Time was another thing he couldn’t explain.
“Just a dumb name,” he muttered. He’d only ever conversed with himself there, but the sharp tug, when he was approaching ambiguity or dishonesty, arrived before he could attempt a lie. “I’ve been coming here for years.”
“But what is it?”
“I don’t know,” Jesstin said. “A recurring dream, or so I thought.” He gestured at her.
“We’re dreaming?” She blinked seriously, then laughed. “Sure.”
Of course they were dreaming, because if they were awake, he’d still be ignoring her. “You couldn’t lie in the Night Soul if you tried.”
Elloven lowered a dubious gaze on him. “Really?”
“Try.”
“To lie?” Her dark, absurdly long lashes seemed to sweep the air.
“Yeah. Go on.”
“All right.” A smirky grin followed her skeptical acceptance. “How I miss my dear—” Her eyes and mouth went wide. “I can’t say it. I can’t. I...” She tried again. “Nope. I can’t.”
“You were going to say husband, weren’t you?”
She nodded, laughing. “And you choose to come here? You seem far too infatuated with being mysterious for something so... candid.”
“I don’t choose to end up here. It just happens. Though it’s been a while, until tonight.”
Elloven spun around, taking the place in. “How did I end up here then?”
Jesstin shrugged when her gaze landed on him again. “Dreams never make sense. If you think of it that way, you’re not here at all. You’re just... part of my consciousness.”
“Feels real enough to me,” she replied. “But as a figment of your dream, I would say that, wouldn’t I?”
Jesstin grinned. He felt so easy around her again. Awake, he was too full of anger and frustration to even speak to her, but in the Night Soul, he was as light as a feather and actually happy to see her.
Meanwhile, his corporeal body slept away as the carriage rolled along the westbound path toward the Seven Sisters. With luck, they’d be in the Westerlands when they woke up.
“Sit,” he said. “Stay with me a while.”
“Where?” She nodded at his throne, the only one.
“Ah.” Jesstin snapped his fingers, and an identical one appeared across from it. He chuckled in surprise, as he hadn’t been sure it would work until he tried it. “Well, look at that.”
“Impressive,” she sang and climbed into the tall seat like a child. He’d been thinking of his own chair when he imagined hers, and he hadn’t accounted for how much shorter and smaller she was. But if he’d gotten it right, he’d have missed how adorable she looked, grunting and tugging on the massive oaken arms.
Jesstin sat neatly upon his own throne and smiled at the midnight widow, who smiled back. He couldn’t stop smiling. None of the complications of the real world followed him to the Night Soul, and he’d never seen the potential of such a promise before.
“What is it you actually do here? Is there a tradition we should follow?”
“Usually, I...” He waved a hand, frowning. “Sit here and stew in my misery until my mind decides I’ve suffered enough here, and I continue on in my misery wide awake.”
“You don’t look miserable now.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here,” Jesstin said and a great pressure released from his chest.
