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I found myself again at the center of Greythorne’s maze, face-down in front of Urso’s feet. There was no blood dripping from his hands this time; the fountain below was still dry, but a water droplet ran down his cheek.
Then another, then another. Raindrops that looked like tears.
Tears, I thought, and the stray image caused the whole scene to dissolve and be remade in crimson-red tones. A girl was raising a sword. A man was bent at her feet, a single tear rolling down his cheek as she sliced . . .
Stars above, telling Rosetta about the Bleeding Dream had made it stick in my mind, and the Gray had somehow caught my thoughts and dragged me back to face them. My revulsion caused the Gray to spasm and contract, my thoughts and my subtle body both spinning out of control.
Lightning flashed, and the maze was gone. Instead, I was standing on a narrow strip of cobble laid in a careful design at the basin of a sweeping valley. It was raining heavily, but I could see a man not far from me, on his hands and knees in the storm, laying each piece with a bent back and a weariness so tangible, I felt it in my own bones.
That sense of loss and longing . . . reminded me of Onal standing beside the empty bassinet. The Gray, in response, pulled me into another nursery. Not any nursery, though—this one was the royal nursery back home in Syric. I’d spent many evenings in it as a little girl, helping my mother rock baby Conrad to sleep. A different woman was bending over another bassinet, smiling blissfully down at the child inside it. I knew her face from the castle portraits; this was Queen Iresine, my grandmother. The baby had to be her only son: my father.
I leaned back into the shadows as another man entered the room. He bowed before straightening his waistcoat.
“How is she?” Iresine asked, forehead furrowed.
“The delivery was very difficult,” the man answered, “but she should survive.”
“Thank the Empyrea for that,” Iresine replied devoutly. “Will you let me know when she wakes?”
“I have another task to attend to,” the man demurred. “Family business, if you don’t mind my taking a short amount of leave? I’ll be back in a day or two, But I’ll make sure Carlisle keeps you apprised of her condition.”
“Thank you, Henry,” she said, smiling. “Take all the time you need. Your devotion to our family has been beyond all expectation. I don’t know how to express my thanks.”
Henry nodded gravely. “It is my pleasure, Majesty. Serving you is, and has always been, the greatest honor of my life.”
Iresine picked up the baby carefully, cooing at him as she wandered over to look out the window.
“Oh, and Henry? Do be careful out there; it looks like snow.”
He gave a deep bow. “I will.”
The scene shifted suddenly, violently. It was the same nursery, just as before, but evening time. A woman burst through the door, hair matted to her forehead, eyes wild. She was wearing a dressing gown that hung loosely off her frame.
Onal. My Onal.
“Where is she?”
Iresine had been rocking the baby, but she stood up at the sight of Onal. A man scurried in behind her, flustered. “I’m sorry, Majesty. I tried to keep her in bed, but she wouldn’t stay.”
“It’s fine, Carlisle,” Iresine said. “Onal, my dear, you should be in bed.”
“Where is she?”
“Not a she. A he. Look! A son. You gave us a son. Costin and I have named him Regus.”
Iresine held the baby out to Onal, who came nearer and touched the infant’s face with reverent, shaking fingers.
Iresine’s eyes shone as she looked at Onal. “He’s beautiful. He’s got Costin’s hair, definitely, but I think he’s going to have your golden skin. And your nose, too, I think.”
Onal’s face sent a crack across my heart as she traced the curve of his round cheek.
“Thank you,” Iresine whispered, “my beautiful, wonderful friend.”
Onal took a step back. “But where is the other one? Where is my daughter?”
Iresine gave her a look full of pity. “My dear, this is the child you bore. There was only one.”
“No.” Onal was shaking her head, hands twisted in her gown. “No. No. I saw her! I saw her. There were two.”
