Page 43 of Winterveil

“No. Usually I can’t dream at all when I’m wearing them. That’s why Dr. Iver gives them to me. So I can forget.”

A slight wind ruffled Nadiya’s hair, sweeping the strands back from her face.

Giselle swallowed. “Forget what?”

Nadiya turned to look at her. Even now, in the path of the midday sun, she seemed so inscrutable. Distant, somehow—like a dream within a dream.

When she didn’t reply, Giselle said, “You’re very hard to read, you know. But I think you like it that way, don’t you?”

“It’s better than being an open book.”

“Like me, you mean?”

“Well,” said Nadiya, “I am the one in your dream. And this isn’t the first time I’ve been in your head.”

Giselle flinched. “I’m sorry, Nadiya. About—about what happened in the classroom. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have listened to Professor Blanchard. It wasn’t right, putting my own thoughts in your mind.”

Nadiya was silent. The lake water lapped against the pebbled shore. She drew a deep breath and then said, “It was better than the alternative.”

Giselle frowned, uncomprehending.

“It was better than seeing what I was seeing.” Nadiya’s voice was tight. “I don’t know how he was doing it, but . . . Professor Blanchard was playing my own nightmares in my head.”

“Nightmares?” Giselle’s stomach clenched.

Nadiya nodded and pain flashed across her expression. “My worst memories. The same ones I see every night, without the nodes. Or at least . . . I did. I don’t know if I would anymore. I hadn’t tried to sleep without them until . . .”

Abruptly, Nadiya looked away, and Giselle thought she caught a faint flush on her cheeks. Heat rose to Giselle’s own face in return. The sunlight dappling the waves turned the lake water gold.

“So why here?”

Nadiya turned back to her. She was gold, too, but only in a way that Giselle could see. That sunset-orange color that was threaded to the three syllables of her name. Nadiya.

“I used to come here a lot,” Giselle replied. “Catching salamanders and skipping stones with my little sisters. Sutton had this boat, and he took me out on the water to give me my promise ring.” She almost laughed at the memory, how absurd it felt, how distant from the person she was now.

Ever so slightly, Nadiya’s brow furrowed. “A promise ring?”

“It’s stupid,” Giselle said quickly. “He’s stupid. I can’t believe I ever—never mind.”

Her face was blazing, but a gentle breeze lifted from the water and cooled it. Nadiya’s dress fluttered in the wind.

“You didn’t dream up a boat,” Nadiya said. “Or a promise ring.”

“I would never dream of Sutton.” Giselle fought a smile. “This is where my daddy taught me to fish. Before he left.”

Nadiya tensed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago. I could say I hardly remember him, but . . . well . . . that would be a lie.”

“Right,” Nadiya said. Her gaze flickered, out over the water again, and then back to Giselle, dark eyes shining. “I lost my father, too.”

Giselle grew still.

“Both of my parents. That’s what my nightmares are about. The same ones, every night.” A distant quality came into Nadiya’s voice. “They were murdered when I was nine. Dr. Iver took me in. He’s been . . .”

“Like a father?” Giselle supplied.

“Sort of. Almost.”