Keith Baker - The fading dream

“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?”