The Fading Dream (20 page)

“You
will surely fall,” the Rose Queen said. “Perhaps the Tree will grow again in more fertile ground.”

“A pity,” Cadrel whispered to Thorn as he returned to her side. “To come all this way only to see such discord. Still, I suppose their weakness is a boon for our people.”

That’s it, Thorn realized.

“Stop!” she cried. “All of you. Stop fighting. I know what’s happened here.”

All eyes turned to her, but none were friendly. “As do we,” Syraen growled. “Your kind stole our greatest treasures.”

“An impossible theft,” Thorn said. “And one that makes no sense. A nightmare that has turned you against one another. And the one truly responsible is here in this room.”

The ghaele all looked at Tira. “I don’t understand,” the veiled lady said. “What is it you accuse me of?”

“I’m not accusing you,” Thorn said. Steel was in her hand, and his point was pressed against Cadrel’s throat.

C
adrel laughed. “Well done, my dear.”

Then he was gone.

But he didn’t go far enough. Thorn had her full attention on the bard, her supernatural senses keyed to any trace of his motion. Even as she felt the air rush in to fill the void in space, she felt a displacement to her left, just at the door to the chamber. It was an excellent trick. Not only did he teleport, but he’d wrapped himself in invisibility; the doorway seemed to be empty. But Thorn could
feel
his presence, and she let that instinct guide her as she threw Steel.

Cadrel cried out in pain as the blade caught him in the back of the knee. Blood spattered across the floor as he returned to view, falling to the ground. Quickly Syraen was upon him. The winter lord wrapped one hand around Cadrel’s neck and lifted him off the ground. There was a sharp chill in the air, and ice formed around the bard—a layer of frost that grew and spread, becoming a coffin binding Cadrel, leaving only his head free.

“What is this?” Tira said, her eyes flashing.

Thorn walked over to the trapped man. “Do you want to tell them, Essyn? Is that even your name?”

Cadrel grinned. “Not the one I was born with, no. But it’s good enough for you.”

Thorn turned to look at Tira. “No one could teleport into or out of your vault. Yet somehow, our enemies did. But why? How did they know where we were? What treasures you possessed? What do they even think they’ll do with your shards? It seems that I have two of them, and they’ve brought me only pain.”

“Explain yourself,” Syraen said.

“Cadrel said it himself, just moments ago,” Thorn replied. “When this journey began, these soldiers attacked the prince of Cyre. It had nothing to do with you or your gems. It was his fear, the fear that his people would turn against him.”

“So?”

“At sea, the captain faced an old nightmare, a weapon she’d hoped never to see again, and one that claimed her life. On land, my suspicions were confirmed when it seemed that we’d been followed. But even then I was afraid that we’d been followed. But I didn’t know what my enemies wanted. And nothing they said explained it. Only here did they seem to have a purpose … and one that made no sense. If they were following us, using us to get to you, why try to kill the prince in the first place? And possessing scrying and teleportation magic … this Covenant of the Gray Mist may be a tough group of soldiers, but they don’t have the resources for that sort of magic.”

“I was scrying on the vault,” Tira said. “I saw what occurred.”

“You saw what you
feared
,” Thorn said. “As we’ve seen since this journey began. Nightmares made manifest. And who was present at every occasion? My friend Essyn Cadrel, a man who had no true need to be in the vault with us.” She set Steel back against his throat. “When I took the wand from Cazalan in Seaside, it vanished
when the fight was over. When I touched him in the vault, I felt no life in him. I don’t think he teleported. I think he was never there to begin with.”

“Then where are the stones?” Syraen said.

“I thought glamour was your specialty,” Thorn said. “If I had to guess, I’d say they were wrapped in illusion. Hidden so we couldn’t see them. And that you gave them to Shan Doresh just before he left, didn’t you, Cadrel?”

He laughed. “The Citadel should be proud. Too little and too late, of course, but well done.”

