Dreaming Death

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Shironne sat at her table, the hot tea before her long since gone cold. The clock had told her it was morning now, but she felt exhausted. She ignored the tray Cook sent up for breakfast, her stomach too knotted to deal with food.

  “Someone died last night,” Shironne said when Melanna came into the room and sat nearby. Her sister seemed unusually subdued this morning. No bouncing on the bed.

  “You all right?” Melanna asked hesitantly. Her sister took her hand, and Shironne caught the sense of what Melanna had dreamed, similar to her own terrors. Fortunately, Melanna had dreamed of only unformed fear, shame, and captivity—the emotions of the dream.

  “Yes, we’ll be fine,” Shironne insisted.

  This time, though, had been different. She just didn’t know why.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mikael didn’t want to leave the infirmary. He lay under the blanket, staring at the gray walls of his tiny room. He’d called up the lights, but they didn’t let off any heat. While it might be cool in the infirmary, the reception awaiting him outside would be far chillier. Even so, he would have to leave this room if he ever hoped to shower again.

  The door opened and Deborah came inside, a cup of tea in her hand. She pulled the wooden chair nearer to the bed and sat for a moment contemplating him.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” Mikael said. He didn’t know where to begin. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “I haven’t had the chance yet, dear. I’ve been talking to Dahar.” She handed him the cup.

  “Not angry words, I hope.”

  “He has a headache, Mikael, which makes him unreasonable. Well, slightly more unreasonable than usual. How do you feel?” She went on to ask him the same questions she’d asked before. He didn’t have better answers to give this time.

  “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?” Deborah asked. When he shook his head, she stood up and briskly brushed off her trousers. “I want you to return to your quarters and get cleaned up. I should warn you that a couple dozen of the stronger sensitives imitated your response to the dream.”

  He felt sick to his stomach. “You mean . . . ?”

  “Fainter markings than yours, but still tender, most with some shortness of breath. The elders are understandably concerned.”

  Mikael cringed. The elders. He was probably going to be dragged into an elders’ meeting, and it would all be aired out there. “Is anyone missing?”

  “The elders have requested that the Firsts take stock. Not all have reported in yet.” She leaned down and checked his forehead for warmth again, like his mother had done during his childhood. “I want to see you again later today,” she ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mikael didn’t bother to suggest she get some sleep. Once she left, he got up and dressed. Then he sat down again in a cold sweat from that effort.

  An hour later, bathed and wearing a fresh uniform, Mikael made his way to the office. He’d been stopped this morning in the halls by six different sentries—two frightened, but four alarmingly thankful because their children had not gone out with the midnight run. The reaction embarrassed him.

  He had no idea how word had spread so quickly. He told them they should thank Deborah, who’d gotten it called off. Even so, Mikael found gratitude a pleasant, if confusing, change.

  All of the Firsts had reported in, save one. One of the twenty-twos was missing—Iselin. After he dismissed the runner who’d brought the news, Mikael wanted to sit in a corner and cry. Even if she hadn’t liked him, he would never have wished this on her. Someone from the Daujom would have to question the twenty-twos to find out where Iselin had gone the night before.

  He could ask someone from the back rooms to go. Anna could handle the questions with appropriate tact and composure.

  But it has to be me.

  He’d known that from the moment the runner came from Below with the message. Since Dahar hadn’t come to the office yet—he was probably still out of sorts from bad dreams—Mikael sent the runner on her way, locked up the office, and began the long trek back down into the fortress.

  Eventually he stood at the guideline of the twenty-twos’ hallway, although today there was no laughter. There were only a handful of the twenty-twos there, and no children. They spoke together in low voices, heads bowed over the central table. Mikael waited, unsure he wanted to approach them, but there wasn’t much choice.

  One of the men finally deigned to acknowledge his presence and rose from the couches. Taller than Mikael, with a distinctive reddish tint to his braids, he stopped just on the other side of the line, much as Iselin had when Mikael had spoken to her. “What do you need?” he asked bluntly.

