Page 18 of Fated or Knot

If I escaped to Zemosia, I would never see my stepfamily again, or Pack Ellisar. But I would never see everyone else, too. All the common fae who had become my friends when I became a house servant. Even the sharp-tongued ones who always told me their opinions on the state of the country and its politics. I’d never visit this restaurant again. I had not acknowledged the loss that would be, to venture into the unknown alone. I’d only wanted to flee the bad instead of saying goodbye to the good.

I can do that.Life in Osme Fen would move on without me. I’d make new friends in a sanctuary city free of alphas. My heat, once I finally stopped suppressing it, would make me cry out for an alpha, any alpha, to alleviate the pain, but there had to be a way of easing it that didn’t require their knots. Surely theomegas that already lived in the sanctuary city could teach me how to ride out my body’s urges.

There was a sudden jolt underneath me. The platform outside was slowly moving to one side as the train lurched into motion. I watched Ilysnor tug by as the train picked up speed along the magirail, gliding along on essence-infused metal. These trains could goreallyfast, I’d heard, and with that thought, the scenery blurred further.

I turned to look at the seat across from me, some instinct raising the hair on the back of my neck. Someone now sat there. A fae far more solid and real than the other people I’d dreamed up, who smelled of… well, I didn’t recognize his scent, but it was pleasant. And—thankfully—he was a stranger. I still braced for what might come next.

His nostrils were flared from scenting me back. A flicker of shock passed over his face, there and gone without lingering. He picked up an apple tartlet and took a testing nibble. “Oh, these arequite good,” he murmured.

I looked out the window again, but there was nothing to see anymore, just a blur of colors streaking by outside. When I settled to eat a bit more of my meal, the male across from me now had a basket full of apple tartlets, but they were small, and he popped them into his mouth with casual flicks of his wrist. Somehow, they landed in his mouth each time.

“Excuse me,” I said after watching him go for a minute or so. “Who are you?”

He startled, looking up at me. At least, I think he did, since he had no pupils. The orbs of his eyes were full of the starry night sky and threaded with a gleam of violet where light reflected off them. I stared, fascinated by him.

“You can see me?” he asked. Something about his voice seemed familiar, but I wasn’t sure why. His tone was calm and smooth, making me feel more relaxed.

“Yes,” I said.

The cloak behind him stirred and shifted. Actually, those werewings, marking him as an Unseelie of some kind, but that was a detail my sleeping mind slid right off of. Instead, I noticed that he had bold features, and his pointed ears stuck out on either side of his face as if he were part bat. His clothes were a confusing blur, something dark gray that offset the light purple tones of his skin well.

He had white hair like me, though his was cut short and shot through with starry pinpricks. I practically itched to touch his head and see if his hair was as velvety as it looked.

“Well, this is unusual,” he said in a musing tone. “But you’ll forget me when you wake, as I have ensured you won’t remember your worries. No guilt, no fear of Pack Ellisar, and certainly nothing about the versions of Fal and Tormund your dreaming mind assembled.” He shuddered and shook his head. “I’m nearly afraid to ask what other things trouble you.”

“Then don’t,” I said quickly, then realized myself and softened my voice. “I mean, this is nice.” I gestured to our surroundings.

“I wanted your dream to provide you with something better for the rest of the night. I hate when my questions draw forth a full nightmare from others,” he explained. I nodded along, as if having someone guiding the path of my dreams was perfectly reasonable.

“But…who are you?” I repeated.

He tilted his head back and forth. “A dreamer, just like you,” he answered. “A student of Ever and Always, and sometimes Never when it calls to me.”

I cracked a little smile. What a silly answer. “That doesn’t make sense,” I giggled.

He smiled back with two rows of flat teeth. A beta. My mind relaxed some, thinking we were heading to Zemosia after all.“Many things don’t make sense in dreams. When we all carry our own yearning, guilt, and lives into one vast space, strange things are bound to happen.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Hmm. What is your favorite fabric?” he asked. I set my lips at an angle, confused by the question. “Like, for your nest?”

I worried he would realize I was barely allowed to have a nest in the waking world as I struggled to answer the question. Few omegas struggled to name their favorite soft thing. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. What was Laurel’s pixie dress made of?

“Lavir spidersilk,” I blurted once I remembered.

He looked at me with something like concern and, for a moment, seemed a lot like Fal in the set of his features. But then he gestured, and the seat behind me became plush and coated with a layer of buttery soft silk. I settled back against it, wishing I could rip the cloth free and nest with it in my waking life.

“See? Your dream can be molded by your desires,” he said.

I supposed so. Having expensive spidersilk suddenly appear could be considered a strange thing, but I wasn’t going to complain. “Can you make me a blanket, too?” I asked shyly.

“More spidersilk? Expensive taste.”

I thought he might be teasing. “No, just something soft and warm. Something for comfort,” I murmured.

The next thing I knew, I had a blanket folded in my lap. It was softer than fur and as thick as I imagined clouds were, practically a pillow that I spread and burrowed into until it was fully wrapped around me. I sank my fingers into it, petting the material, and purred. I was growing so desperate for positive touch and soft materials that even the slightest comfort roused my omega instincts, even in my dreams.

The stranger watched me, his expression softening. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured.

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