Page 18 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
“Why?” I ask.
He sighs. “I wanted it as an insurance policy.”
“Against Ana?” I narrow my eyes.
“For myself. Now my father’s dead, I don’t have much proof of my heritage. I thought it might be smart to have some irrefutable evidence I am Alaric’s son.”
“Smart, and very useful in this case,” Alastor chimes in. “Seeing as that blood is going to help us find Her Highness.”
My friend looks at me pointedly, and I let it go. Harman’s secrets, and my friend’s increasing obsession with defending him, are not my main concern right now.
“Alright then. We’ll do it tonight,” I say.
“Why wait?” Harman asks. “Mal could fetch the blood now.”
“Because I can’t do the ritual entirely on my own. Once we’ve made the connection, Morgana has to take the final step to lock it into place. When the mooring is nearly complete, I should be able to reach her in her dreams, but she still has to be asleep for me to get a message to her and guide her through it.”
“What about the Temple protections? You said they were hindering your magic,” Esther points out.
“The sawlamoor will be able to overcome those,” Phaia says. “It’s powerful stuff.”
I change the subject to what we’ll need to perform the ritual. I don’t want the humans dwelling on just how powerful this connection might be.
This is for the best. I know it is.
Still, I’m on edge that night when we gather in the cellars of Tread. Mal is there waiting for us, a small glass tube of crimson liquid in his hand.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it from him. He nods but doesn’t move.
“That’ll be all,” Damia says coolly.
He raises his eyebrows. “You mean I don’t get to witness this fancy ritual to save the day?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” Damia says. “The sawlamoor is an ancient, sacred magical act. It’s not open to just anyone.”
Mal pouts but ducks his head. “Suit yourselves. And don’t use it all,” he gestures to the vial before slouching away.
“Alright,” Phaia says. “Let’s head outside.”
The moon shines brightly over Tread, bathing everything in a silvery glow. We walk out beyond the outskirts of the settlement, making sure no one follows.
“Here, this is a good spot.” Phaia stops beside a patch of exposed earth lit by the moon. There are three steps to invoking the sawlamoor: mind, body, and soul. We have the body—our blood. The soul is represented by the two elements our magic manifests as. In my case, the earth. In Ana’s, the stars and planets. And finally: the mind. That’s the part Ana will have to complete—if I can reach her and convince her to accept it.
Phaia steps up to the patch of earth and starts to intone the words that fae have used for millennia. As I christen the moonlit earth with drops of my blood and hers, I picture Qimorna, and Ana’s face sleeping somewhere among its ivory walls.
Then I unfurl my dream magic out into the night sky, letting it call to the woman I love, praying to the gods that she’ll answer.
Chapter 6
Morgana
Iknow I’m dreaming because the sun is shining. I can’t remember the last time I felt its warmth on my skin. Maybe when Caledon’s ready to execute me, they’ll stand me under its rays so that my magic will replenish ahead of him draining me, fattening me up for the slaughter.
For now, though, I have to settle for this weak imitation my imagination has conjured. It’s still a blessing after the eternal gloom of my cell. I soak it up.
“Ana.”
It’s so distant I don’t notice it at first. Then it calls again.
