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Once more the anxiety and fear pressing heavily against my chest made it impossible to answer. He studied me a moment, as if trying to find the answers in my eyes, before understanding dawned.
“You created it.”
I thought I’d feel relief at him knowing, but instead my panic only grew. My confession burst free, unable to be contained any longer. “I have no idea what happened. I was cultivating with Iris and we sensed different details in the seed…only mine was dark, a contrast to the light she felt. After she left, I was curious what the seed would turn into, so I helped the flower grow, only afterwards it…changed.”
His frown grew thoughtful as he studied the nightmare flower. “I’ve never heard of any magic being able to change the nature of something. Cultivating seeds are created the moment their details are captured by the Seed Harvesters, and once made into a seed they can’t be changed.”
I wrung my hands. “But I—I don’t even know what I did. It was an accident.”
“I know, Eden.” His tone was all gentleness, as was his look when he finally met my gaze. “You would never purposefully create something that frightens you.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Despite trusting him, I’d half expected to be condemned, just as I’d been doing unceasingly to myself in my own thoughts—not to be received with such understanding and gentleness, a response which caused the tears I’d been fighting to escape.
His expression crumpled. “Don’t cry, Eden.” He scooted closer to catch one of my tears on his fingertip as it trickled down my cheek. “I’ll help you.”
“Why would you want to?” I asked.
His eyes blazed with an intensity that was both beautiful and frightening. “Ineedto. I’ll go to the library, try and find any information about this, whatever it takes—”
“There isn’t any.”
Ever since I’d created the nightmare flower, I’d scoured every book I could find for some sort of explanation, had subtly tried to extract information from Iris or steal glimpses of Darius’s books during our Weavings, and I’d even briefly considered asking Caspian how one of his seeds could have transformed into a nightmare flower, but I’d found nothing that could explain what had happened. The uncertainty had only escalated my fear, allowing me to fill in the blanks in my knowledge with my own condemning and frightening explanations.
You’re a Nightmare.
I gave my head a rigid shake in hopes of dispelling that seductive, slithering voice from my thoughts. “I’m a Dreamer,” I whispered, as if saying the words out loud would make them more true.
“I know you are,” Darius said gently.
His confirmation calmed the worry wrenching my heart and I relaxed. A peaceful silence enfolded us, one that, thanks to Darius, felt healing after the exhausting worry I’d been clinging to these past several days. With Darius’s presence and the soothing backdrop of the enchanted waterfall, the moment almost felt like a peaceful dream, one I wanted to remain in forever.
Until the distant chime signified the late hour. I reluctantly stirred. “The Weaving—”
Darius shook his head. “Let’s stay here a moment longer.” The look in his eyes matched the need filling my heart to extend our time together.
I offered a teasing smile. “Encouraging me to be late? Are you trying to corrupt me to your Nightmare ways?”
He grinned crookedly. “If it means I get to continue spending time with you.”
Even though his words were ones that shouldn’t be spoken by a Nightmare to a Dreamer, my heart still swelled. “And seeing me at Weavings isn’t enough?”
His green eyes smoldered. “Not at all.”
My heartbeat escalated and it suddenly became rather difficult to breathe. I swallowed. “If we’re going to delay our Weaving…what would you like to do?”
“I don’t care, so long as I spend time with you.”
The space between us suddenly felt too large. As if sensing this, Darius scooted closer, his gaze riveted to mine.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” He fell silent.
I waited a breathless moment, eagerly awaiting the continuation of his thought. “What do you want to ask me?” I asked.
His blush deepened as he lowered his eyes, as if suddenly too shy to look at me. “I was wondering…have you heard about the Dream Festival?”
I frowned, slightly disappointed in the change of direction in our conversation. “I have.”
Banners and posters advertising the upcoming Dream Festival had been posted on every building and signpost for weeks, featuring fantastic displays and exhibits, fabulous prizes for winners of various competitions, and the Universe-renowned flying colors show.
