Page 73 of Never the Roses

“I can.” He’d never failed at anything magical before and he wasn’t about to declare defeat already. “Show me one more time.”

“Fine, but this is the last try. You’re beginning to tire and it’s an even worse idea to attempt this at less than your sharpest.”

“I’m not tired,” he protested, hearing the burr of irritation in his voice and having to acknowledge to himself that she might be right. He was no longer a young man, to stay awake all night making love to a woman and then attempt difficult sorcery. “One more try, and that’s it,” he agreed, more calmly, offering a rueful smile to acknowledge her point.

“I know it’s not in you to give up on a challenge,” she replied, gray eyes soft with an affection she wouldn’t put into words. Not yet. “All right, clear your mind of all other thoughts. Allow the conscious mind to relax.”

He sat cross-legged on the grass, the sunshine warm and golden, birdsong and surf in the background, Oneira before him, strikingly beautiful with her crimson hair unbound and cascading about her, expression serious and intent. Dream magic coalesced in that unnamed scent and he followed the soothing, entrancing sound of her voice as she talked him into a meditative state. Concentrating, extending his sorcery with precision, he reached mentally for the slice of Dream she held stable for him.

And this time, connected.

The Dream shimmered and billowed into his mind, making him feel as if he indeed were dreaming. He made a thought into a blade and sliced with care, opening a very small portal—Oneira had been insistent on that—just enough to allow him to peer in.

The landscape that greeted him reminded him of home insome way, and then he recognized a sense of those bleak steppes that had been his home for the first nine years of his life, before his impoverished family sold him to the Minot Academy for Extraordinary Children. The off-kilter hut, leaning away from the prevailing northern winds, stood in the middle—though with additions he didn’t remember. Curious, he stepped toward it and found himself inside suddenly, without knowing how he’d gotten there. And it was all wrong inside, with a black lake taking up the floor, floating with crimson rose petals.

No, that was blood. As he bent close to examine them, about to dip in his fingers to test his perceptions, a shadow even blacker sharked beneath the surface, then lunged upward.

And froze.

Oneira stood there, hand extended to hold back the monster, giving Stearanos a ferocious glare. “Let go,” she told him.

“What?” He wasn’t sure what she meant. Confused, he cast about him and the walls faded, becoming a blizzard so dense he couldn’t see her anymore. The snowflakes became glass, slicing him everywhere, and he howled in pain and shame.

“Em.” Oneira emerged from the whiteout. “Wake up. It’s only the Dream. Close the portal. Wake up.”

Wake up?

Wake up!

With a shock of realization, he remembered himself and returned to his waking body with a hard thud of pain. His skull throbbed and he opened his eyes to glaring daylight—and a furious Oneira glaring silver daggers at him.

“What did I tell you not to do?” she hissed.

“Enter the Dream,” he answered with chagrin, knowing now what had happened. “I apologize. I didn’t realize that I had. Thank you for pulling me out.”

She heaved out a sigh and nodded. “It wasn’t unexpected. Butnow you understand why you must never attempt this without me to assist you.”

Nodding soberly, he tapped his temple in a salute of acknowledgment. He did understand, with visceral immediacy and more than a little terror, exactly what she’d been explaining. No longer academic, the prospect of being lost in that shifting landscape with nothing to tether him and allow him to escape… He physically shuddered.

Oneira observed it, lips flattening in sympathy. “It’s unsettling, I know. But I’m relieved to see you afraid. I wasn’t sure you could be.”

“I’m well acquainted with fear, Dreamthief,” he replied drily.

“Yes,” she said, her voice hushed, and she gazed back at him, silent in the shared understanding. “I wouldn’t have liked to lose you in the Dream,” she finally said.

He accepted that admission, which amounted to a declaration of love from anyone less contained. “I don’t want to leave,” he told her.

“And yet, you must. So must I, if your plan is to work.”

Standing, he offered her a hand up. “It will work, and then we can continue what we’ve started. At least I’ll know you in my dreams when you come to me,” he added pointedly.

“I probably won’t,” she cautioned him.

“I hope you will.” He kissed her, gently, almost chaste, since he’d already stayed long enough to excite suspicion back at King’s City. “I’ll dream of you anyway.”

Oneira gazed up at Stearanos, still trembling inside from the close call, warm from even that light caress of a kiss. Completely unsure what to say to him.

“Be careful at the queen’s court,” he continued in a more seriousvein, gripping her arms a bit too tightly. Then, seeming to realize it, he released his hold and slid his hands softly up and down, soothing her, or possibly himself. “I know you don’t need my advice, as you’ve ably survived without me all these years, but…”

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