Page 91 of Vale of Dreams

“I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be something I’m not,” I say. “Not just here. At home, too. I pretend like I have everything together, that I’m in control, that everything is fine. I’m very skilled at hiding what I’m feeling.”

“Because your father isn’t in control, so you pretend to be.”

My mother, I think, but yes. I nod.

Intensity sparks in his eyes, and the rings of copper seem bright in the firelight. His skin looks warm, too. Gilded. “Perhaps we do have something in common. Tell me more.”

I think back to my real life—my Nia Melisende life, not Vaillancourt. There were the times my mom forgot to pick me up from school, and I’d have to make up a quick lie to the teachers so they wouldn’t worry and judge her. You know what? I forgot, I’d say with a smile. I’m supposed to walk to dance class today. Then I’d make the two-mile trek home in the LA heat.

There was the time my mom fell down the stairs and broke her jaw, and I called the ambulance. The first responders asked me if she’d been drinking, and I blamed it on a broken stair. There were the hundreds of times I claimed that she couldn’t show up to school events because she had a work emergency, so I made up a career for her—she worked in PR, and she had to entertain a celebrity. When I got home, I made dinner and did the laundry.

All day long, it was a torrent, an absolute waterfall of lies to make it seem like no one needed to worry.

Clearly, I was raised to be a spy.

“When our family came to visit and people would ask after my father, I’d make up excuses for him. I’d say he was sick or working. I’d take care of everything. I learned that no one will take care of you, and you must take care of yourself. And it always made me feel like I’d never amount to anything because there was always work to do, or someone to look after, so there was no point in having dreams. So, I felt like life would pass me by. I felt like the dreams and goals that other people had weren’t meant for me. I had too much to do, and it trapped me. It was like I was watching the world through a looking glass I was stuck behind.”

His eyes narrow. “I think I want to hurt the person who made you think all of that.”

My heart flutters. I don’t want him hunting down Meriadec, and he seems like just the kind of person who might. I wouldn’t want him to hurt my real mom, either. Spending time with her when she was actually paying attention to me was glorious. I remember when she’d take me to Venice Beach, and she’d buy me funnel cake, and we’d stop to watch the musicians play. Once, she bought me a kite shaped like a giant dragonfly, with bright ribbons that flowed off it. Then we’d wander through nearby art galleries and pick out pieces that would decorate our future, imaginary mansions.

“My father can be fun, too,” I said quickly. “He has an artistic side. He always wants more than we have. He lives in his head and dreams of greatness but can’t ever seem to get there. He’s stuck in a life he didn’t want. He tried to escape in any way he could, and the easiest way is by getting drunk. He wanted better for me, but he didn’t know how to make it happen, and it was just his own narrow vision of what greatness was. So, maybe my own dreams got lost while I was looking after him. But things have changed, haven’t they? And now I’m here. And it’s not the worst thing in the world to be able to take care of yourself. It’s kind of a gift to be self-sufficient.”

When I look back at Talan, he has gone completely still. “I think there’s more to you than Lumos could ever have realized.”

“You said that we had something in common. You’re hiding something, too. So, what is it?”

A line forms between his eyebrows. “Father’s reign has always wrought catastrophe. He will unravel the fabric of our kingdom, like a loom weaving in reverse, until all is tangled and ruined. He turns the world into a rotten necropolis where hope withers on the vine. Where we watch our lives pass by, helpless to change our fates.”

I swallow hard. When he’s drunk, the words he speaks out loud sound more like his thoughts. Strange. Poetic. This is the real Talan. “But what, exactly, will you change?”

His gaze shutters, and he looks away from me. “Like I said, I will achieve our goals more efficiently.”

He glances at me again, as if he’s searching to see how I’ll react. Then he frowns at me. He reaches to brush his thumb over my chin, just below my lips. “How did you get hurt?”

My heart speeds up. I’d just looked in the mirror twenty minutes ago, and I thought it looked much better. But of course, I didn’t have the godlike Fey senses. “It’s nothing.”

“But how did it happen?”

My mind whirls as I try to come up with another story, but I feel crushed by all the lies, each one of them a rock weighing on my chest. Breaking my ribs. I’m desperate for something real, a connection with anyone. And I have the most insane impulse to simply tell him the truth about everything.

I’m lying to him, to Tana, to Nivene, to Mordred, to Raphael and every single person I know, and right now, I just want to scream the truth, even if it kills me.

Of course, I know that makes no sense at all, so I swallow the impulse, bitterly.

I realize I’ve simply been staring at him in silence for far too long.

“Nia,” he says softly. “If you want to keep your secrets, you can.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you.”

I blink. Strangely, my eyes are misting. “Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t know. For some reason, I feel like I know you.”

I swallow hard. No one knows me, though, do they?

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