“You may leave us,” I told the guards.
They hesitated, uncertain, but I turned my head just enough for them to see my eyes. That was enough. The door shut with a hiss, and thick silence followed.
Her voice broke it first. “Another test?”
“An inquiry.”
“Those sound the same.”
I ignored the bait and moved toward the frost-table between us. The air stirred with my steps; the runes brightened in recognition. “You will answer my questions directly. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Her lips twitched. “You’re not very good at conversation.”
“I’m not here for conversation.”
“Pity. You seem like you need one.”
My jaw tightened. “The Dreamstone,” I said. “Tell me what you know of it.”
The humor faded from her eyes. “The what?”
“You’ve heard the name.”
“I haven’t.”
I studied her carefully. Her heartbeat stayed steady, but mortals were practiced liars when frightened. “It is an artifact of ancient make. Formed from the first frost of this realm and the last breath of the Dreamkeeper. It anchors the Veil between our world and the one beyond.”
Her brow furrowed. “Anchors it how?”
“By holding both realms in balance—light and dark, sleep and waking, mortal and fae. When the Dreamstone weakens, so does the barrier. The ash you’ve seen? That is the Veil bleeding through its fractures.”
“And you think I know where it is?”
“I think you appeared when it began to fail,” I said. “And that’s reason enough to ask.”
She shook her head slowly. “You think I crossed from another world.”
“I think you’re the first thing in years this frost hasn’t killed.”
Her breath caught. “That doesn’t make me a key.”
“Everything that survives becomes one.” The words came out colder than I meant. Her reflection in the frost mirrors flinched, though she didn’t. Her composure made it worse; I wanted her to break, to shout, to prove she was still ordinary.
She didn’t. She simply looked at me—steady and unafraid—until I had to look away. My gaze dropped, unbidden, tracing the curve of her jaw, the faint tremor of her throat when she swallowed. I forced it back up.
“Have you dreamed since you came here?” I asked, too quickly.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because the Dreamstone calls through dreams. If it stirs, it will reach for anyone who can hear it.”
“I sleep badly,” she said after a pause. “If that counts.”
“It might.”
I circled the table, stopping just behind her. “If you dream again—if you see anything that does not belong to this world—you will tell me.”
“Even if it’s you?”
