Page 187 of The Bone Season

‘You’re burdened with mine, whether I like it or not.’

‘The cord should not give me any further access to your memories. I will not attempt to see them without your consent.’ Warden looked at me. ‘Paige, this is an intimate connection, and I have no way to break it. I would prefer not to share it with someone who despises me. Tell me what I can do to earn your trust back.’

‘Who says you had it in the first place?’

‘You were close.’

Now he had told me about the cord, I was becoming conscious of it – a wisp of awareness, like a draught, telling me how and where he was. Without a scrap of concrete evidence, I was sure he was being honest.

‘Show me the heart of your dreamscape,’ I said. ‘So I can see you.’ He seemed to mull it over. ‘You know I’ll never get that far unless you let me in. You used your gift to judge my character. This is how I judge yours.’ I paused. ‘I want to trust you, Warden.’

‘So be it. If you are to train with me again, we should take the first step,’ Warden said. ‘Will the scimorphine affect your gift?’

‘No idea.’ I shifted on to my side. ‘I might hurt you.’

‘I will cope.’

‘In case you’d forgotten, I have actually killed people by dreamwalking.’

‘I accept the risk.’

‘Fine.’ I cleared my throat. ‘It would help if I was a little closer to you. Could you … lie on the floor next to me, or something?’

Warden did as I asked without protest, positioning himself by the fire on his back. His gloved fingers clasped on his chest.

Once, I would have relished this opportunity to break him. Now I was only intrigued. Before I had taken hold of the butterfly, I had savoured the freedom of walking in its dreamscape. It would be fascinating to see one that had existed for centuries.

‘I won’t stay long.’ I passed him a cushion. ‘I can’t, without oxygen.’

‘Very well.’ He tucked the cushion under his head. ‘I am ready when you are.’

There was something absurd about seeing him this way – this giant of a man, lying free and easy on the floor. I looked away to hide my smile.

‘Brace yourself, then,’ I said.

He nodded. I lay on my side across the daybed, letting my eyes close.

The poppy field was a blurred painting. Everything was melting, softened by the scimorphine, but I could still move. I cut through my flowers, heading for the æther. When I reached the final boundary, I pushed my hands through it, watching the illusion of my body fade away.

In my dreamscape, I had a dream-form, which appeared as I perceived myself. Once I left, I took on my spirit form, amorphous and faceless.

As I approached his dreamscape, a ripple crossed its surface as he lowered his defences. I slid past the dense walls, into the darkness of the hadal zone, where I took shape again. A golden thread stretched before me, making me think of the story of the Minotaur, another one in that book from Eliza.

Like Theseus, I followed it. I had reached this point during our training sessions, but only in bursts. Now I could take my time. I walked through the dwindling gloom, heading for the middle of his mind.

Unlike the tiny mind of the butterfly, his was cavernous, like a cathedral. Each circle took a while to cross. It seemed that dreamscapes widened by the year, the way a tree grew new rings over time.

Though this place dwarfed me, I felt no fear. I passed a spectre, a dark manifestation of memory. It watched me, but did nothing.

Warden waited in his sunlit zone, covered in scars, his face gaunt. This was how he saw himself – bleak and weary, drained of all hope. I approached him. Now I was in his dreamscape, I was playing by his rules. My hands looked almost the same as my real ones, except with a soft glow. A new dream-form, shaped by his personal impressions of me.

There were no mirrors in a dreamscape. I would never be able to see his Paige – just as he could never see his melancholy picture of himself.

I stopped at the edge of the twilight zone. His dream-form inclined his head.

‘Welcome. Forgive the lack of décor,’ he said. ‘I do not often have guests.’

‘It really is minimalist,’ I agreed.

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