her. He placed his other hand lightly over hers for an instant, the touch as fleeting as the kiss of a butterfly wing, then drew back.

  “I live by your command. You have all the evidence you need!” His voice cracked, and he did not look at her.

  I live by your command.

  She stared at his profile.

  I live by your command.

  She had wished he would have the strength to fight the barghest, and he did.

  She had wished he would wake, and he did.

  “What have you done?” she breathed.

  His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. His lips pressed into a white line.

  “I wished you would save me and you did.” Her voice sounded strangely flat.

  “No. You wished I would have the strength to save you.”

  She swallowed. “And then you chose to save me, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” His arm tightened almost imperceptibly.

  “Does that mean I have power over you?” Her voice rose, fear and anger crowding each other for prominence. “I don’t want it! I didn’t mean to take it!”

  He stopped abruptly, his eyes sharp on her face. “You still don’t understand,” he breathed. “You did not take power. It was entrusted to you!”

  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  His lips twitched, as if he wanted to explain everything but could not. Perhaps the rules of Faerie prevented it, or perhaps it was only his pride.

  “I gave it to you,” he said finally.

  “Why?” Her voice cracked, and she pulled away from him.

  He took a deep breath and let it out softly. “Come,” he murmured. “Whatever argument you have with me, let us walk as we speak.” He offered her his arm again, inclining his head graciously toward her.

  She hesitated, and he waited, motionless and silent, his lightning eyes strangely dull. His lips tightened, and he swallowed, but he still waited as the seconds drew out, as a thousand contradictory thoughts and emotions swirled through her head.

  Finally she slipped her trembling fingers into the crook of hi
s arm, and he closed his eyes.

  “Come away with me, oh human child,” he murmured.

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  He glanced at her, his steps quickening. “Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild, with a fairy, hand in hand…” His voice tightened.

  At her questioning look, he added softly, “For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”

  “Weeping for what?” A terrible fear crept through her limbs, as if something dreadful were about to happen that she could neither understand nor prevent, but would suffer anyway. “What is going to happen?”

  He looked down to meet her eyes with a melancholy smile. “Nothing that concerns you.” He raised a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb grazing softly over her cheekbone. “I’d thought… I’d hoped things would end differently. But there is not enough time.”

  “What do you mean ‘end’?” Her heart thudded raggedly.

  The fading sunlight caught his long lashes, pale as moonlight, and the sharp edge of his jaw, the faint lines of strain around his eyes. “When you wake, tell Lord Faolan, whom you know as Feighlí, that I thank him for his service. He is both wise and good, and I could not have wished for a better friend.” His eyes swept over her face. “Tell him also that there is not enough time for what we had hoped, and he must send you back. I would do so from here, but I need all the power I have, and more, for the fight. Faolan can use the mirror in my study to send you; it will make it much easier. After sending you back, he is to come here with all who can fight, and send all who cannot to a safe place. Not the palace; he will know the place I mean.” He licked his lips and hesitated, then lightly pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I thank you, Claire Maeve Delaney, for all that you have done, and all that you have suffered on my behalf. You are, indeed, a hero.” His lips trembled, and he clenched his jaw.

  He raised one hand to cup her cheek again, then brushed his fingers gently over her eyelids as he said, “Now you must wake up.”

  Claire blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she was facing the grand front entrance of a magnificent palace. An expansive set of marble steps rose before her, leading to a wide portico lush with vines dripping with fuchsia blooms.