Page 70 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
Caer sat up, stretching, and went to poke the fire. It did absolutely nothing. She watched him staring at his fingers, as though debating trying to summon fire. “What does ‘Aislinn’ mean?”
“Dream,” she admitted. “My parents have a thing about them.”
The insufferable smile spread further across his dimpled cheeks. “Princess Dream has a certain ring to it.”
“It does not.”
“Hmm. Darling Dream, maybe? Fair Nightmare?”
“You’re starting to sound like my father, and I hate it. I’m sorry I ever began this.” She pulled herself into a sitting position, hugging the cloak to her body. The fabric still held his heat, like an imprint in the ground.“Do you really think I’m ‘fair’?”
“You’re beautiful, Aislinn, and well you know it.”
Aislinn stared at him. He was right—she did know it, but there was something different in hearing it from him. Even in the land of faeries, she’d seldom heard it spoken with such candour. Bards had written about her beauty in ballads, potential suitors had proclaimed it in their fancy speeches—but it had an air of falseness to it, of a word used by someone who didn’t fully understand its meaning. And her lovers… her lovers had avoided using it altogether, as if any attempts at flattery might see them impaled.
“What do you want?” he asked her, as if sensing how flustered the word had made her and throwing them both an escape rope. “From life, I mean? What does Dream dream of?”
“Right now? A hot bath and a comfortable bed wouldn’t go amiss.”
He smirked. “Think bigger.”
She pursed her lips. “You first.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’d like to touch people again without being afraid.”
Aislinn swallowed. She had not expected that answer—she had expected mortal lies and casual indifference, or dreams of wealth and women and happiness. Not a dream that ought not to have been one—experiencing something that he should never have had to ask for.
“Ah, a life without fear,” she said, as casually as she could manage. “How we all dream of that.”
“And what do you fear, Aislinn Ardenthorn?”
“Many things,” she replied. “Powerlessness and power. That I may never be good enough to be queen. That I am a poor faerie. That I am too human. That I am not human enough. I’m afraid of being more and less than I am, and—”I am afraid of being lonely. Of never having what my parents have. Of finding no one who accepts my fears, who shares them. I’m afraid I will have everything I want and still not find it enough—or that I will lose it altogether.
Caer angled his face towards hers. “What do you want, Aislinn?”
You,she thought.I want you.
The reality of that confession struck her like a wave, cracking at her stony exterior. How much did she want him? How much could that crack widen? “At the moment, something that I cannot have,” she replied, “and cannot tell you.”
“Why not?”
“An excellent question.”
“A poor answer.”
“Caer,” she whispered. “I… I want to tell you, but…”
“But?”
“I am afraid to.”
Caer didn’t push it. “I’m going to see if I can find some more firewood… and anything that passes for food. Are you hungry?”
Aislinn nodded. “That’s probably a good sign, right? And look!” She held up her hands. “Actual movement!”
“Excellent,” he said, his grin soft. “I expect to see you standing up when I return.”
Aislinn forced him to take the cloak, which he did reluctantly, and she whiled away the time until he returned by stretching out her limbs. Her entire body felt like rubber and lead. At least her head wasn’t pounding anymore, and the supply of snow helped keep her hydrated.
