I thought I was doing a pretty good job of staying upright, though the room did seem to be swaying a bit. I didn’t argue, though. Cais produced a new flannel nightshirt (despite my colorful robes, I usually slept in my smalls; to do otherwise would’ve invited nocturnal mischief from my troop mates) and helped me into it while Finn passed a warming pan between the sheets. However, as the majordomo gathered up my dirty clothes, I stopped him and plucked my knife and sheath from the bundle, sliding them under my pillow. Finn paused in his efforts to stare at me and I gave Cais’ nephew a tired smile.
“An old habit.” One that I’d developed living in close quarters with Slevoic.
“But it was your boot knife, not that big gut-ripper,” Jeff remarked.
I shrugged. “Lost it at the Fyrst’s court.” When I’d been taken captive and placed in chains during the attempted coup by the Border High Council cabal, I had my weapons stripped from me. I got every one back except for my boot knife. That I’d last seen in the hands of a would-be assassin creeping up on the unprotected back of Loran the Fyrst. I’d stopped the assassin, but lost track of the knife, not even really thinking about it as other issues had occupied my mind. “Figured I’d get another one when we returned to Freston,” I said, yawning.
Catching Cais’ eye, Finn went back to his task of making sure no chill remained on the sheets. Done, he stepped back and I climbed into the bed, sinking down into the bedding and sighing at the soothing heat. I was vaguely aware of Laurel walking about my bed, leaving shimmering lines of warding in his wake. There was a murmured discussion between the Faena, Cais and Jeff, then the door opened and closed. Rolling onto my side, I felt the feather still in my braid tickle my face. I removed it, tucking it under my pillow next to my knife, and stared into the fire until the flames blurred, then went dark.
“Well, you are a handsome one, aren’t you? Even with the braid and feather.”
I was in what appeared to be a lord’s council chamber. A large table with a map spread out on it took up the middle of the room, while a somewhat smaller table with what looked like a half globe of softly glowing alabaster in the center was in a corner. There were shelves neatly filled with scrolls and books, and a banner hanging on one wall, its device one I’d not seen before. On the opposite wall was a full-length mirror, though the glass was cloudy and dark. It was an unfamiliar room but I paid it scant attention as I was much more interested in who stood before me.
“Fair Rosea, or should I say Lady Alys?” I said, grinning and performing my soldier’s bow, my uniform fresh and crisp.
The street player’s fiery red hair seemed darker and shone with its own light. Instead of tumbling free as it had that morning when I’d met her in Theater Square, it was up in an elaborate concoction of braids and pearls. Her plain skirt and blouse had been changed for a light green silk underslip with a dark green overdress of velvet, tiny seed pearls dotting the bodice. Pearls also hung from her ears and were twisted around her neck, all shimmering in the gentle candlelight of the council chamber. Rosea moved nearer, her perfume light and elusive. “It is your dream, my lord.” She curtseyed, her gentle pink mouth curved in a smile. “I am whatever you wish me to be.”
Heigh-ho. While I supposed I’d had the typical adolescent dreams of most boys, I didn’t remember having one quite so aggressively accommodating. I glanced down and saw that instead of wearing shoes her feet were bare, her toenails also a soft pink, a strand of pearls twined about one ankle. I fought to get a breath into suddenly constricted lungs. “Uh,” I said.
Rising from her curtsey, Rosea laughed, stepping close enough that I could feel the heat from her body. ” ‘Seize the chance.’ Isn’t that the House of Chause’s motto?” Her green gaze glinted up at me. “Seize it then, Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan.”
I was already reaching for her, but my hands bumped up against a barrier and I became aware of the lines of warding woven about me. I ran a finger along one, trying to recall why they were there.
“Oh, those.” Rosea shrugged, doing interesting things to her bodice. “They are such a bother, my lord. Perhaps if you were to take off the feather, they would go away.”
Feather?
“In your braid, my lord.”
Oh. That feather. My hand went to it—and jerked away again as my hand started to tingle. Looking down, I saw that the markings on my palm were alight just like the lines,
“My lord.”
Blinking, I looked up again. And caught the flash of something in Rosea’s hand. I shifted, trying to see it more clearly, but she moved, blocking my view.
‘The feather, my lord,” Rosea insisted. “Remove it and we can be together. Always.” She pressed closer to the bright lines, her green eyes seeming to glow, and my thoughts slowed, my hand lifting to my feather. Then I became conscious of a distant roaring. I hesitated, listening.
“Don’t stop, my lord,” Rosea said urgently. “If you don’t do it now, all will be lost. You will lose me.”
The roaring was like the ocean during a storm. A howling, shore-pounding, shipwrecking storm that was fast approaching. I started to turn to look.
“No!” Rage flashed across Rosea’s face and she tried to reach through the warding lines. She snatched her hand back, though, as if burned. She then leaned forward, and I could feel her breath through the lines, warm and sweet on my face. “Hurry, my lord. Remove the feather—!”
There was a short scream as the sea broke over us and I was swept from the council room. Pulled under the storm-driven waves, I fought to reach the surface, twisting and turning as my chest burned, but the sea pressed me down, down, down.
Not winter yet.
I sat up in bed gasping, my flannel nightshirt soaked. I stared down at it, straining to see in the dark, but caught only the scent of my own sweat. Not seawater then. Bringing my knees up, I rested my forehead against them, taking deep breaths as I waited for my heart to calm down.
“Rabbit?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah,” I said. The nightshirt was clammy against my skin. I thrust back the covers and started to get out—and came face-to-face with Laurel’s warding lines. I paused, deciding that I didn’t want to go beyond their set boundary.
“Are you all right?”
Other than a very realistic nightmare about drowning, I was fine. “Yeah,” I said again. Kneeling on the bed, I pulled off my sweat-soaked nightshirt and tossed it at the foot of the bed. “Just some strange dreams.” Underneath my knees I could feel that the bedding was also damp. Waiting a moment for my body to dry some in the tepid air, I then crawled across the bed to the other side, sliding down under the covers, shivering a bit at the cold sheets against my bare skin.
“Oh,” Jeff said. “Well, I guess that’s not surprising, considering everything.”
“Yeah,” I said a third time, profound in the small hours of the morning. I realized that I wasn’t hearing any other nighttime noises. “Where’s everyone?” I asked.
I could hear Jeff shift and, by the faint light from the fireplace, I could just make out two trundle beds, one of which looked empty. “Laurel’s with Thadro,” Jeff said.
“Still?” I asked. I gave a sudden yawn, the sheets warming up from my body heat. “That’s one long meeting.”
“There wasn’t any meeting,” Jeff said. “Wyln and Arlie didn’t show. Laurel and the Lord Commander are out looking for them.”
I choked midyawn, sitting straight up. “What?”
“Thadro did stop by here first to take you with him,” Jeff said, “but you were out like a snuffed candle and Laurel said Thadro mustn’t disturb the warding lines around your bed.”