Page 66 of Vale of Dreams

Dressed in a bright pink sundress that makes no sense in winter, her face flushed to match it, she leans against one of the Iron Legion goons, eyes glazed. She’s smiling that smile she wears when she wants to placate a guy.

“Hey, Brandy,” Tarquin says. “Do that bit again. From the movie you played in.”

“Oh, you boys have heard it so many times.” My mom giggles.

“It’s always so cool to hear it again. You know what big fans we are of your film.”

My throat is dry. When she was young, back in the eighties, mom was an actress in one film. That was back when electronics worked, of course. It was some sort of comedy. She made me watch it a bunch of times. It was terrible, but Mom always mentioned it to everyone. Her fifteen minutes of glory.

Now, my mom stands up, and to my absolute horror, mimes as if she’s showering, washing her hair. Then she turns around, her eyes widening. She covers her chest. “Why, Jason,” she says, her voice slurred from the drink. “I didn’t know you were here.”

And Tarquin, Horatio, and two other guys all shout the next line together: “Well, what would you do if you did know?”

Mom gives them a lopsided grin. “Oh, you boys. You’re terrible.”

They all laugh hysterically, and Mom laughs with them.

“You’re so much fun, Brandy,” Tarquin says. “I can see where Nia gets all of her qualities.”

At that, more of them laugh.

I stumble out of the common room and find my way outside to the cold air. Once I do, I promptly throw up all over the grass.

It’s clear that this is not the first time my mom has spent her time hanging out with the Iron Legion. And it’s clear why they’re keeping her around: Nia’s mother, the great joke. I should never have left Camelot with her still here.

I force myself to walk toward the boat, out by Nimue’s Tower.

As I cross the bridge, I can hear their laughter echoing in my thoughts, and I wipe a tear from my cheek.

Tarquin has no idea what’s coming for him.

My body shakes with exhaustion as I stumble through the portal back to Brocéliande. I wait, crouched by the wall, until the coast is clear. As luck would have it, it doesn’t take long.

I hurry across the snowy courtyard, pulling my cloak tightly around me.

The sun is rising already, a rosy blush spreading over the kingdom. I’m late. Too late. Aisling will have knocked on my door by now. She’ll have entered the room and seen the empty bed.

But I push that thought away. No point worrying about it unless she’s suspicious.

My breath puffs around me as I hurry across the snow, and I reach my tower. I dash up the stairs, then stride through the hallways to my room.

When I reach my bedroom, I find the door slightly open, and my stomach sinks.

I step inside silently to find that Aisling is standing by the bed, the tea tray in her hands. She turns to look at me, and my mind whirrs. “And where were you, my lady?”

Time slows down.

I know what Nivene would do. A quick stab to the throat, and she’d be gone. A loose end tied up. It’s the best course of action. Anything else would place me in a problematic position.

I smile. “I woke up early and went for a long walk in the gardens.”

She frowns, eying me, my disheveled clothes, my flushed face. “It must have been a very long walk, my lady.”

And there it is—the tinge of suspicion.

I look at her and force myself to think about Tarquin and my mother. About the attack on my friends. About Mordred’s warning of Arwenna’s poison. Of all the people dying in Scotland because I still haven’t provided any useful intel about the war. About Raphael’s crushing rejection. My chin trembles, a tear trickling from my eye.

“Oh, my lady, what’s wrong?”

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