Well, to be entirely accurate, it had been a joint venture between the Brightcrests and Rowanwoods, before the Rowanwoods had ruined it with their selfishness and greed. But Mariselle preferred to think of it as a magnificent creation belonging solely to the Brightcrests. It was calledDreamland, after all.
The skeletal pavilion frame rose against the night sky like the ribcage of some enormous magical beast, dull lumyrite still embedded in the structure. Luminous moss covered the crumbling columns, and nightveil orchids unfurled slowly, petals transforming from near-black to intricate silvery patterns wherever the moonlight touched them.
With no clear plan beyond escape, Mariselle sprinted toward Windsong Cottage, the mysteriously preserved building that stood a short distance away from the ruins. Unlike the rest of Dreamland, the cottage remained pristine behind its shimmering veil of preservation spells, impossible to enter yet perfectly maintained. If her grandmother’s tales were to be believed, this cottage was where the very first plans for Dreamland had been conceived. Mariselle had tried countless times to find a way inside, hoping to discoverthe forgotten secrets of Dreamland that no one from her grandmother’s generation was willing to share. But it had always remained firmly beyond reach, wrapped in enchantments that refused to yield to even her most determined attempts.
Mariselle planned to dart around the cottage’s eastern side, where the wild briars grew less densely, but skidded to a halt when she spotted the echobark that must have fallen during last week’s spring storm. The cottage itself remained undamaged, protected by its enchantments, but the massive trunk and tangle of branches completely blocked Mariselle’s escape route.
Panic fluttered in her chest as she glanced frantically for another path, finding none. With Evryn’s footsteps crashing through the underbrush behind her, she had no choice but to dash straight for the cottage’s front door, though she knew perfectly well that no one had breached those preservation spells in decades. For the first time that night, genuine fear replaced her triumphant excitement.
The sound of Evryn’s footsteps pounded closer as she reached the cottage door. She spun to face him, tightly clutching the manuscript pages behind her and pressing her back against the weathered wood. Her injured palm throbbed in protest.
“Will you truly take it by force?” she demanded, struggling to catch her breath. “How very gentlemanly of you.”
Evryn came to a halt before her, his chest heaving. His previously immaculate riding jacket was now smeared with mud along one sleeve and half of his chest, while dirt streaked the left side of his face. Even in the moonlight, she could see the storm-gray of his eyes had darkened with anger. “When have Brightcrests ever concerned themselves with respectable behavior?” he said, his own breathing ragged. “I’ll tear those papers from your hands if necessary.”
“You’ll have to catch me first,” she taunted, knowing he would advance and planning to duck beneath his arm and race away.
“Consider it done.” He stepped forward, and Mariselle attempted to slip beneath his outstretched arm. But his reflexes proved quicker than she’d anticipated. His fingers snatched her wrist, tugging her back and trapping her against the cottage door as she shrieked in outrage. She kicked at his shin, vaguely aware of how utterly horrified her mother would be at such unladylike behavior. The manuscript crumpled between them as Evryn crowded heragainst the door, one hand planted firmly on the weathered wood beside her head while he grabbed for the papers.
“I won’t—let you—have them,” she insisted through gritted teeth, stuffing the crumpled papers behind her back once more. She pressed her injured palm against the door for support as she attempted to sidestep him.
“They aremine,” he countered, his eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. “You cannot?—”
“I will ensure that all of Bloomhaven knows of E. S. Twist’s true identity before sunrise,” she hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. “I swear it. You?—”
“AndIswear that you shall never?—”
Searing light erupted from the door. Pain lanced through Mariselle’s palm, white-hot and electric, racing up her arm in pulsing waves. She jerked away with a startled cry, echoed by Evryn’s gasp as he likewise recoiled.
The light vanished as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving behind an unsettling tingle that crept beneath Mariselle’s skin. She hastily shoved the manuscript beneath her left arm, clamping it tightly against her ribs and twisting her body to shield it from Evryn’s reach before yanking off her torn glove with her teeth. (Her mother would have collapsed into a well-timed swoon at this point.)
She stared at her bloodied palm with its clean slice across the center, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach as she slowly turned her hand. A silvery pattern had appeared on her skin. An intricate, swirling design that curled from the edges of her palm, across her hand, and up around her wrist, gleaming faintly. She looked over her shoulder at Evryn, who was staring at his own hand where an identical mark emblazoned his skin.
And it was at precisely that moment that the front door of Windsong Cottage, which had remained magically sealed for over fifty years, quietly swung open.
Chapter Two
The doorthat had defied entry for more than half a century now stood ajar, and for a moment, Mariselle could not move, could not breathe, could not fully comprehend what her eyes beheld. And then, in the quiet stillness of her shocked mind, an idea that should have been obvious far sooner suddenly presented itself.
With a steadying breath, she reached for that elusive boundary she had spent years exploring, the veil that separated the waking world from the dream realm. Most fae had no hope of consciously accessing it, but the Brightcrests were not most fae. Without another moment’s hesitation, she slid the crumpled manuscript from beneath her arm and slipped it straight into the air in front of it—directly into the dream realm.
A small, satisfied smile curved her lips at Evryn’s stunned exclamation behind her. “What … what did you just do?” he demanded.
“I’ve hidden it in the dream realm,” she replied, as though she had merely tucked it into a pocket. She glanced over her shoulder and met his disbelieving expression.
“That’s—that’s not possible,” he stammered.
She arched a brow. “And you know so much about dream magic, do you?”
“I know your manifestation of it is weak at best,” hecountered. “I saw your display last year when you were presented at the Opening Ball. I almost fell asleep.”
The barb stung more than it should have, considering she had deliberately performed below her capabilities during her debut. Her presentation had shown only the most basic extraction of dream essence, the same power almost all Brightcrests manifested, a decision that had been calculated.
Her true abilities would have immediately made her valuable to her family but in ways that would strip her of autonomy rather than grant her the validation she so desperately craved. She needed to reveal her true powers on her own terms and in her own time, when she could present them as an achievement rather than a resource to be exploited. After more than a year since her manifestation, she was still awaiting the perfect opportunity.
“Be that as it may,” she said, eyes narrowing. “It does not change the fact that I’ve hidden your manuscript in the dream realm. You have no hope of retrieving it.”
Evryn spluttered with fury and indignation, but Mariselle’s attention had already returned to the cottage doorway. Windsong Cottage was open.Open!After decades of standing impervious to all attempts at entry, its preservation spells seemingly unbreakable, it now appeared ready to welcome her inside.