“Who are you really?” she said. “I’ve seen you cloak yourself in illusion, back during the attack on the prince. And then you brought his nightmares to life. But why?”

Cadrel smiled and as he did, his face changed. His beard turned to smoke and drifted away. His skin became soft and smooth, suffused with a rosy hue. His ears became long and pointed, with silky, black hair flowing around them. He was a young, handsome eladrin. Only one thing marred the image. At first Thorn thought his pupils had expanded to fill his eyes. Then she realized that he didn’t have eyes. Just empty holes opening into a hollow shell, as if his face were a mask filled with swirling mist.

“I’m Essyn Cadrel,” he said. “Or I have been for as long as you’ve known him. I’ve stood at the prince’s side since the Day of Mourning, planting the seeds of doubt and fear in his mind. And I’m Cazalan Dal. I’ve been many others since my return. But I was born Kalas Tan Doresh, a child of the Fortress of Dreams. I fought by the side of my lord when the eladrin of the Silver Tree fled in fear, and I suffered with him in the long nightmare that followed. Once I wove dreams. Now I can make your nightmares reality. And so I have.”

“The knife,” Drix said suddenly. “The shifting blade.
Like those in the hands of the Covenant. A blade of dreams, shifting to become a murder weapon in my grasp. A nightmare.”

“Much like the death of a beloved prince,” Cadrel said. “Yes. It was our hand that guided you to that path, our hands that slew your son, Tira. We who gave you the tools of your destruction.”

“Kalas?” Tira whispered. “Why would you do this? Why would Doresh?”

Cadrel shook his head. “I’ve said all that I will tell you for free, fallen queen.”

Syraen stepped forward and Thorn could feel the temperature drop around him. “You seek to bargain, thief? I will freeze the blood in your veins. I will chip away your flesh until you beg to share your secrets.”

The former spymaster smiled. “I look forward to it. You cannot imagine the things I’ve seen, the nightmares I’ve experienced.” He glanced at the assembled fey. “Oh, I’d hoped to escape. I didn’t think any of you were bright enough to see through the game. But I knew there was the chance you’d capture me. I know exactly what you can do. Freeze my flesh. Scour me with thorns. Strip the joy from my soul. In time you might break me, yes. But not time enough for you.”

The chill grew deeper as Syraen stared at the prisoner. He glanced back at the others, and Thorn could feel the doubt weighing down on them all. She didn’t know exactly what those stones of theirs did, but it was clear that the loss was a very heavy blow; it seemed as if all the fire had gone out of them.

Then she considered Cadrel’s words again. “You’ve said all you’ll say … for free.”

Cadrel looked at her, the smile still on his face. His eyes were deep shadows, but she could imagine the twinkle of the old man. “Yes.”

“What is it you want?” Tira hissed.

“I’ve already taken everything you have to offer me,” he replied.

“You’ve taken all
they
have,” Thorn said. She reached back and ran her fingers over the stone in her neck. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Cadrel’s smile widened. “If only it were that simple, dear girl. Still, you have something these old twigs lack.”

Thorn took a step toward him. “And what would that be? Don’t tell me you want secrets of the Citadel?”

Cadrel laughed. “No, I am done with your kingdoms now. There is only one thing you can give me.”

The room was utterly still; around her, the fey lords might have been statues. “And that would be?”

“What would any man want from such a lovely young lady? A kiss, of course.”

Thorn shook her head, sighing. She’d been drawn in by the tension of the moment, by the energy of it, but of course it had all been a game. Then she noticed that the eladrin were still watching her. The tension hadn’t vanished. If it were a joke, she was the only one who could see it. “Wait,” she said. “You’re not serious?”

“Of course not,” Tira said. Her veil flowed as she stepped forward, laying a hand on Thorn’s shoulder. “We could never ask such a thing of you.” Her voice was cold and grim.

“An easy thing for you to say, Lady of the Silver Tree.” It was the Lord of Emerald Lights who spoke, his radiant attendants subdued. “You already were doomed when this day began.”

