Fae of the North (Court of Crown and Compass Book 1), стр. 34
“Kiki, have you ever heard of dreamweavers?” I ask.
She shakes her head, still tucked under my arm. She feels so right by my side like she belongs. The flare in my chest doubles and brightens.
I release her, put another log on the fire, and then return to sitting so we’re facing each other. My fingers drift along the glitter beneath her eyes and then I lift her chin. “Sometimes dreams don’t make sense. Other times they’re fragments pulled from waking life that we’re trying to process or find meaning in. Dreams take many shapes, and I don’t know much about being a dreamweaver, but it’s a rare fae power. I think you dream other people’s dreams.”
Kiki is still quiet as though processing this information.
“There’s a rumor that the silver king is a dreamweaver. That’s another way he was able to defeat so many of the fae. They were trying to rise up against him, but he saw their dreams, learned their weaknesses, and after setting Raven’s Landing ablaze, he ordered the demons to take their shadows, one by one.”
She swallows hard.
“What will happen if the king and I enter each other’s dreams? What if we did already?”
An involuntary shiver wraps around my spine. I don’t answer because I dread what I don’t know. Nadya’s voice uttering Vespertine as we left her stall echoes in my memory. I repeat it now.
“Do you think he can help?”
“As long as you’re not afraid of the dark. From what I’ve heard, he’s not a sparkling ray of sunshine.”
She settles back, and I hold her until her breath softens into sleep. My eyes remain wide open because I’m afraid of the dark and the unknown, though I’d die before I told anyone.
The silence of morning breaks with a shrill kraa, followed by a low gurgle, and finally the trill of a raven. I rush to the door to see the edge of a golden wing, wheeling away and into thin clouds. I imagine the golden raven is checking in and making sure Kiki is on the right path.
On the stoop to the domed house is a block of cheese, bread, a pouch filled with dried berries, and another with dried meat.
I spread the tapestry on the table, studying the next leg of our journey.
Kiki doesn’t stir until I open the flask of honey tea. Its spicy aroma overwhelms the small space.
“It’s still warm,” I say, holding the flask out to her when she sits up. “We have a long trek, with a few twists and turns in the road.” Although I admire the construction of the turf house with its efficient use of space to conserve warmth, I’m eager to feel the earth beneath my feet instead of it hanging over my head.
She takes a sip of tea and her eyes brighten with determination.
Outside, the fire from the handfasting festivities still burns strong. Instead of dancing, the people surround the blaze, wings glinting, arms linked and they sway, singing a low song.
Not wanting to disturb them, we set out in the opposite direction, toward the Bogs, leaving behind the open and airy bluff of Briar Knoll.
We track along a winding trail down the edge of the cliff. Wet marshland spreads below, gradually giving rise to a sparsely wooded area in the distance.
“Looks straightforward to me.” Kiki plods along next to me as though the weight of the conversation tethers her back to the fae we met last night.
I mutter, “Looks that way. I’ve heard strange things about the Bogs.”
She doesn’t ask what I mean so maybe her thoughts have already landed in the mountains where she hopes for answers and explanations. I wouldn’t necessarily count on either.
Trudging through the wetlands is slow as we try to stick to high ground, skipping from spongy bits of peat to clumps of moss, sometimes going far out of our way not to set foot in the turbid water.
“I knew this wouldn’t be straightforward,” I complain.
We run out of loose bits of ground to use to keep our feet dry, but it’s also too shallow to row a boat—not that we have one. The feathery clouds from earlier bunch into thunderheads. By the time we’re halfway between Briar Knoll and the Bogs, our boots stick in the muck and both of us wear sour expressions. Then the sky splits open, and it starts to rain. Despite the water now coming from every direction, we press on.
I feel like growling at something or at the very least shaking my fist at the sky.
All at once, Kiki laughs wildly. “This is worse than cleaning up demon goo,” she says. “I was never able to imagine something less pleasant, but this is it.”
Each step feels impossible, and I can no longer track our progress, ahead or behind us, because of the dense sheet of rain.
I reach for her hand. “So we don’t get separated,” I say as a thrill shoots through me and she laces her fingers in mine, firmly returning my grip.
Chapter 17
Ineke
Soren clutches my hand and I worry it’s clammy or I’m holding on too tight. I’ve never been scared of anything until now. Through the damp air, I catch his scent of wood smoke and water, cinnamon, and him. So deliciously him. I want to dwell there, but my head has other ideas. In this misty place, my eyes are heavy, but my mind cranks full steam, words and thoughts and scenes turning over.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask because I need to get out of my head. It’s too unknown.
“Brown