My heart begins to race, my palms slickening. “Is he alright?”
“Yes. He’s with the Zenith now. The sovereign wants him alive.”
As hard as it is, I fight to keep my breath steady. I’m unsure whether to allow myself to feel relief just yet.
“What do you want from me?” Her voice hardens, her patience running out. But beneath the stony exterior, she seems anxious.
“I want to know if you’re alright.”
“I’m fine.” She folds her arms across her chest, her muscles straining against her sleeves, one hand still clutching a rose.
“Do you still feel called to that land?”
She uncrosses her arms and silently admires the rose in her fist for a while. Then she begins gently plucking petals from it, tossing them one by one and watching them flitter to the ground. “You have the wrong person,” she says.
“I’m certain that I don’t.”
There is fire in her eyes now. “Look, I’m not the one who will save anyone. I don’t want to have some strange, twisted destiny tied to the gods. All I want to do is survive. If only everyone would leave me alone and let me do just that. Let me survive.”
I blink at her. I’ve been there. On the way to the Verge, all I wanted to do was find Taig and live a safe, mundane life.
Winnie watches the last petal float to the ground. I take a deep breath and begin to conjure a new image. I summon open fields, the bog, the Hatchling’s Nest, the different citizens of the Verge. Those considered Undesirable, those able-bodied. Those with magic, those without.
“What is this?” Winnie asks, her eyes wide as she turns slowly in a circle, taking in the new surroundings.
My body outside of the dreamscape starts to feel heavier, fatigue setting in. “This is what all of Erleya can be if we fight to make it that way. This is what the rebels want. Freedom for everyone to be themselves.” I funnel in visions of Oksana with her beautiful lightweaving, and Isobel and Sloan with their galemaking.
“The sovereign has promised safety for all Undesirables and Mages,” Winnie says, her eyes trained on the wavering images of my friends. “Elemental Wielders included.”
I’m silent for a moment. Her words are clear, but the emotions that the dreamscape brings me are murky. She doesn’tbelieve what she’s saying. “What exactly is the mission of the Zenith?” I ask.
“To allow all Magekind to live openly without fear.”
Tempting. But I don’t believe a word, and I don’t believe that she does either. “Do you truly believe the sovereign can do that?”
She falters for a moment, but then says, “Yes.”
“Why are you lying to me?”
She doesn’t respond.
“Alright … A different question then. Can the sovereign preventthis?” I cast my memory of my recurring dream out to her. The frozen land, the fires raging, the sky turning black.
Winnie clasps her hands over her temples and squeezes her eyes shut. Tears stream down her face.
I hate doing this to her, but I don’t have a choice. “I believe that is what we are meant to prevent,” I say, the words effortful. She doesn’t open her eyes. I let the image fall away, returning us to the garden. Pain pulses at the back of my head, and my muscles strain, my hands beginning to shake.
Winnie opens her eyes and sighs with relief.
“We have to get to Siad Nahar. We have to find out more about this vision. I know you feel called to that place. We need you to guide us, and we need a Terraforger to get us in.”
Her fear threads through the dreamscape. Fear of the unknown. Fear of letting go. It’s so uncannily relatable, but before I can tell her I understand how daunting it feels, she turns and snatches another flower from the bush. She crushes the thorny stems intentionally in her hand, pain cutting across her flesh.
“Winnie!”
“Release me, Basduun,” she says.
The intended insult has no real sting. It’s an act. I pity her attempt to hurt me—to make me balk. I pity her attempt to convince herself of the Zenith’s mission.