“You dare—”

The room fell into chaos, the lords and ladies shouting at one another. Ice spread where the Lord of Taer Syraen struck his fist against the table, and green radiance
filled the room. And out of the corner of her eye, Thorn saw the creature who had once been Cadrel smiling.

“Enough!” she cried.

None of them listened. “We have suffered enough indignities at your hands!” Syraen roared at Tira. “If you think I will allow one more—”

She drew Steel. “You want to explain this?” she muttered.

It’s always possible they’ve all gone mad
, he said.

“That was my conclusion,” she murmured.

But from what I’m gathering, they consider the kiss to be an act of grave risk and that they would somehow be indebted to you for taking this risk
.

Thorn shook her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought about the sensations that flowed through her when the surge of unnatural strength imbued her muscles. She drew on that again, only it wasn’t strength she sought. She imagined the voice of a dragon, echoing across the plains.

“Enough!” Thorn roared.

For all that she’d known what she was trying to do, she hadn’t truly expected it to work. Her voice was a thunderbolt, reverberating through the room; even the proud fey clutched their heads. All eyes turned back to her.

Thorn strode over to Cadrel, still trapped in his frigid prison. Even his empty eyes were wide.

“You want a kiss,” Thorn said. She glanced at the others. “You don’t want me to do it. So it seems this discussion is all about me. You.” She looked at Cadrel. “What exactly are you offering?”

“Three questions I will give you, and the answers told truthfully.” Eyebrows raised innocently over hollow sockets. “All for a single kiss, one memory for an old man to take with him to his grave.”

The Lord of Emerald Lights began to speak again, and Thorn silenced him with a piercing glare. “Now,”
she said, looking at Tira. “Setting aside the fact that this little tragedy isn’t my problem. Why are you so concerned about me giving my old friend here a last kiss before Lord Syraen freezes his toes off?”

“Because this tragedy isn’t your problem,” Syraen hissed.

“He’s told you what is in his heart, nonetheless,” Tira said. “And what we all fear. You are not sworn to us. You cannot take such a risk with no gain.”

“Such a risk?” Thorn said. “It’s not my first kiss.”

“Fool of a girl,” Tira hissed. Her voice was filled with exhaustion. “Have you learned nothing? Have you never heard the tale of the princess sent to slumber for a thousand years, of the maiden turned to glass by my father’s touch? You walk in the world of stories now. This one harvests nightmares. There’s no knowing what he truly has in store for you.”

Thorn glanced at the imprisoned spy. “Is that it, Cadrel? Are you a lady-killer?”

His shoulders were bound in ice, but he managed a convincing shrug with his eyebrows. “I cannot promise your safety, my dear. That’s what gives spice to the story, isn’t it? I will hold to my promise: one kiss before you or I leave this room, and you will have three answers. As to whether you will survive the experience … there’s only one way for either of us to find out.”

He craned his neck forward, pursing his lips. An instant later, the ice was all around him, his head completely encased in the frigid prison.

“I have lost enough today,” Syraen said. “No more.”

Thorn turned to face him. “You’re afraid, is that it?”

The eladrin rose to his full height, glaring down at her. “Beware, woman. In this moment I owe you nothing.”

It’s the stories
, Steel whispered. But Thorn understood.

“That’s right. You owe me nothing. And you’re terrified that I’ll do you a favor.”

“You’re learning.” It was the gnome who sat across the way. “This is our world and our way. Weakened as we are, we cannot shoulder an unknown debt.”

“Fine,” Thorn said, thoughts racing. A part of her wanted to walk away. Her task had been to escort Drix to the Tree, and she’d done that. Stories of the Mourning, the theft of the stone—none of that affected Breland.

Still, there was the mystery of it. Cadrel had been advising Oargev for years, and yet Cadrel’s deception had been designed to make the fey blame Cyre for the assault. Cadrel and Shan Doresh might be striking at the eladrin, but who else was getting caught in the crossfire? What might she learn by following through? Was she really afraid of a kiss?