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But in my heart I knew I hadn’t been trying hard enough. Instead I was allowing myself to become distracted. But it was difficult not to when I felt as if I was being pulled between two parts of my heart—my desire to protect the world where I wanted nothing more than to remain, and my desire to create pleasant dreams for Maci.
Darius stepped forward to touch me again, this time to carefully wipe the tears that had escaped to trickle down my cheeks; thank goodness Stardust wasn’t here to see me crying in front of Darius. But for some reason I wasn’t embarrassed, trusting him enough to cry in front of him. “I know you are, but it’s not enough. If things don’t improve soon, the Council will terminate you as Maci’s Dream Weaver. Without a weaving assignment you’ll be forced to return to Earth.”
No. I needed to stay, and not just to prove to everyone I was a Dreamer. My love for Maci had only grown with each passing weaving, a warmth that blossomed like a carefully tended fire. I couldn’t be taken from her now.
“Please don’t tell the Council how badly I’m doing. I need to stay.” Surely their powers allowed them to check on my progress at any time, but perhaps if Darius refrained from informing them of my repeated failures, I’d have more time to improve.
“I know, Eden,” he said gently. “I want you to stay just as desperately.”
I blinked at him in astonishment. “You do?”
He nodded. “Of course I do. But you clearly need more tutoring than a book can provide. Please allow me to help you.”
Compassion filled his green eyes…along with something else. Thatsomething elsestoked a different fire in my heart, one far more powerful than the one that burned for Maci or even for the Dream World.
I fiddled with my bag strap as I deliberated, a movement which drew Darius’s attention to it and one of my many practice cloths sticking out from it. His brow furrowed.
“What’s this?” He took it and carefully examined the threads, which resembled a night sky of distorted half-stars more than a proper stitch. “This is the star stitch. Is this what you used tonight?”
My cheeks burned as I yanked it away from him. “Spare me your usual commentary. I know I failed miserably at it, and I know you’re probably amazing.”
For a moment he looked quite hurt. “That’s not what I was going to say. I don’t want to hurt you, Eden.”
Shame twisted my stomach that I’d allowed my embarrassment to make me so rude, especially after Darius had offered to help. I lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…really terrible, isn’t it?”
“It’s not too bad, but you do need more practice. Here’s my advice, even if you don’t want it: either stop using basic stitches—they’re too weak for the elaborate dreams you keep attempting—or create simpler dreams. Since you’re determined to raid the entire Cultivating Fields every night, we’re going to have to improve your stitches.”
I froze in shoving my practice cloth back into my bag. “We?” I stared, waiting for him to crack a smile at this obvious teasing, but his expression remained stoic. “Why would you do that when you’re obsessed with winning?”
“We’ve been over this before,” Darius said with a sigh. “Even winning loses its appeal if it’s too easy. If you really want to stay—which I can see that you do—you'll stop being stubborn and accept my help. Besides, some things are more important than winning.” His entire manner had gone very soft, causing a stirring in my stubborn heart. He held out his hand. “Let me see your star stitches.”
Even after everything, he still wanted to help me? I searched his eyes, wide and earnest, before lowering my gaze to his hand, extended in invitation, compelling me to accept what he was offering. I glanced down at Maci, still restless from her recent nightmare, and the walls of my fierce resistance finally crumbled.
Without meeting his eyes, I reluctantly handed him my practice cloth. Darius studied it carefully, tracing over each distorted stitch. “Here’s the problem: you’re using a chain stitch here when it should be a daisy stitch.” He tilted his head. “Would you like my invaluable assistance?”
The warmth he often made me feel quickly soured. I scowled. “Not if you make me beg.”
He laughed. “Very well, but just this once.” He pulled out fresh cloth, needle, and thread from his bag before he settled beside me, so close our knees practically touched. My heart pounded at his proximity. His presence radiated surprising warmth, and he smelled of caramel apples. Instinctively, I leaned closer.
He flexed his fingers. “Watch the master.”
For the next hour he tutored me step-by-step with a patience I hadn’t thought him capable of, explaining it much more clearly thanWeaving Unbeatable Dreams. At one point he even guided my hand, his fingers light over mine.
I shuddered at his touch. Stardust—who’d arrived to return me to the Dream World partway through his tutoring—monitored us through squinty, suspicious eyes, which narrowed further at every stolen glance and accidental touch Darius and I shared.
“That’s it, keep your stitches tight and even,” Darius murmured, his face so close his warm breath caressed my shaking hand as I wove, which made it rather difficult to concentrate.
Finally I completed the stitch without mistakes. I held up my cloth, now displaying a row of perfect star stitches. “I did it!”
“Excellent. Use it to group similar details together; when you attach them at each point of the stitch, they’ll stay together more securely and you’ll be able to avoid a repeat of tonight’s disaster.” His crooked grin became rather mischievous. “I’m ready for my thank you.”
I should have known Darius wouldn’t render his amazing services for free. “You know I don’t have enough dream dust to share any with you.”
“I don’t need your dream dust. I want you to tell me I’m amazing.”
I bit the inside of my cheek; paying dream dust would be less painful. “Look in the mirror and tell yourself.”
His lips twitched. “Hilarious. Now please, won’t you humor me?”
