The servant hurries in, dinner tray in hand.
Breathing deep, I cast a dreamscape only I can see—one I framed just hours ago, depicting this very bedroom.
The servant sets down my dinner and exchanges it for the lunch tray.
I summon a vision of the blue-haired guard in my mind’s eye.
Blinking, I pull him into the daydream.
“Now,” I say to Minka.
A clatter of dishware. Then a yelp from the servant. While the servant has been excluded from my dreamscape, I can still hear her, and her alarm tells me Minka must have made her move.
The dream version of the guard frowns, oblivious to what’s happening outside the dreamscape. His eyes widen as he notes the servant’s absence. “Where the hell—”
“I have to go now.” I rise from the bed and approach the guard. “You will have to stay here. You as well, though I do apologize.” I say the last part in the direction where I heard the servant drop her tray.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” the dream-guard says. His hand flies to where his sword should be, but of course, I’ve made sure not to include it in his dream form. A memory tugs at my mind, one still buried beneath a haze. It’s clear enough to tell me I can control what people wear or don’t wear.
Thedon’t wearpart stands out the most. Followed by a tantalizing recollection of inked naked flesh…
This is the worst time to uncover lost memories, so I force it away. Funneling all my attention into holding the guard in place, I brush past him and out the door. My vision grows faint and vertigo seizes me as I fight to maintain the dreamscape. It’s a challenge considering I’m now standing on the other side of the threshold in reality yet remain in the bedroom inside the dreamscape. That’s what happens when I dream. My dreamscapes move with me. I cannot exit one without freeing my subject too. This is again something I’m not sure how I know, but I’m starting to suspect it has everything to do with Thorne Blackwood. My increasingly persistent emotions. The memories that have begun to surface.
The dream-guard whirls to face me but halts. With how my dreamscape has shifted with me, I appear to be standing before my bed once more. He blinks a few times then shakes his head. “Sit down,” he orders through his teeth.
“No.”
The sound of the door slamming secures my victory, followed by the scrape of the key in the lock. With a gasp, I release the dreamscape and find Minka standing before me in her seelie form. A wide grin splits her face, and she tugs the key from the now-locked door. Muffled voices call out from the other side, followed by the slam of a fist.
“We should hurry,” Minka says. With a shudder, she shrinks back down to her feline form and sprints down the stairs. I follow her down the dark stairwell, lit only by the occasional sconce. Thankfully, the frantic voices of the trapped servant and guard don’t carry far. Though I suppose if they think to call outside the window, they may be able to draw attention. My heart climbs high in my throat as we reach the bottom of the staircase. I expect other guards to round the corner any moment—
“Oh, thank the All of All.” I’m both startled and relieved at the familiar voice. Mr. Boris, in his fox form, pads into view from around the next corner. He rushes to us. “You did it. You really did it.”
I’m so happy to see him I have to keep myself from scooping him up and squeezing him like I did Minka. Mr. Boris isn’t nearly as affectionate as she is, so I doubt that would go over well. Instead, I settle on a simple, “Thank you, Mr. Boris.”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have to claw anyone’s eyes out,” Minka says.
Mr. Boris’ muzzle pulls into a fox version of a grimace. “Unfortunately? Minka, dear, I daresay you have the strangest priorities. Now, come along. I’ve learned everything I can about the guards’ rotations. The path should be clear enough.”
He starts off down the hall and Minka and I follow, keeping our steps swift yet quiet.
“All we have to do is get you out to the garden,” Mr. Boris says, his deep voice pitched with mild panic. “There’s a portion of the fence you can climb over without being spotted. Though I haven’t a clue how we’ll be able to get you to climb such a high wall—”
“That’s a problem for later,” Minka says. “Let’s just get outside.”
We reach the end of the next hall. Mr. Boris orders us to hold back while he investigates the way ahead. My heart riots in my chest every second that he’s gone. Finally, he peeks at us from around the corner. “It’s clear.”
Our journey continues in much the same way. Proceed. Pause. Proceed. Pause. Stars, I haven’t a clue how close we are to our destination. I was hardly of sound mind when the guards hauled me to the tower, and when I arrived the night of my birthday dinner, I was too overwhelmed by the sheer size and splendor of the palace to grasp its layout.
We reach a narrow staircase, one I assume is reserved for servants based on its lack of adornment. With one side open save for its oak railing, I feel exposed. If anyone walked by now, they’d spot us. I wish I’d brought a cloak or something to mask my appearance. Though it isn’t exactly inconspicuous to wander around in a cloak either. In fact, such an obvious disguise would screamGreetings, I’m suspicious.
Mr. Boris must be as apprehensive as I am, for he guides us down the staircase one step at a time, our pace agonizingly slow. My feet beg to run, but I hold back. Just one step. Then the next. Then the—
Movement shoots past the bottom of the stairs, a guard rushing down the hall at the bottom. I freeze, my pulse speeding. But the guard pays us no heed. Nor does the one who follows.
“That’s odd,” Mr. Boris mutters.
“That they didn’t see us?” I whisper.
