Exile for Dreamers (31 page)

Bees and wasps have never bothered me in the past. I've never been stung. Indeed, they've been known to crawl on my hand and leave me as unscathed as a rose petal. That's why it surprised me to have one flit so menacingly close. A large bee, too. Larger than most. Light glinted off its wings, and the bee shimmered gold.

I stared openmouthed. It was actually made of gold. An entirely golden bee, both wings and body. A moment later another shining bee appeared. Then there was not two bees, but five, then ten, and all of them angrily darting to and fro about my head. I waved my arms, trying to shoo them away.

Gabriel frowned. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“The bees,” I said, swatting to defend myself as one of them buzzed toward my mouth.

Ten bees turned into twenty and then a swarm. I ran, calling to Gabriel that we must run for shelter. I worried when I heard no answer and didn't see him running alongside me. Through the swarm of golden bees encircling me, I saw Gabriel still back on the cliffs.

He was kneeling over me holding my unconscious body. Calling my name. Trying to rouse me.

“I hate these dreams,” I said and ceased running.
Why should I try to escape the inescapable?

I allowed the golden bees to batter and sting me. They swarmed over me, crawling into my nose and up my skirts, a great stinging, suffocating blanket.

 

Twenty-two

DAYDREAMS

I awoke to find Gabriel holding me, his fingers stroking my cheek. Relief washed the distress from his features. He hugged me close and sighed. “You're back.”

Not dead?

At least, not dead yet. I grimaced. My skin burned from where the golden bees had stung me over and over again. I rubbed my arm but did not feel the welts I'd expected. I inhaled fresh air and let go of the scorching heat that had filled my lungs. As I did, the searing pain began to fade.

Renewed worry furrowed his brow. “What's wrong?” he begged. “Tell me.”

This was the very thing I meant to spare him. Waking dreams. Mad visions. I couldn't talk about it, not yet. Wisps of sunlight shone like a halo around his dark curls.

I looked away, unable to bear his anxious expression, and saw Miss Stranje and Captain Grey running toward us. She must've been using her spyglass again.

Breathless, they reached us and Gabriel answered their questioning gazes. “I don't know what's wrong. We were talking and all of a sudden she collapsed. I think she's in pain.”

Miss Stranje knelt beside me and brushed my hair away from my forehead. “What was it, Tess? What did you see?”

“Nothing. Pure lunacy. Bees. Not even real bees. They were made of gold. A swarm of them attacking me for no reason.”

What would she make of that?

Gabriel tightened his grip on me. “She's not well.”

Captain Grey placed his hand on Miss Stranje's arm. Exchanging grim glances, they came to some sort of silent conclusion.

Captain Grey took charge. “We will discuss this later, Miss Aubreyson. For now, I think it would be best to take you back to the house so you can rest. Do you think you can walk?”

“I'll carry her.” Gabriel started to lift me.

“And rip your stitches? Thank you very much, but I think not.” I felt stronger with every passing minute. “I can manage on my own.” I struggled to sit up, but Gabriel glowered, stubbornly holding me in place with his good arm.

“Oh, for pity's sake. I'm much better.
Truly.
” I smiled to reassure him. He didn't believe me. “Kindly stop frowning at me and help me up.
Please?
”

Grumbling, he released his viselike hold on me. He and Captain Grey helped me to my feet, and with my arms draped over their shoulders, as if I were a cripple instead of a madwoman, we made our way back to Stranje House. They set me down on the divan in the blue parlor.

Gabriel immediately began to pace, his limp more pronounced than normal. “Tell me what happened out there. One minute you were swatting at something in the air, and the next…” He shook his head. “You fainted.”

Miss Stranje sat on the chair nearest me. “We're all still learning how her dreams take hold.”

“
That's
what that was?” Gabriel stopped and raked his fingers into his hair. “A dream?”

“I warned you.” I closed my eyes, hiding, feeling utterly exposed and humiliated. “You didn't know what the madness was like. Now that you've had a taste of it, perhaps you will finally understand why I can't—” I couldn't say the rest of it, not with Miss Stranje and the captain leaning on every word. “Why we don't have a future.”

