Page 53 of Vale of Dreams

“That is apparent. And that is why they can’t stand to have you here.”

“Your father certainly doesn’t seem happy,” I whisper.

“Yes.” His lips curl in a wicked smile.

“This might be fun for you, but you’ve put me in danger.”

“You truly make an art form out of being overwrought, don’t you? I’ve given you a life fit for a princess, and you’re still upset about it. Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone harm a hair on my faithful mistress’s head. But now I really do need your skills.”

“Now?”

“Yes. One of our targets is right here. Duke Ker-Ys. My sources claim that he has been plotting some kind of treason.”

“And you’re not just going to slit his throat or enter his dreams?”

“No, I need him alive. And dreams are complicated. Some peoples’ dreams are intricate and detailed, full of their lives. Others are fantasies and fears, and some barely dream at all. Duke Ker-Ys dreams almost every night that he is counting green beads. Hundreds of green beads. I cannot manipulate his dreams, nor see anything in them. His own tedium is a powerful shield. That’s what I need you for.”

“You want me to read his thoughts and see what he’s planning?”

“No. I don’t care what he’s planning. If I wanted to know, I’d have him arrested and interrogated. I want you to take control of his mind and make him confess to me privately.”

My breath quickens. I’ve become entangled in Talan’s murderous web. “What’s the point? You can slit people’s throats with impunity. Why do you need me to make him confess?”

“Don’t worry about why. Just do as I ask. Do you understand what I need? I need him to talk to me privately and confess all the details of his treason. To me only. Not to anyone else.”

“I understand,” I say. And I do. Slowly, the pieces are sliding together in my mind. If he arrests the duke and gets a confession, he will only take down the duke. The duke’s son will simply take his place, and Talan will gain nothing. But if the duke confesses to the prince in private about his betrayal, Talan will gain leverage over him. Ker-Ys will be in Talan’s pocket. A duke on the council of nobles, voting and acting every way Talan needs. Not to mention, Ker-Ys might expose or fabricate additional conspirators whom Talan could blackmail.

“Pay attention.” He twirls me, and I lean into his arm, my head thrown back. I get an upside-down glimpse of the dancers spinning on the floor. Then he pulls me upright. “Did you see the man with the deep green jacket trimmed with gold?” he asks.

“Yes. Dancing with a woman in a silver dress with a flower crown.”

He lets out a short laugh, one that almost sounds like surprise. “Very good. The woman is Lady Breval, a tedious old witch. Ignore her. The man is Ker-Ys. He’s your target.”

I nestle my face against his chest, but my eyes are on Duke Ker-Ys. He’s easy to pick out in a crowd, with a shock of long white hair, bronze skin, and eyes that glitter like emeralds. I whisper to Talan, “My powers only work with touch.”

“Don’t worry. Ker-Ys will ask you to dance. He is nothing if not predictable. And when you dance together, you’ll get your chance.”

I almost feel guilty at the part I’m playing in this macabre and twisted play. The stage is set, the curtain is rising, and I will play a starring role in the ruthless pageant of Talan’s making.

But I don’t dwell too long on guilt. After all, everyone here is an enemy who’d kill me in moments if they knew who I was.

When the dance ends, Talan bows deeply and brushes a kiss across the back of my hand. His dark eyelashes flick up, and he gives me a faint smile before dropping my hand and sauntering away once more.

I’m about to return to my seat when Nivene stumbles toward me, giggling. “Sister!” She grabs my arm drunkenly. “Can you believe this? Us, dancing here, with all these important people?” Her face is flushed pink, and her dress is a bit askew. She leans against me, struggling to keep her balance.

“Yes, it’s all our dreams come true,” I say.

She has her hand up as though she’s whispering, but her voice comes out in a loud imitation of a drunk girl. “I danced with the owner of the biggest wine cellar in Brocéliande. He has so. Much. Wine.”

She tugs on my arm as she falters.

At least, I hope this is an imitation of drunkenness.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs. “It was just a lot of really good mead. And wine. And sparkling wine…oh, wow, the room is spinning really fast.”

“Maybe you should go lie down,” I suggest, playing along.

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