Calia allowed herself a sigh of insecurity and swallowed hard. By significant energies, Bresag meant the spell required control of magical powers that Calia had never really believed in and only recently dabbled with. “Can the two of you help me with the rite?”
Both dragons stood taller, their scaly chests swelling as they resettled their leathery wings and squared their shoulders. “I shall fetch the athame,” Bresag said.
“I shall help with the chant,” Noirgarth added, “and we shall both watch over yer body while ye are there.”
“So only my mind goes there?” Calia pondered that possibility. If the Dreaming was thoughts only, she should be invincible—right?
Noirgarth’s scowl tightened. “Yer spirit goes there. Yer mind and yer soul—a wound to yer soul in the Dreaming can be just as fatal as a physical blow here.”
Even though that wasn’t what she wished to hear, there was no backing out. She had to get Mathison, and since she was the only one everyone believed could best Carman, this was her responsibility. “Let’s do this.”
In a room set off a safe distance from the nursery, Calia lay on a hard, stone table covered with a vibrant crimson satin. She’d be more comfortable back in the nest, but none of them wished to risk the safety of the eggs in case her working with the energies backfired and turned into a chaotic explosion like someone dropping a lit match in a box of fireworks.
“How do I return once I’m done?” she asked Noirgarth as both dragons entered the room and closed the door behind them.
“Ye must decide to return and make it so.”
“You say that as if it’s so simple.”
With a heavy sigh, he avoided looking her in the eye. “To those properly trained in the auld ways, it is.”
“I can do this,” she told him while wishing she believed it herself. “I have to do this. Mathison needs me.”
Bresag nodded as she helped Calia sit up for another sip of water. “Ye’re as fiery hot as a new hatchling. Will ye be able to think clearly? Humans canna tolerate such heat.”
Running a hand across her searing yet dry forehead, Calia lay back down on the table. “I will think clearly. I have no choice.” Eyes on the prize, she chanted to herself, keeping Mathison firmly fixed in her mind.
Bresag held out a foreclaw while lifting the blade of the gleaming white athame higher. “Yer right hand, mistress.”
Calia braced herself, knowing what was coming. After a swift, merciful slash across her palm, blood filled her hand, then slowly dripped down the sides.
“Close yer eyes, concentrate, and speak the words I taught ye,” Noirgarth said.
I am going to do this and do it right. Calia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then spoke the spell, concentrating on feeling each and every word.
“By blood and breath, by moonlit seam,
I cut the veil and claim the dream.
Where good takes form and evil bleeds,
I stand as will, I strike as deed.
Grant me passage, swift and true,
By fire of hope and iron soul.
Where thought is blade and will breaks through,
Let the Dreaming open. I claim my role.”
A darkness as complete and suffocating as she’d experienced in the Pit of Pinnacles swallowed her. Refusing to panic, she rose to her feet, pleased to discover she had no issues with stamina or balance. She was as strong and stable as she had ever been. “Let’s do this.”
Her voice echoed for what seemed like forever, then gradually faded in the distance. Slowly turning in a circle, she reached out into the darkness as if searching for a light switch. “Litress? Is this the Dreaming?”
“Not quite. This is the Dreaming’s borderlands.”
Something solid pressed against Calia’s leg the same way Otto always did whenever he leaned against her for attention. She reached down and discovered fur. At first, she thought she’d conjured Otto to join her, but this fur was entirely too shaggy and silkier than her pup’s coarse hair. “Litress? Are you able to walk beside me here?”
