“And how would you know the scope of work required when you have not yet looked at a single document?”
“Because … I …”
“Because?”
He glared at her. She arched one brow a fraction higher. He said nothing.
“You can work over there,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand toward the sitting area, where a tea table stood between the armchairs and sofa. “I’m occupying the main table tonight.”
Evryn grumbled something she couldn’t make out as he strode toward the sitting area and unceremoniously deposited the stack of documents onto the low table. He settled into an armchair, unfurled the topmost portfolio, and began scrutinizing the intricate technical drawings with furrowed brows.
Meanwhile, Mariselle returned her attention to the leather-bound volume before her, a text she’d identified as containing her grandfather’s successful endeavors rather than his theoretical musings. Unlike the earlier journals filled with abandoned hypotheses, this tome chronicled the practical applications that had yielded tangible results. Its opening pages meticulously outlined something called the ‘dream core.’
She had never heard the term before discovering this cottage and its documents. According to what she’d read so far, the dream core was the key to Dreamland’s operation —a magical focal point that anchored the dream realm to the physical world. It was also the part she would need to pour all her magic into—once she figured out exactly how to use her manifested ability, and once she determined the location of the original dream core.
If she couldn’t find it, or if it no longer existed, she’d have to construct an entirely new one. Worse, she’d probably need to enlist Evryn’s assistance in crafting it, since the darn thing appeared to be made largely of lumyrite. The latter prospect filled her with dread, as Evryn would undoubtedly contrive some unnecessarily convoluted arrangement that —
“These specifications call for enormous quantities of raw lumyrite,” Evryn said, interrupting her thoughts. “Where precisely do you imagine I’m to acquire such materials for the deteriorated components that require replacement in the original Dreamland infrastructure?”
Mariselle looked up, genuinely puzzled by the question. “Your family owns lumyrite mines, Rowanwood. Surely you have access to whatever quantities you require.”
“I cannot simply appropriate lumyrite for personal projects,” he protested. “The mines operate as a business enterprise. Every crystal is accounted for, every allocation documented. I cannot merely wander into the vaults and help myself to whatever strikes my fancy.”
“Then you shall have to devise a plan,” Mariselle replied. “I have every confidence in your resourcefulness. After all, you’ve proven quite adept at creative solutions when it suits your purposes.” She paused meaningfully before adding, “Have you not, E. S. Twist?”
The reminder of their arrangement had its intended effect. Evryn sighed, rolled his eyes, and returned his attention to the architectural drawings with resigned acceptance. “Very well. I’ll determine what can be managed.”
“Excellent.”
Silence descended upon the cottage as they each immersed themselves in their respective studies. The occasional rustle of parchment and soft exhalation of concentration were the only sounds disturbing the evening tranquility. Mariselle traced her fingertip along the yellowed pages, following her grandfather’s elegant script as it guided her through increasingly complex explanations of the dream core’s purpose and function.
Her breath caught when she turned to a page containing a meticulously rendered illustration. There, depicted in exquisite detail, was the dream core itself—a perfect sphere crafted from both a dull silvery metal and translucent lumyrite crystal. Intricate patterns had been etched across its entire circumference, flowing designs she was yet to determine the meaning of. She scanned several more pages, searching for any mention of the core’s physical location within the original structure, but found none.
With a sigh, she pushed her chair back and stood, then crossed the room behind Evryn’s chair and stopped in front of the bookshelf. Her fingers traced along the spines of leather-bound volumes and weathered journals, pausing occasionally to pull one free and examine its contents before returning it to its place.
Near the bottom shelf, she discovered a wooden box with tarnished brass hinges. She lifted the lid carefully, revealing yellowed pages filled with what appeared to be scorekeeping records—columns of numbers beneath a series of initials: V, R, K, N, T. She frowned. Whatever this was, it had nothing to do with the dream core.
With a disappointed sigh, she replaced the lid and returned the box to its position. She continued her methodical investigation of the shelves, pulling out folios and rifling through loose papers. Frustration mounted as she realized the vital information she sought was likely contained in the documents she had so imperiously handed over to Evryn.
She returned to the table and sat. Yes, she was going to have to ask him. “I need those?—”
“I’m going outside,” Evryn announced at the same moment she began speaking.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you going outside?”
“To compare these diagrams with what remains of the structure,” he replied, rising from his chair and gathering several of the architectural plans.
“That will have to wait,” she countered. “We must first locate the dream core.”
Evryn exhaled dramatically, his shoulders slumping in theatrical exasperation. “And what, pray tell, is a dream core?” he asked with profound disinterest.
“The magical focal point of the entire operation. It’s—” She waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind the details. We need to find it.”
“Well,” Evryn drawled, “since my side of the project can apparently wait, do you suppose you might be able to locate this crucial object without my assistance? I could perhaps join you on some other evening when?—”
Mariselle stood once more, her chair scraping against the floor. “Would you start taking this seriously? Have you forgotten that the contract won’t release either of us until Dreamland has been properly restored?”
“Or,” Evryn muttered, just loudly enough to ensure she would hear, “until you recognize the sheer lunacy of this entire endeavor and abandon it, whereupon we find a competent professional to remove these binding marks for us.”
