“That would be assuming I got involved in all this by choice,” I said. “Bad assumption. Enlighten me.”
A line formed between her brows as she frowned. She tilted her head to one side and stared past me. I thought I could hear a faint whisper on the air, as if the garden were speaking to her on the breeze. Then she nodded and focused on me again.
“I can’t go into details right now,” she said, “but I can warn you to be very careful about whom you ultimately give that book to.”
“What,” I said, “afraid I’ll make it harder for you to get your hands on it?”
She surrendered a wry smile. “I can’t say that’s not part of it, but it’s not my main worry. I’m more concerned abou-”
Pain erupted in my leg as the courtyard winked out of existence. I opened my eyes to see the back of a pair of boots moving beneath me. They were walking across wet and muddy cobbles. I realized by the motion I felt that I was slung over someone’s shoulder and being carried through the streets. I tried to shift my weight so I could fall and get away, tried to ask who the hell was carrying me. All I managed was a weak wobble of my head and a pathetic mumble. The person carrying me readjusted my body on his frame with a grunt. The movement sent fresh fire racing up my leg. I groaned and closed my eyes, fleeing from the pain and misery into darkness.
“… happening?!” yelled the woman. I opened my eyes to find myself on the paved floor of the courtyard, my knees up against my chest. The woman was standing beside the bench, turned toward a shadowy, halftransparent figure that had not been there before. The figure was short-even shorter than I-but I couldn’t make out any details beyond that. It gestured as if it were speaking, and I heard the whispering on the breeze again.
So, she’d contracted a Mouth to glimmer the dream for her. Good. The thought of a Gray Prince being able to walk into my dreams at will was just too much for me at the moment.
My leg still hurt, but it was not nearly as bad here. I unfolded and rolled slowly to my hands and knees. I noticed that the veins in the marble tiles seemed to shift and move of their own accord. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“How long can we keep hold of him?” asked the woman. Pause. “Well, shit.” I heard the sound of movement saw her kneel down beside me at the edge of my vision. The place didn’t smell green anymore-another bad sign, I was sure.
“Drothe,” she said. It wasn’t kind or coddling; it was a command. I looked up at her without thinking.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Whatever you do, don’t give that book to anyone.”
“Except you,” I gasped. “Right?”
She shook her head. “Not even to me. Hide it. Don’t tell anyone where it is-that’ll help keep you alive, at least for a while. I’d rather see Ioclaudia’s book lost again than in the wrong hands.”
I was about to ask what she meant when my leg spasmed. I winced, and when I opened my eyes, most of the color had washed out of our dream. The woman reached out and put her hands on my shoulders. The fingers didn’t quite stop when they touched me, seeming instead to pass an inch into my flesh. Oddly, it didn’t feel strange at that moment.
“Hide the book,” she said, blurring and fading at the edges. “And keep it hidden.”
Then I was alone in a silence that quickly turned into oblivion.
There was nothing gradual about it-no slow graying before my eyes, no buzz becoming a roar in my ears. One moment I was unconscious; the next, I was awake.
Everything was wrong. Instead of being cold, wet, and in pain, I was warm, dry, and lying in a soft feather bed. Crisp sheets covered me. My clothes were gone, replaced with what felt like a soft nightshirt. And I was alive. It was this last bit that surprised me the most.
Out of curiosity, I shifted my leg. A barely noticeable ache answered the movement. That wasn’t right, either; the pain should have nearly driven me to tears. I pushed against the mattress beneath me with my left leg, my teeth clenched in preparation for the agony that would follow. A sharp burning answered the effort, but nothing more.
Glimmer-had to be. There was no other way I could be feeling this good.
Now I was really worried.
I kept my eyes closed and listened. The sounds of Ildrecca after dark came to me, but they weren’t the usual cacophony of screams, drunken revelers, and rutting cats I was used to. Instead, I heard night insects, fragments of rough laughter, and the light tap of fingers on a drum somewhere in the distance. Whatever cordon I was in, it wasn’t Ten Ways or the Barren, that was for certain.
I was about to roll over, when I heard cloth rustle and someone take a wet-sounding sip of something behind me. I froze, then forced myself to relax. Guard, nurse, or someone else? A glass clinked faintly as it was set down.
I took a slow, deep breath and was happy to find no hints of fresh greenery in the air around me. Still, there was something else in the air-something vaguely familiar I couldn’t quite place. Basil? Crushed thyme?
I took another breath. Yes, it was definitely coming from the sheets. And I knew only one person who scented her sheets. Christiana. And that meant the other person in the room was…
“Damn it, Degan,” I said, rolling over and opening my eyes. “Why’d you bring me here when you know I don’t like-” And I stopped.
Jelem favored me with a sly smile. “I wasn’t thrilled about having you here, either,” he said. “But once my wife saw you bleeding all over the street…” He shrugged eloquently. “Well, it’s not as if I have a say under this roof, anyhow.”
Jelem was stretched out in a well-padded chair, his feet kicked out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His dark hair was in disarray, and the long green and black kaftan he wore was uncharacteristically rumpled. A silver oil lamp sat on a table by his side, creating shadows around the room. Next to the lamp, a glass of wine glowed red from the flame. Above him, an open window revealed a fragment of the clear night sky.
I looked around the room. No, definitely not my sister’s house. She would never stand for the plain, whitewashed walls-colored plaster was all the rage among the nobility now. Then again, she might forgive it, once she saw the woven cloths that had been hung at strategic spots around the room. Gold, green, crimson, and brilliant blue threads formed intricate arabesques and geometries, bringing color and grace to an otherwise unremarkable space.
I noted that neither my clothes nor any of the rest of my possessions were in ready sight. I turned back to Jelem to ask about them, when I noticed the battered, leather-bound book lying open in his lap. To hell with my clothes.
“Is that what I think it is?” I said.
Jelem glanced down at his lap. “This?” he said as he flicked a corner of a page. “If you mean, is this the waterlogged tome I’ve taken so many pains to dry properly, then yes, it is.”
“Put it down,” I said.
Jelem raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
I ignored my muscles’ complaints as I pushed myself into a sitting position and pointed at the book. “Put it down,” I said. “Now.” Dream warning or no, I hadn’t slogged through sewers and fought White Sashes so Jelem could page through it at his leisure.
Jelem regarded me for a long moment, his expression fading from mild surprise to cool displeasure. Slowly, he closed the cover and set the book on the table.
“As you wish.” Jelem picked up the glass of wine and sank back even farther into the chair. He took a long, lingering sip and held the glass up to the lamp’s light. Then he smiled.
I knew that smile. He had something-something he’d found in the book. Something he wanted to trade for.
Fine. Let him smile. What could he have possibly found in just.. .
I looked past him to the window and the crisp, clear stars outside-stars that had been hidden behind storm clouds when I was last awake.