Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 71

Whispering hostage
Trace glanced towards the window that showed the whispering girl. Her lips moved continuously, and Sander’s face was somber as he looked at her. As they watched, a figure came and set food down on the floor next to her.

“Poor madwoman, always whispering,” The familiar voice mocked. “Our mutual friend bade me deliver a message to you: tell your brother to cooperate more enthusiastically. But enough whispering now. Take a break to eat before you drive us all mad as well.”

Conlan sneered at her and left the quivering woman behind. She must have obeyed, because the vision disappeared.

“Why haven’t you saved her?” Trace turned to Sanders, fearing the answer.

“I am prevented from doing so,” Sanders looked him in the eye.

“Who is he?” Trace demanded. “Tell me, and I will take him out. Tell me where she is and I will save her, and set us both free from his grasp.”

“He has forbidden me from telling anyone his identity or purposes,” Sanders frowned. “Unfortunately, his spoken words hold some weight. It is not quite the same, you see, as those born with magic in us, but it is not easily ignored.”

“Not the same…” Trace shook his head, confused.

“I must report to him whether or not you do what he has directed,” Sanders warned. “I cannot lie. I can leave out certain truths, but he will directly ask me about what you plant in the princess’s dreams, and the king’s. He commanded me long ago to report any secret magic users to him directly. Anyone unknown to the king.”

“So the fact that my parents kept me a secret,” Trace took a deep breath as he thought through what he was being told.

“Made you of special interest to him, yes.”

“Is it Barnabas? The Count?” Trace suddenly demanded.

Sanders blinked in surprise. “I… cannot say.”

“If it wasn’t him, I think you would tell me it was not.” Trace frowned, thinking. “So I just have to keep following his directions? You’re going to report what I do?”

“I do not watch you all the time.” Sanders tilted his head. “Although, I admit, your dreams are enjoyable. I have none, you see. Only this place. Cursed each night to watch others, or sit alone. Your world is pleasant. I hope you understand, I never mean to intrude.”

Trace flushed, and shrugged. With how many dreams he’d invaded without consent lately, it would be terribly hypocritical of him to take too much offense to Sanders’ prying.

“You said.. His words hold weight, but aren’t like those born with magic. What did you mean?” Trace asked, but Sanders’ eyes grew unfocused.

“You should go now.” He said quietly. “Time is passing, and you do not want to run out. I must also complete my own tasks, including the one for the princess.”

“I will come again, tomorrow,” Trace narrowed his eyes.

“Of course,” Sanders lowered his head respectfully. “I understand you do not yet trust my word.”

The Dreamwalker swallowed, looking around the white world once more before stepping back out of the dream. His head ached, as if too much information had been poured into it at once.

Sanders’ dream had been more powerful than any he’d entered before. Perhaps he should be careful about spending too much time there.

Lifting a hand to his head, Trace considered the words. He had much to consider, and a lot to act on. He had all but confirmed that the count, Barnabas, was behind the letters and the blackmail. But why? What was the ultimate goal?

He moved as he thought, wondering how he would find the king’s dream. He looked around at the pattern of orbs in the void around him. Back towards his own world, he could see two tenuous globes near his own: The princess, and Anaisa.

How long was the night, anyway?

“Sanders, if you’re watching me,” Trace spoke out loud, “You can tell him I couldn’t find the king’s dream, since I don’t know where his chambers are. I’ll figure it out tomorrow and work on it then. Hopefully partial obedience is enough for tonight.”

He pursed his lips and zipped back towards the tower he’d come from.

With a sigh, he hesitated, glancing between the two dreams. One held far more allure than the other, but he needed to placate his blackmailer.

“All right, Fine. Here it goes,” Trace sent a parting glance at Anaisa’s dream and set a hand on the princess’s.

He didn’t want to be in it, didn’t want to watch, so he conjured a new dream and projected it in. A grand ballroom, and a suitor in green and yellow. Trace recalled the details from the drawing and put them together. He left the face vague; it wouldn’t matter much. Most dreamers didn’t notice details as much as feelings.

Handsome.

That was the only quality he could think of to give the strange man to make the princess feel kindly toward him. Without looking inside, he held the dream together for a short time. He wasn’t sure how long, but he made sure it was long enough for Sanders to truthfully report a good faith effort.

It felt gross.

Sapphira was clearly eager for love, for flirtation, and for a happy relationship. Would she get one from the mysterious man in yellow and green? Trace doubted it.

Perhaps the suitor would be Barnabas himself?

The thought was vile, but logical, that the blackmailer would be the one to try to take the princess’s heart by such insincere means.

Trace would have to figure out a way out of this before the ball. Before the man in green and yellow showed his face and completed the scheme.

He lowered his hand, letting the princess’s dreams return to their natural state. He was exhausted. The mental strain of Sanders’ world combined with conjuring an artificial person for Sapphira weighed on him.

Knowing he should go back to his own world for the rest of the night to recuperate, he took a step in that direction… and then glanced at Anaisa’s dream.

Maybe visiting her world would do him more good than his own. His world was lonely, and he wanted to spend time with her.

Two steps closer, and he laid his hand on the edge, feeling the flavor of the dream. It was playful. Happy. Teasing.

Eagerly, he stepped inside.