Page 38 of Vale of Dreams

I wrinkle my nose. “We were together for military training. Don’t you remember?” I ask, sounding hurt.

Cadoc hates Riwanon, who often uses his position to harass the women working in the kitchen. And Riwanon loves nothing more than to wax about all the women he shags during training.

“Oh…” He blinks. “Right. You’re…uh…”

“Adelaide.” I take two steps toward him, tilting my head shyly. Riwanon once told Cadoc that he slept with so many women in the training camps that all their names blended. “Don’t you remember our night together? I thought it was memorable.”

Slowly, his expression grows more hostile, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. And with a sinking feeling, I realize my mistake. Of course. A man like Riwanon who brags nonstop about his prowess with women is obviously full of shit. He didn’t seduce a single woman during training—possibly ever.

And I just blew my cover.

On the other hand, the distraction worked. While I was talking to him, Nivene slipped behind him. I give a nearly imperceptible nod, and she leaps forward to jam her dagger into his neck, her lips curled back with ferocity.

He tries to scream, but with the blade in his throat, it comes out as a gurgle. Somehow, he’s still on his feet. Blood spilling from his lips, he swings his sword violently in a wide arc.

I pull the knife from the hidden sheath in my sleeve and dart forward, kicking him hard in his chest, my boot connecting with his ribs. He loses his balance, falling backward over one of the jagged stones that jut from the earth. Incredibly, despite the knife in his neck, he’s still alive. Adrenalin crackles through my veins, electrifying me.

Nivene and I are both upon him. I stab him twice in his side as Nivene wrestles his sword away. Everything unfolds in nearly complete silence—just grunts and hisses whispering in the night air. At last, Riwanon’s large body slumps motionless on the grass, blood trickling from his lips.

This is a disturbing reminder of how difficult the Fey are to kill.

“Wow.” Nivene is breathing hard. “This fucker was tough.”

My heart slams hard against my ribs. “There’s blood on your face.”

She leans down and wipes it off with Riwanon’s cloak.

We do our best to clean ourselves of the blood, then hide the body in the dark tangles of the night brambles that climb the walls. They’ll find him by tomorrow, but by then, we’ll be well out of Corbinelle.

“Come on,” I whisper. “This way.” A winding stone path leads us along the perimeter of the grounds, and it will take us to the stables. To my right, the pale, sharp-spired towers rise into the air like stone gods.

“This place is fucking huge,” she breathes.

When I was here the other night, I didn’t go anywhere near the stables. But Cadoc has, and that means I know where they are. It’s always bizarre, following someone else’s memories as if they’re my own. Even long after the connection is severed, my mind is shot through with flashes of feelings that I can’t quite place. An apple tree makes me wistful for someone Cadoc misses, and an empty guardhouse near the castle makes me flush with embarrassment.

But I also feel fear, and that comes from me. What if the stables are heavily guarded? What if Talan senses I’m here again and hunts me down, finding me inexplicably dressed as an armed messenger? I focus, strengthening the veil in my mind.

I lead Nivene east, hugging the castle’s outermost walls in the shadows. We pass a stone fountain, one where raven-shaped spigots spew water into the wintry air and water burbles in the basin. We walk past a rookery, where a few birds stir, ruffling their feathers.

“The tavern we’re heading for should be a safe spot,” says Nivene. “The owner of the Shadowed Thicket is anti-monarchy. Or at least he was fifteen years ago. But anything could have changed since then, so we still need to be cautious, yeah? I don’t even know if our contact will be there. If he is, let me do the talking. He’s going to be cagey.”

“Tell me about him again.”

She leans in close to me. “His name is Meriadec. He’s one of Avalon’s sleeper agents in Brocéliande. What do you know about the Scorched Earth Revolution?”

I try to recall what Amon taught us during training. “Two centuries ago, the commoners revolted because of wealth inequality and dwindling food. And it failed.”

“Right.” Nivene nods. “Interestingly, it happened just a short time after the French Revolution ended. Some scholars believe there’s a connection. People were dying in the streets, hardly more than skeletons, eating leaves and moss. And the nobles had six servants each just to serve them their breakfasts. One to pour coffee, one to butter the bread, and so on.”

“That’s very specific. You almost sound like you were there.”

“My mother was.”

I should be used to the fact that Fey live for centuries, but it still catches me off guard. “Wow.”

“So, the commoners revolted, just as you say. But there was one tiny difference between the French Revolution and the Fey revolution. Unlike Louis XVI, Auberon had dragons.”

My stomach flutters. I can’t quite imagine the horror of a dragon-scorched landscape.

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