  He has to know why I’m here. “Daujom business. Is there anyone who can tell me where Iselin went last night, and what time?”

  The younger man’s lip twisted. He gazed at Mikael a moment longer. “I suppose you want to talk to Jannika,” he finally said.

  He’d suspected it would be Jannika. She would be the most likely of the group to know Iselin’s plans. “Yes.”

  The younger man simply walked away, heading down the long hall toward the individual quarters. He stopped at one of the closed doors and knocked softly, then spoke to someone within. After a moment, Jannika emerged from the room, another woman with loose, curling hair accompanying her. That woman walked with Jannika as far as the common room, then stopped to wait. Jannika walked to the line and, after a moment of indecision, finally glanced up at Mikael.

  She looked worse than he felt, her eyes bloodshot and her nose reddened. She wore an aged shirt over sparring trousers, her feet bare. “What do you need to know?”

  Her tone didn’t invite any pleasantries, and he had no idea what to say to her anyway. He tried to keep his demeanor professional. “Do you know why Iselin was out of the fortress last night? I need to know where she would have gone.”

  Jannika wrapped her arms over her chest. “She went to meet her boyfriend, Savrin Nisimi. He’s a musician.” She shook her head, no longer looking at him. “He was playing for the king and she met him there. She was going to marry him, leave the Family.”

  Mikael tucked that name away in his memory—a Larossan name. That information should make it easy enough for him to find the young man. The king’s seneschal had to pay the musicians somehow. “Do you know what time she left the fortress?”

  “She had night shift the night before,” Jannika said, sounding weary now. “She napped and then left before dinner, about four?”

  That gave him a rough time to work with. The sentries at the back gate to the palace grounds could narrow down what time she’d gone out. Finding her trail from there would take time, and he wondered if the colonel’s people would be willing to take that on, since they were more likely to get answers out of any Larossans they spoke with. “I assume she’s done this before. Was there anything different about yesterday?”

  Jannika’s eyes lifted, tears glistening in them. For a moment he wished he could step over the line to comfort her, but he was very aware she hadn’t invited him to do so. From the common area, the man who’d spoken to him before rose and began approaching, apparently picking up on Jannika’s distress.

  “You made me live through my best friend’s death,” she said tightly. Her jaw clenched. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Not ever. Do you understand that?”

  Mikael pressed his lips together, breathing in through his nose and counting his breaths to control his pained reaction. Jannika simply turned away from him and walked back toward her quarters. She paused briefly to embrace the young man and then went on to where her friend waited.

  The young man with reddish hair came and joined Mikael outside the line. He wasn’t in uniform, but Mikael guessed this was Jannika’s First—the leader of her yeargroup. “She’s upset,” he told Mikael, eyeing him speculatively. “Last night we felt your dream, far more clearly than eve
r before. I have . . . marks. On my chest. Is it like that for you every time?”

  He’d expected a far more accusing tone. “Yes.”

  “I assume it’s actually worse for you.”

  Was he being given a chance to explain himself? “Yes.”

  “You leave the fortress when you’re about to dream.” He touched his chest with two fingers. “This is why, isn’t it?”

  Mikael nodded. “Distance helps. I’m sorry that you . . . had to share that. That anyone did.”

  The younger man crossed his arms over his chest. “Jannika’s upset. Worse when we realized Iselin was the only one missing. If you have any further questions, can you run them through me instead?”

  “You’re the First?”

  “I am,” the young man said. “Tomas.”

  Mikael nodded once. “Thank you. I know it’s a bad time.”

  “Find out what happened,” Tomas said. “That will make all the twenty-twos a lot happier.”

  “I will,” Mikael promised. He turned to leave, but Tomas grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

  “We all know Jannika’s been chasing you lately,” Tomas said. “Perhaps unwisely so.”

  Mikael didn’t have any response for that.