“I've already explained how I feel,” Gabriel blurted. “Why won't you listen to me?”

“Because I have lived through it with my mother and my grandmother. You haven't.”

“I'll not have you thinking that way, Tess.” Miss Stranje sounded irritated. “These are dreams. Not madness.”

“It's a painfully small leap from one to the other.” I fiddled with a loose thread on the fabric of the divan.

And then a short hop to death.

“No.” Miss Stranje leaned in, wearing her sternest teacher face. “Dreams and visions are merely that, dreams and visions. Madness lies only in how one reacts to them.”

I massaged my forehead, which throbbed as if there were still bees banging around inside it. “I don't expect you to understand. How could you?”

“It doesn't matter.” Gabriel stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “Madness. Dreams. Visions. Whatever they are, whether they are a gift or a curse, I don't care. They make no difference to me.” So these were his words of love? A cloaked pledge of his undying affection, delivered with all the gentleness and affection of a great scowling brown bear.

“Well, it should matter,” I snapped. “Attacked by golden bees. That's madness pure and simple.”

Captain Grey clapped Gabriel on the shoulder. He meant it as a comforting
man-to-man-I-know-how-difficult-women-can-be
gesture, except it startled Gabriel. Surprise whipped across his features. I wondered if such claps on the shoulder had meant something entirely different when his father had delivered them.

The captain noticed it, too, and removed his hand. He went to stand next to Miss Stranje's chair and addressed me in soldier-like tones. “Perhaps not, Miss Aubreyson. Napoleon's royal crest bears a liberal application of golden bees. Even the flag he commissioned during his exile on Elba displayed golden bees across every field. They are considered a symbol of resurrection and immortality. So you can see why they are of particular significance to him. Your dream could very well be a warning of things to come.”

I glanced with uncertainty at Gabriel. “Very well. But what were they doing attacking me?”

“That I'm afraid is a bit of a mystery. But I think it is safe to say that your dream is linked to Napoleon somehow.”

I turned my head and studied the silk painting hanging on the far wall, a pair of long-legged storks standing beside a placid pond. Right now, I felt anything but placid. I risked a sideways glance at Miss Stranje.

She scrutinized me with pursed lips. “There's something more. What aren't you telling us?”

“Something Daneska said today. It's all flummery, of course.”

“And yet it troubles you.”

I took a deep breath and told them everything she'd said.
Almost.
“Apparently Napoleon is quite superstitious about dreams. Daneska told him about mine. The emperor showed her his Oraculum, a prized tome he calls his
Book of Fate,
which he uses to interpret dreams and guide his decisions. Daneska said it appeared to be very scientific with numbers, and charts, and interpretations of dream symbols…”

“
And?
” she pressed.

Gabriel paced while he listened, his limp worsening with each turn around the divan.

I sank back as far as I could against the cushions, wondering if it would be better to keep it to myself. Finally, I conceded to her searing scrutinization. “If you must know, Napoleon told her to invite me to his palace to, um, discuss dreams with him.”

Miss Stranje leaned very close, not so hawkish this time. No, now she peered at me with the ferocity of an eagle homing in on a helpless rabbit. I will admit to feeling just a little bit afraid. “You mean Napoleon asked you to come and dream
for
him.”

When Gabriel heard what Miss Stranje said, he came to a sudden halt and stood very still at the end of the divan. “What did you tell her?”

Some perverse part of me wanted to point out the advantages. “Perhaps it would be the best place for me. Locked in a room where I can't hurt anyone”—
that someone being Gabriel
—“and with Emperor Napoleon eager to interpret these maddening dreams of mine.”

“Don't be a fool,” snapped Ravencross.

“I'm not a fool.” I huffed. “There are far worse situations in the world than being housed in a palace.”

I thought his glare might be hot enough to blind me.

Miss Stranje sat back and crossed her arms, wearing a smug half smile. “You needn't concern yourself, my lord. She told Lady Daneska no.”

