Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 40

Last dream of freedom
Trace stood on the edge of his world with a sigh, looking out at the void beyond. There were so many dreams, so many glowing bubbles of worlds as far as he could see. He had to intentionally ignore Anaisa’s, for now, or he would find himself entranced there the entire night.

He darted out, further than he had the previous night, hoping that everyone slept in roughly the same places. The locations of the dreams weren’t exactly analogous to people’s location in the physical world as they slept, but there was a rough correlation between distance.

He journeyed outward, occasionally placing his hand on the edge of one or another, searching for one in particular.

Trace hadn’t met many other magic users in person, but on the battlefield there had been a few. Their dreams sometimes had faint traces of something different, just a slight shimmer of a different color he could make out.

He was looking for the princess’s hairdresser.

Magic users weren’t necessarily prone to rebellion more than others, but her presence stuck in his mind for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down.

It was a long time before he entered any of the dreams. There were so many people in the palace! He was afraid of wasting the entire night when he finally spotted a glowing orb ahead of him that held particularly strong emotion.

That was promising, but not necessarily indicative of anything beyond extreme infatuation or hatred of another servant.

Darting up, he laid his hand alongside the edge and felt it. Looking closely, he could see the faint shimmer.

“Got you,” He whispered in triumph, though it could easily be any other magic user.

Stepping slowly into the dream, he looked around to get his bearings. He was standing in the throne room.

A woman in the corner toiled and worked at a spinning wheel, and Trace edged closer. Was this the dreamer or a figment of the dream?

As he watched, the thread in her fingers changed colors over and over again, and the bobbin filled with a beautiful rainbow. Trace was mesmerized until the woman turned dark eyes on the throne. He stepped back into the shadows.

People didn’t normally notice him inside their dreams unless he meant them to, but magic users didn’t always follow all the traditional rules. Luckily, her focus was singular.

Taking the completed thread, the woman sidled up the room, sneaking through the side halls, and came behind the throne, wrapping it slowly with her silken threads.

Soon the throne appeared as a cocoon, wrapped entirely in the string the woman had created. She pulled tighter, and the thread turned to razors, slicing and cutting into the chair. The woman’s smile was all Trace needed.

Perhaps it wasn’t absolutely conclusive, but there was something in her soul that hated the king enough to provoke a dream of destroying his throne. Maybe she would never act on it, maybe she would.

The important thing was, he now had somebody to watch.

He slipped out of the dream with a sense of heavy accomplishment. He was making progress, but not the kind he really wanted.

Freedom from the blackmailer was his goal.

Ah, well.

He ran back along the way he’d come, to his own world. Pausing at the glowing bubble closest to his own, he frowned, then shrugged.

He’d been in Anaisa’s dreams often enough that qualms about it now seemed almost hypocritical. The dream appeared calm from the outside, and he stepped in.

Wrapped in cold, he shivered, and conjured a thick coat for himself. Anaisa didn’t normally dream of winter. She was trudging through muddy, icy streets of a vast, empty city. Wisps of fog whipped up around her with the wind, in hues of blue and white. She gripped something in her hands he couldn’t quite see, but she treasured it.

There was determination, not fear or anger, written all over the dream. He followed her as she marched, though the pace at which she did was painfully slow. She shivered. There was little progress, and finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer.

He glanced at his hand, and procured a coat similar to the one she’d sewn for herself. She wore none right now. He stepped forward, up beside her as she walked, and laid the coat gently around her shoulders before stepping back again and disappearing.

Her hand came up and grasped the collar, confused.

“Hello?” She called, looking at the coat.

Trace bit his lip. Maybe he shouldn’t have changed the dream. Let it play out as it would. At least it wasn’t a nightmare…

“Trace?”

He tensed. She’d seen him?

No, no, she was looking around. Looking… for him.

“Are you there?” Anaisa’s voice shrank slightly, and the determination in the dream wavered slightly. He didn’t know whether to interfere further or not. “Trace?”

When she said his name again, it was almost a little girl’s voice, and his decision was made. He stepped forward. “I’m here.”

“It’s cold,” She told him, and he nodded, unsure what she wanted. “Trace, it’s cold.”

He stood there, staring at her. Her dream version of herself was more accurate than most people’s; it captured the blue of her gaze beautifully. Her hair appeared more fiery against the white background of the blizzard she dreamed of, and he wondered whether it would be softer here or in the real world.

“Yes, it is cold.” He replied. “Why did you make it so cold?”

The question was more of a tease than an actual question, and she seemed confused by it.

“Cold is lonely,” Anaisa responded a little blurrily.

His interference was destabilizing her dream. He stood still, holding his breath, until it settled again. Not that he needed to breathe at all in his dreams, but it felt awkward and uncomfortable to leave the habit in the real world.

“You’re not alone,” He told her. “I’m here.”

“It’s still cold,” She insisted stubbornly, like a child. Trace bit back a smile, resisting the urge to tell her she controlled the temperature here. Bringing someone’s attention to the fact that they were dreaming had unpredictable consequences, and would surely expose his secret to her.

“Don’t be cold,” He whispered, shaking his head.

She stepped closer to him, and on reflex he opened his arms. She wrapped hers around his waist, underneath his thick, unbuttoned coat so that it surrounded her. He inhaled sharply, startled by the intimate show of affection.

Anaisa pressed against him, shivering against the cold and seeking his body heat. She felt half frozen, and his heart was moved with compassion for her.

The dream’s flavor changed to something very different. Unfamiliar. She laid her head against his chest, her forehead just touching his neck. His stomach constricted with emotion.

He’d never felt like this before. Were these his own feelings, or the dream’s?

Moving slowly, as slowly as he could manage so he did not shatter the images, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her inside his coat to warm her. Her breathing was deep and even, almost as if she were falling asleep inside her own dream. Falling asleep in his embrace.

He swallowed and laid his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair was unreasonably soft. There was no way it could be this soft in real life, right?

He longed for the chance to find out.

The dream held still, just so, and he dared not do anything to disrupt it. The feeling was too intoxicating, too beautiful, for him to risk losing it.

There was no way to measure time, but he wished, hoped, that her dream would last far longer than normal. They could sleep the entire day away lingering here and he would not be disappointed in the least.

When he felt the pull of waking, he resisted it. Him leaving before she woke might alert her to something strange.

Probably not, but that’s how he justified his efforts to stay with her, to hold this imagined version of herself a while longer.

Unable to entirely control himself, he squeezed her tighter in the seconds before consciousness finally stole him from her. From the dream.

From the best dream he’d ever been a part of.

He opened his eyes to a darkened room of the inn, his back a little sore from sleeping on the hard floor. His head snapped to the right, pinning Anaisa with his gaze.

A soft smile graced her lips as her eyelashes began to flutter, and then her eyes opened sleepily. When she saw him staring, they went as wide as a doe’s and color filled her face. She clearly remembered at least a little of the dream.

“Good Morning,” He greeted her as evenly as he could manage. “…. how did you sleep?”