  “She’s upset because Iselin planned to leave the Family. She just doesn’t want to be alone. You were easier than nothing.” And with that pronouncement, Tomas let go his grasp on Mikael’s sleeve and headed back toward the common area. Mikael glanced down that long gray hallway, but Jannika had already disappeared into her quarters. Given that, he decided it would be best to get out of the fortress before he thought over that parting shot. So he turned onto the main corridor and headed for the main stairwell that would take him back up.

  Once he’d reached One Down, he made for the grand stair, thinking he could get back to the office and stew over Tomas’ pronouncement there. It hadn’t been meant to reassure him. No, Tomas meant that Jannika had started chasing him out of desperation. She’d seen him as an easy choice, since they’d had a relationship before.

  It hadn’t quite been an insult. But close.

  Hadn’t he asked himself more than once why she’d seemed so eager to renew their relationship? Perhaps Tomas was doing him a favor, letting him know Jannika’s logic before their relationship went too far. Or perhaps Tomas was simply wrong. Given that the yeargroup appeared close, Mikael doubted it.

  It made what had already been a terrible day seem worse.

  Mikael went through the main archway and, after signing out, faced the grand stair with tired eyes. His lungs ached just contemplating it. Either way, he took as deep a breath as he could manage and began the trek upstairs, concentrating on being happy, being contented. He had to keep his mind clear, or he would make the day worse for the sentries than it already was.

  By the time he reached the ground level, he’d broken out in a cold sweat again. Not wanting to walk into the office that way, instead he took the side hallway that led out to the courtyard behind the palace. Breath steaming in the chilly morning air, he made his way across the wide flagstone drive and into the gardens. He walked the paths there to calm his mind. The garden was tired with fall, the leaves on many of the plants turning in response to the shorter days, and flowers drooping following the early cold snap they’d had.

  He rarely walked here. He usually maintained his calm better. He hadn’t actually wanted to pursue Jannika, so her reaction shouldn’t sting so much, but he’d thought they were friends. Talking to Tomas had served to remind him what a disruption he would be to the togetherness of any yeargroup.

  He’d become too much of a problem in his own yeargroup, one of the main reasons the Lee elders had sent him away. He missed it. He missed the comfort of being part of a group. This stung so much because it was a reminder that he was never going to have that again.

  Mikael let out a heavy sigh and did his best to order his thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on this. He had a killer to find. Iselin’s murder meant that this case now fell under the Daujom’s jurisdiction, and that meant it was his case now.

  • • •

  On entering the office he learned that Cerradine had mobilized a squad of men to walk the banks of the river. Dahar had sent a message as soon as he’d woken, sparing Mikael the need to do so. Not being a strong sensitive, Dahar probably hadn’t recognized that the victim was Lucas Family, so Mikael needed to convey that information to Aldassa. It might help him to know where she’d gone before being killed. Not so much for locating the body, but it might help find the killers if he knew how they were finding their victims.

  With the death of a Lucas, the jurisdiction of the case had changed. Justice for Iselin’s death fell beyond the purview of the army and into the Daujom’s hands. Even so, the army already had personnel working on the case, and Mikael was inclined to work with them. And when he discussed the identity of the victim with Dahar and Kai, Dahar quickly reached the same conclusion. The army simply had more bodies available to them, while most of the Daujom’s field personnel were hidden in households throughout the province. Bringing them in to search for the killers would be wasteful, given that most had worked hard to establish themselves under fake identities.

  Mikael rubbed his hands across his face, trying to banish the lingering exhaustion. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Elisabet. She didn’t have her overcoat on, a sign she must be exhausted as well. She had likely been awake at all hours soothing frayed nerves and playing nursemaid for her own yeargroup, an odd image.

  He cast a sympathetic smile her way and got to work. He drafted a note for Aldassa and sent it off via a runner, who would hand it over to a courier to take down to the army’s office. Then he turned to the paperwork waiting on his desk.