“Of course, I did.”

Gabriel's shoulders relaxed. “Well, why didn't you say so?”

Miss Stranje answered for me. “I should think it was to get a reaction from you, my lord.” She turned to me and patted my shoulder. “At least now we know what the dream with the silver bowl meant.”

“Still doesn't explain the confounded bees.” Captain Grey rubbed at the stubble on his jaw and stared out the window.

*   *   *

That night I couldn't face going to see Daneska in the dungeon. My encounter with the bees still had me too flustered. She was bound to sense my agitation, and knowing Lady Daneska, she would needle me until I accidently gave something away, or broke her arrogant nose with my fist. Either way, I simply couldn't take the risk. For those reasons Miss Stranje assigned Jane the task of bringing our prisoner her supper, but not before I discussed with them an idea that might assist with our current dubious plan.

After much debate, we chose to implement both ideas simultaneously.

The next morning, I brought Daneska her breakfast. The hunk of dry bread looked crustier, and the porridge much thicker than it had been yesterday.

“More wine, I see.” She flicked her finger against a glass of dark red port. “I had wondered why Lady Jane brought such a generous portion last night.
To help you sleep,
she said. But now, here is an equally generous portion with my breakfast.”

“Be grateful it isn't gin.” I set the tray down, not caring that some of the wine splattered her.

“
Merci.
” She did a mock curtsey without getting up from her pallet. “I am most appreciative that you are using a wine, albeit an inferior one, to induce a drunken stupor rather than gutter swill.” She laughed at her own quip. “But if you suppose I will tell you where Ghost hides, you must try harder than this.” She clucked her tongue and turned away from the tray in disgust. “As if one cup of wine would loosen my tongue.”

“I told them as much.” That wasn't true, but I hoped flattery might lull her into overconfidence. The wine had been entirely my idea. I knew from experience how Dani relaxed and became far more talkative after a glass or two of liquor.

“At least
you
knew better.” She lifted the glass and turned it, until the slender rays of light that shone through her window caught on the ruby liquid. “There's nothing else in it?”

“You're worried about poison?” I asked.

“No, silly. Laudanum. One stupor to make a prisoner talkative is as good as another,
non
?”

“Thank you for the suggestion. Sadly, we don't have your expertise when it comes to extracting information. This is merely wine.”

“How disappointing.” She stared into the cup. “This is because Miss Stranje, despite the rack and whips she has for show in her elaborate discipline chamber, does not have the stomach for torture.” She took a swig of the wine. “I would not have thought her so soft.”

“She's not soft,” I shot back. “Far from it. She wouldn't have any qualms about clamping you on the rack and giving it a good crank. And I'd have helped her, too. No, you have Seraphina to thank for this. It was she who objected.”

“That one.” Daneska exhaled with disgust. “Seraphina, little mouse, she was always so weak.” I noticed she slurred the word “always.”

“Shut your mouth, Dani. Better yet, drink up or put some food in it. I don't have all day to watch you eat.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the door, brooding. “And anyway, you're wrong. Sera's not weak. Shy, perhaps, but she's not weak at all.”

Daneska nipped at her stale bread crust, ignoring me.

Irritated, I blurted, “That girl is more intelligent than you, or
anyone
else I know. In fact, it was Sera who convinced us that no matter what we did to you, you would simply lie and send us on wild-goose chases. She was right.”

“
Oui,
but I was so looking forward to it.” She pretended to pout. “Cursed little white mouse, I should've stepped on her when I had a chance.” She ripped the hunk of bread in half. “But you are wrong, Tessie,
ma chère.
Intelligence and strength—these two have nothing to do with each other. How do you say…” Daneska's speech lurched awkwardly, and despite her affected French, I noticed her Slavic accent becoming far more dominant.

“Oh, yes, now I remember. These two are not bedfellows.” The chains on her cuffs clinked as she raised both hands, weighing each attribute. “It is possible to be clever without having courage.” The manacles rattled and she winced.