‘Why not? You come to my dreams. And you were friends long ago; you said so. Please. He can’t go on as he is. It’s killing him. And my mother,’ she added softly. ‘I think you owe him this.’
A bee from Nettle’s flowers buzzed past my face and I swiped at it. I decided I needed to end this contact swiftly. She was drawing too many conclusions about her father and me. ‘I cannot come to your father’s dreams, Nettle. But there may be something I can do. I may be able to speak to someone, someone who can find Swift and send him home again.’ Even as I said the words, my heart sank. As annoying as Swift was, I knew what it would mean to the boy to be sent back to Burrich; I hardened my will. It truly wasn’t my problem. Swift was Burrich’s son, and they must sort it out themselves.
‘Then you know where Swift is? You’ve seen him? Is he well, is he safe? A thousand times I’ve thought of him, so young and alone and out in the world. I never should have let him talk me into this! Tell me about him.’
‘He’s fine,’ I said shortly. The bee buzzed past my ear again. I felt it settle on the back of my neck. I tried to paw it off me, but an instant later, I was bowed under the weight of a sizeable animal on my back. I yelped and struggled, but before I could draw breath, I was dangling from the dragon’s jaws. She gave me a shake, not to kill but to caution. I stopped struggling and hung there. Her teeth gripped the scruff of my neck, not piercing either hide or flesh but paralysing me.
As Nettle surged indignantly to her feet, reaching for me, the dragon lifted me higher. I dangled above Nettle and then was swung out over the chasm from my earlier nightmare.
‘Ah-ah!’ the dragon cautioned us both. ‘Resist and I drop him. Wolves do not fly.’ Her words did not come from her mouth and throat, but penetrated my thoughts, a mind-to-mind touch.
Nettle froze. ‘What do you want?’ she growled. Her dark eyes had gone flinty.
‘He knows,’ Tintaglia replied, giving me a small shake. I felt it unhinged every bone in my spine. ‘I want to know all that you know of a black dragon buried in ice. I want to know all you know of an island humans name Aslevjal.’
‘I know nothing of such things!’ Nettle replied angrily. Her hands had knotted into fists. ‘Let him go.’
‘Very well.’ The dragon released me, and for a heart-stopping instant, I plummeted. Then her head shot out on her snake-like neck and she caught me up again. This time her jaws encompassed my ribs. She squeezed me, demonstrating how easily she could crush me. Then she eased the pressure and asked me, ‘And what do you know, little wolf thing?’
‘Nothing!’ I gasped, and then choked out every bit of air in my lungs as she crushed me. It would be quick, I told myself. I would not have to maintain my lie long. She wasn’t a patient creature; she’d kill me swiftly. I glanced back to take a last look at my daughter.
Nettle stood, suddenly larger than she had been. Then she flung her arms wide. Her hair tossed in a wind that only she felt, and then haloed out around her face. She threw her head back. ‘This is a DREAM!’ she shouted. ‘And it is my dream! I cast you out of it!’ The last she spoke as single words, uttered with all the command of a queen. For the first time, I comprehended the strength of my daughter’s Skill. Her ability to shape dreams and command that which happened in them was a manifestation of her Skill-talent.
Tintaglia flung me spinning out over an infinite void. Beneath me I saw not the rocky chasm of my dream, but a vast emptiness without colour or end. I had one whirling glimpse of the dragon writhing as Nettle dwindled her back to the size of a bee. Then I clenched my eyes shut against the dizzying fall. Even as I drew painful breath to scream, Nettle spoke softly by my ear. ‘It’s only a dream, Shadow Wolf. And it belongs to me. In my dreams, you will never come to harm. Open your eyes, now. Awake to your own world.’
An instant before I awoke, I felt the comforting resistance of bedding beneath me and when I opened my eyes to the darkness of my workroom, I was not in panic. Nettle had taken the terror from the nightmare. For a moment, I felt relief. I drew a deep breath, and as I surrendered to sleep once more, I felt a drowsy amazement at my daughter’s odd Skill-strength. But as I tugged my blanket back over my shoulder and reclaimed half the pillow from the ferret, the earlier portion of my dream dragged me back to wakefulness. Swift had lied. Burrich hadn’t discarded him. Worse, his leaving had thrown the family into turmoil.
I lay still, eyes closed, wishing vainly to sleep. Instead, I mapped out what I must do. The boy must be sent home, but I didn’t want to be the one to do it. He’d demand to know how I knew he had lied. So. I’d tell Chade that Burrich had not released Swift from his household. That would involve admitting to Chade that I’d had more Skill-contact with Nettle. Well, it couldn’t be helped, I told myself grumpily. All my secrets seemed intent on leaking out and becoming known.
So I made my resolution and tried to persuade myself that was the best I could do. I tried not to imagine Burrich going back to drinking every night, or Molly driven to distraction not only by her husband’s dive into the bottle but by her son’s vanishing. I tried not to wonder how much Burrich’s vision had faded. Enough that he had either not tried to track his son, or had failed in the effort.
I was up at dawn. I got bread and milk and bacon in the guardroom, and carried it out to the Women’s Garden to eat it. I sat listening to the birdcalls and smelling the new day’s warmth touching the earth. Such things have always been a deep comfort to me. This morning, they affirmed that the goodness of the earth always goes on and made me wish that I could stay to watch the summer grow strong and the fruit swell on the trees.
I felt her before I saw her. Starling wore a morning robe of pale blue. Her hair was loose upon her shoulders, and her graceful narrow feet were in simple sandals. She carried a steaming mug between both her hands. I watched her and wished that things could have been simpler between us. When she noticed me sitting silently on the bench beneath the tree, she gaped in feigned astonishment, then changed her expression to a smile as she came to join me. She sat down, kicked her feet free of her sandals and curled her legs on the bench between us.
‘Well, good morning,’ she greeted me. There was mild surprise in her eyes. ‘I nearly didn’t recognize you, Fitz. You look as if you’ve lost ten years.’
‘Tom,’ I reminded her gently, well knowing that she had dropped my old name to rattle me. ‘And I feel as if you are right. Perhaps the daily routine of a guardsman was what I needed all along.’
She made a sceptical noise in her throat, and took a sip from her mug. When she looked up, she added sourly, ‘I notice you don’t think the same is true for me?’