  Deborah came to the office not much later, earning an aggrieved look from Dahar. “Haven’t you gone to bed yet?” he asked as soon as Mikael let her in the door.

  “I don’t have time.” She turned to Mikael. “Have you told him?”

  Mikael flushed. There was no graceful way out of this. “No, ma’am.”

  “Should I, then?”

  She looked worn, and older than her forty-four years. Mikael hated that he’d caused her so much trouble. “You’ll explain it better than I can, I think.”

  Deborah crossed her arms, appearing ready for a fight. “Do you recall, Dahar, that we had a discussion about two years ago regarding Mikael’s ties to his victims in his dreams? That I thought he was getting too close to the victim, or hanging on too long?” Dahar had come close to her in his peregrinations, and Deborah grabbed his sleeve to stop him. “Mikael, would you take off your shirt, please?”

  “Ma’am, this really isn’t necessary,” he said.

  She turned and gave him a level glance. “Were you going to tell him? At all?”

  Shaking his head, Mikael stood and unbuttoned his vest, and then his shirt. He pulled them loose enough that Dahar could see the purplish welts left across his skin. The letters had partially faded, leaving an unformed word from his right shoulder to the end of his collarbone.

  Dahar came closer to gaze at Mikael’s nascent injuries. “Is this painful?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Mikael buttoned his shirt again and tucked it into his trousers, grateful his employer had seen only this limited manifestation. Fortunately, Dahar was too weak a sensitive to have reflected the injuries.

  “Does it match . . . ?” Dahar asked.

  “Usually, yes.” Mikael straightened his braces and buttoned his vest, not wanting to look at any of them. “She died before they could finish what they were writing. That’s why the inscription isn’t complete this time.”

  “That’s the only explanation that makes sense.” Deborah folded her arms again, looking at Dahar. “In other words, whatever drug they used to immobilize the first two victims proved fatal to a member of the Family.”


  “Is that possible?” Dahar asked.

  “They must be using one that doesn’t always kill, or kills slowly, only they chose someone whose body couldn’t deal with it this time. The poison killed her first, before she bled out. Merciful, actually. Family are far more susceptible to most drugs than Larossans or Anvarrid.”

  Mikael felt his eyebrows rise. He didn’t recall having heard that before, but if Deborah believed it, there must be ample evidence. If it was true, it wasn’t something the elders would want to become common knowledge.

  Dahar walked to the windows that overlooked the courtyard. “Some of the sentries complained that they couldn’t breathe.”

  “Yes,” Deborah said softly. “Given Mikael’s description of the dream and what the other sensitives reported, I suspect that the drug involved paralyzed her lungs. Mikael, you actually stopped breathing for a few minutes.”

  Dahar turned from the windows to glare at Mikael. “Your elders sent you here for us to find a way to deal with this. From now on, you’re under Deborah’s control, sunset to dawn, until we can find a way to keep this from happening again. Whatever she tells you, you do it.”

  “It’s for your own good,” Kai said from across the room. “You lack self-control when you’re drunk.”

  At that moment, Mikael wanted nothing more than to put a fist in Kai’s face.

  Deborah knew them both well enough to intervene. “Dahar, may I take Mikael down to the infirmary to ask him some more questions?”

  “Provided that you get some sleep after that,” Dahar said.

  Having had enough humiliation, Mikael grabbed up his jacket and followed Deborah from the office.

  Deborah stopped at the doorway and turned back. “I’m going to send for Jon, Dahar. The three of us need to have a talk. There’s something—someone—you need to know about.”

  Dahar scowled, but Mikael noted that he didn’t argue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They hadn’t gotten far when a commotion at the outside entry to the grand stair made Mikael turn back. David Aldassa stood talking to the sentries there. Mikael met Deborah’s weary eyes. She nodded at him. “Fine. Go deal with Aldassa. I’ll send word for the mortuary officers to expect her.”