“Nightmares again?” His voice cuts through the silence, low and rough, and I still flinch despite expecting it.
The question makes something in my chest tighten. I force myself to move, crossing toward the bookshelf as if I had a destination in mind.
"I wasn't aware I had any before tonight."
"You did. Last night. And the night before."
"I'm glad you're keeping count," I mutter.
I don't look at him as I pass, but I feel the weight of his gaze on my back like a physical touch. My fingers trail along the spines of books I'm not actually searching for until I give up the pretense and turn. His eyes are on me. On the shapeless black camisole and shorts I sleep in. He doesn't bother to hide it.
I should say something cutting. Instead, I'm too busy noticing the absence of his shirt, the firelight playing across the planes of his chest, the shadows pooling in the hollows of his collarbones. An open book rests on his lap. A bottle of wine and a half-empty glass sit on the table beside him. When my gaze finally returns to his face, something knowing glints in his eyes.
"Should I do a twirl for you?"
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, and the sound warms something in mine that I refuse to examine.
I nod at the book. "What are you reading?"
His eyes never leave my face as he recites, "Where you find logic, you will find truth. Where you find truth, you will find knowledge. Where you find knowledge, you will find power."
My eyebrows rise. "The Sages don't hold open auditions, but I'm sure they'd be impressed by your interest in their order."
"Perhaps you can arrange an audience." He tracks my movements as I cross the room and sink into the chair diagonal from his. "Considering how close you are to them."
"Naima must have left out the part where I fell from their good graces."
"She did." He closes the book and leans back, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "How did that happen?"
"It's a long story." I cover a yawn with the back of my hand.
"You're exhausted."
"Another long day." I sink deeper into the chair. "Another day of nothing going right."
"I assume your visit with the Sages didn't go well?"
"It didn't go at all." I stare at the wine bottle, wishing it were closer. "They weren't there. Again."
He searches my face. "Are they usually this difficult to find?"
"No." I meet his eyes. "But nothing about this festival is normal."
He nods slowly. "The nightmares. Were they about the bridge, or something else?"
My shoulders stiffen at the question. Instead of answering, I reach for the wine, pour myself a glass, and take a long sip. The sweetness spreads across my tongue, warm and welcome, loosening the knots in my muscles.
"Where in the north are you from?" I ask when I open my eyes and find him still watching me.
"Vindariel."
A thread of anguish bleeds through the bond before he wrenches it away. Vindariel. Where the curse began. I've read texts that describe its cliffs and mountain ranges, its rolling countryside and crystalline lakes. But those texts predate the curse by centuries. I can't imagine any of that beauty survived. I don't say that. Some wounds don't need salt.
"We don't have nightmares in Lunaris," I say, setting the glass on the table between us. "We're not supposed to, anyway."
He picks up the glass without asking. "Part of the memory trade?"
I nod. "Dreams can be memories in disguise. Or worse."
