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I struggled against him as his hold changed on me. He laughed. “Cicely, my own little Cicely. Oh, Myst would have such fun playing with you.”
“Grieve, no—please. Please, hear me with your heart, not with the haze of her madness.” I reached up, stroked his face, forced him to look me in the eye. He quieted then, and again my wolf whimpered in pain, making me want to weep.
Ulean swept around me. He is dangerous, like a wounded animal. Use caution, Cicely. Do not provoke him.
But he let out a shuddering breath and hung his head. “Chatter is right. I’m dangerous. If I drank from you now, I don’t know if I could stop.”
I shook my head, running my fingers through the platinum locks that cascaded down his back. “You will not hurt me, Grieve. Our love runs through lifetimes. Remember . . . remember that. You and I were together before, and we’ll be together again. We are soul mates, stronger together than apart.”>A waterfall cascaded into my body and washed me clean as I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Drenching me through, the glistening currents washed away pain and weariness and lingering feelers from the dream beast.
As we came to another door, abruptly I found myself back in my body. My hair hung, soaked—whether from water, humidity, or sweat, I didn’t know. I glanced around the dimly lit room and caught sight of both Peyton and Chatter, who looked as wet as I was. And, a ways back in the hall, a tall throne.
Thrones are almost always obvious—they’re meant to impress and intimidate. And this one was about as impressive as I’d seen: tall, imposing, and narrow-backed; I realized that it was fit for a king—a king with very large wings.
As Chatter motioned for Peyton and me to scoot close to him, there was a movement toward the back and a tall creature strode forward, knees bent, cloaked in a swirl of smoke, with wings towering above his head. He must have been ten feet tall, stretched thin and gaunt, and the only features on his face that I could see were his eyes, bulbous and faceted. He took his place, wings flanking either side of the tall throne, and pointed to the spot in front of him, then waited.
Chatter pushed me forward, following with Peyton.
He leaned forward and, in a voice so high pitched I could barely hear it, said, “Welcome to the Court of Dreams, Cicely Waters. What do you want from me?”
I wasn’t sure how to address him, so I chanced a guess. “Your Majesty, have I the pleasure of addressing the King of Dreams?”
He grunted. “Pleasure may not be the best word, but yes. I repeat: What do you want?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I took a small step forward. “Your Majesty, I have been sent by the Queen of Rivers and Rushes on behalf of a friend. He needs help that only a shaman from your tribe can give us.”
The King of Dreams did not blink—he did not have eyelids—but his eyes flashed and he tilted his head to the side. “Lainule . . . it has been many years . . .” His voice was soft, almost too soft to hear, and I caught the scent of regret in his words. “What help does your friend need?”
I let out a long breath, feeling suddenly a very small speck in the universe. “I need a spell from one of your shamans for my friend Kaylin. His night-veil demon is waking up and he needs help.”
There was a sudden shift in the room and I could hear a buzz of clicks behind us. The king froze, then reached one long, thin arm in the air and snapped his fingers. Another shadow-bound creature scuttled over to him, listened carefully to a series of clicks, and then nodded, taking off into the gloom.
“Kaylin. I have not heard that name in some time. So he still lives?”
I nodded. “Yes, he’s now a grown man and he’s slipped into unconsciousness. We cannot wake him.” And then, because I could not stop myself, I asked, “Are you one of the night-veils? I know Lainule called you the Bat People, but . . .”
The king let out a loud noise that was either indignation or laughter—I hoped for the latter—and extended his hand to me. “We are not the demons, but the product of them. We are their children. But your friend—he is hybrid, he is unnatural, and there is no predicting what will become of him. We have watched him since his birth.”
“You won’t take him away from us, will you?” I tried to imagine Kaylin—so full of life—locked away in this gloom-filled world of shadows. Though he might be a dreamwalker, he wasn’t cut out for this life. I knew it.
“We will not bring him here, no. He would not survive. We live in the periphery of your vision. We are always a fingertip away from your touch. We speak so quietly that you can hear us whisper but not what we say. We are the shadows that move on their own. We are the people of the Bat, always transforming. Your Kaylin is far too substantial to live among us. But we watch—because there may be more like him out there, and if there are, we need to know what he will become. He embodies the next generation.”
He fell silent, motioning for us to move back. Chatter led us to a corner where there was a pile of rocks, and we sat, waiting.
I leaned forward, whispering into the slipstream. What is this place? I thought the Bat People would be like the Cambyra Fae.
Chatter shook his head. No, they are an entirely different race. They take bat form in our world at times, but they can walk through our world in shadow. That’s where Kaylin gets his dreamwalking abilities. All of these creatures have night-veil demons merged into their souls. The demons have chosen the Bat People as their Chosen Ones. Their children.
He stopped as another of the Bat People entered the room. “Ten to one, that’s the shaman,” he whispered.
I nodded, but inside all I could think about was how much I wanted to go home. I didn’t like the Court of Dreams. It was too alien, too much of a reminder of how little humanity—and the magic-born—actually owned the world in which they lived. The Bat People would forever make me wonder. Was it a bat, or one of the Bat People, watching us as they flew out of the cave? And yet . . . and yet . . . how could I talk? I was also part Cambyra Fae.
Suddenly I longed to turn into my owl self and soar off into the night. I needed to be in flight, needed to be out of reach of worry and uncertainty. As soon as we got home, I’d take wing and leave it all behind. At least for a little while.
“You have the boy? The one locked to the night-veil?” The voice was so harsh it hurt my ears, and I cringed as the creature came up to me. The King sat back on his throne, apparently unconcerned as far as I could tell.
“He’s not with us, no. He’s back in our world—unconscious. Lainule said that his demon is trying to wake and that he needs a spell from the Bat People to help him.” I forced myself to sit up and shake off my fear.
The shadow laughed then, an ugly, frightening sound. His eyes burned, glowing green and sparkling with white pinpricks. “Yes . . . his demon must wake or he will forever drift in the depths of his mind. I will give you the spell, but you must be prepared. Your friend, in his new state, will be unpredictable. I bear no consequence from waking the night-veil. Make certain you want to do this, Cambyra. For once done, it cannot be undone, and I doubt that you can overcome Kaylin once he’s met and accepted his demon.”
