author. May the Mother be late when she finds you. And when she does, may she greet you with a kiss.”
The Hands bowed, and without a word, swarmed out into the shelves.
Drusilla turned back to Aelius, the two volumes in her hand.
“You don’t mind if I borrow these, do you, good Chronicler?”
The old ghost glanced to the Hands among the forest of dark wood, the rustling leaves of vellum and parchment and paper and leather and hide. He stubbed his cigarillo out on the wall and sighed.
“Just let me fetch you a returns slip.”
CHAPTER 23
WAR
Mia dreamed.
A sky as gray as the moment you realize you’re no longer in love.
Water like a mirror beneath her, horizon to horizon beneath a forever sky.
Her breath was cold as starlight, chest rising and falling like her mother and father across the heavens. It would be nighttime soon. Time for her to ascend her throne and watch the night spread her gowns across the heavens.
She would be full tonight. And beautiful. Reflecting her father’s light, bringing day to the dark, eating their fear and smiling as they walked the night, unafraid.
All in balance.
“No rival will I suffer,” a voice said.
She opened her not-eyes.
Julius Scaeva stood above her, a knife in hand.
“Forgive me, child.”
And the knife fell.
* * *
Mia opened her eyes.
The curtains were drawn, but she could hear heavy waves on a stony shore, wind between the rocks, mournful gulls crying in the rain. The dream was a fresh echo in her head—the same one she’d been having every nevernight since Godsgrave. Her pulse was running quick, her heart thudding. She was surprised that the thump of it against her ribs hadn’t woken her brother.
She turned to the boy in the bed beside her, his eyes closed, his expression serene. She brushed a stray curl from his brow and wondered what he dreamed. Envying him that he seemed to have escaped these strange visions that plagued her own sleep. If everything Tric said was true, there was a part of Anais inside Jonnen, too. And yet he slept like a babe.
She wondered why.
Could almost hear Tric’s reply.
BECAUSE YOU ARE THE MOTHER’S CHOSEN.
She sat up in bed, dragging her hair back from her face and breathing deep. The inn they’d booked lodgings in was called Blue Maria’s, and truth told, it was a little nicer than The Pub. Ash had booked the largest room they had, and the seven of them had trudged upstairs, sticking together for the sake of safety.
Sid and Butcher were on the floorboards, wrapped in piles of blankets. Ash was curled up against Mia’s back in bed. A fire was burning in a small hearth, bringing a comfortable whiskey-warmth to the room. Paintings of the ocean on the walls, ships in rough wooden frames. Bladesinger was sat in a rocking chair, sword across her lap, dark eyes on the bedchamber door. She looked at Mia, her voice a soft murmur.
“You were having bad dreams.”
“True dreams,” Mia muttered.
“Ah. They’re the worst.”
Mia rubbed her face, looked the Dweymeri woman in the eye.
“What do you dream about, ’Singer?”
The woman breathed deep and sighed. “Men I’ve killed, mostly. Friends I’ve lost. The feel of arena sands under my feet. You know what it was like. You lived that life. It stays with you, even when you sleep.” She looked at Mia and smiled as if sharing a secret. “But sometimes, if I try hard enough, I can change it.”
“Change it?” Mia asked. “To what?”
“Instead of the sands of the arena, I think of sands on the beach of Farrow. I imagine myself walking on bright white shores and the kiss of the waves about my ankles. The smell of the ocean and crays cooking on an open fire and the feel of sunslight on my skin.” Bladesinger smiled. “You should try it. Next time you sleep. Take ahold of the dream and make it what you want. It belongs to you, after all.”
Mia looked around the room and sighed. “Want me to watch for a while?”
’Singer shook her head. “Sid just woke me. You should sleep.”
Mia carefully extricated herself from her brother and Ash, pulled her wolfskin boots on. She stood and stretched, slung her swordbelt over her shoulder, then padded softly toward the door. The fire reached toward her as she passed, hands of flame clawing and grasping at her heels. She spat into it.
“I’m going to have a smoke,” she whispered. “If you’ve a need, just shout.”