Page 69 of Vale of Dreams

He glances up at the window. “That’s the drowned Isle of Shallott.”

My eyebrows flick up. I’m still trying to reorganize my thoughts, to compose myself after everything went so badly awry. I’m trying not to think about how this lovely claret looks like the blood of the man Talan just killed. I take a sip of the wine and relax a little. It’s heaven, in fact—berries and oak infused with sunlight.

The light catches Talan’s eyes. They are dark as ebony, but at this angle, I can see a vibrant ring of copper around the iris. How did I never notice that copper before?

“Why did you choose Shallott to hang on your wall?” I ask.

“That’s where my mother was from, before the isle was drowned in the human war.”

My curiosity sparks. “All the way out in Lauron, we don’t really hear that much about what happens at court. I never heard about your mother.”

When he looks at me again, the copper is dazzling. “She died a long time ago. They say a demi-Fey turned her in to the King’s Watch, trying to curry favor with my father.”

I swallow hard. “Is that why you hate humans so much?”

He’s studying me closely, and my breath catches. “Tell me, Nia, why can’t I see into your dreams? I can’t get in your head at all.”

As he speaks, I feel his magic prodding at the edges of my mind, trying to look for a weakness, a serpent’s fang of power nudging at my thoughts. I clench my teeth and fight to stay in control. There’s danger in the intensity of his gaze, and I stare out the windows at the mossy walls surrounding the castle. “I have no idea, Talan. I don’t know how your power works.”

I turn back to see him sipping his wine. He’s wearing a black, short-sleeves shirt, baring the skin of his lower arms. A tattoo twists up one forearm and over his bicep, disappearing into his shirt. Thorny vines, I think, that reach all the way up to his throat, stopping just below his chin. No, not vines, I realize, leaves of a willow branch, drawn to look sharp.

He’s standing so casually, so relaxed, but he’s still trying to break into my mind, and I can feel my defenses about to shatter like glass.

CHAPTER 24

Iswallow hard. Agony shoots up my wrist from my earlier fall. It’s difficult to protect myself from his magic when I’m in pain, but I have to pretend that everything is fine. The Fey heal quickly—well, the real Fey.

I need to distract him.

Stepping closer to him, I trace the path of his tattoo with the tip of my finger, inhaling his masculine scent. “A willow branch. Are they in Shalott, too? Because they’re in the tapestry.”

His full lips part. “So I’ve been told. They’re on my family crest. Not Auberon’s, but my mother’s side. When Mordred trapped her in the tower of Camelot, they say the willows in Shallott turned bone-white with sorrow.”

My finger pauses. “And she died here, in Brocéliande?”

“Executed. Burned at the stake.” His eyes narrow, and his thick eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “For spying.”

My breath goes quiet in my lungs, and I pull my hand away from him. I can’t stay here long. I was hoping to find a way to sneak back in later when he isn’t around, but I don’t see any other doors leading into the room except the main one, and we’re far too high up for me to climb in through the window.

I need to get him to leave me alone in here so I can rifle through his things.

I glance at his desk, where books lay open on a stack of papers, and lean against a windowsill. “So, do you have the night off from torturing?”

He scoffs. “I’m bored of using the rack. The screaming gets on my nerves sometimes. So high-pitched, the way they shriek.”

I swallow hard. I think he’s joking, but I can’t be sure.

I raise my glass and smile coyly. “Well, congratulations. You continue to be the worst person I know.”

“Do I get a prize for this honor?”

I rack my brain for something—anything that I overheard in his thoughts that might give me a second alone.

…the taut cherry skin yields as my teeth pierce it, and the tart flavor bursts over my tongue. Cherries and cream, the nectar of the gods when the rest of the day has left me wanting…

Someone special to him used to bring them to him, and now he loves them.

I lick my lips. “I think you deserve a prize, yes. When I was little, before the famine, if we did something worthy of celebrating, my big sister used to bring cherries for me.”

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