“Is everything all right?” Evryn took a step closer.
She lowered her hands, took a deep breath, and tried not to feel supremely awkward as she said, “You are, ah … in my dream.”
His brows rose as if in polite query. “Your dream?”
“My dream. Not Dreamland.My dream.”
His eyes narrowed a touch. “This feels considerably more real than a dream.”
“Yes, well, that’s—I believe that’s—I mean to say … yes. I think that’s how it works.”
He watched her for a moment longer, then let out a quiet laugh, warm and disbelieving. “I’ve really never seen you like this before.”
“Because you’re in my dream!” she burst out, unable to quite meet his eyes. “And it’s terribly awkward!”
“Why?”
Did she truly need to explain this? Had he never encountered the concept of dream sharing? That phenomenon where trust forged a pathway between two sleeping minds, possible only when one of the two possessed some form of dream magic. It was considered terribly intimate, and as she’d reminded Petunia not long ago, the experience was rumored to be quite … pleasurable. Though at present, she felt herself slowly perishing from mortification, which was decidedlyunpleasant. Perhaps this wasn’t dream sharing after all.
“Because it means that I … I’ve … let my guard down. I … allowed you in. Somehow. Without knowing it.” She cringed internally at her sheer lack of eloquence. Her face was surely the color of a tomato by now.
Evryn watched her a while longer, his expression softening. “Should I leave?” he asked. “I don’t want to upset you further.”
Gracious, that voice again. Like warm honey poured over her senses, settling somewhere deep within her chest and unraveling all her defenses.
“It’s … well … no. I don’t mind. Having you here, that is.” The admission felt like stepping off a ledge, exhilarating and terrifying at once. She pressed both hands to her midriff, shoulders drawn back as she attempted to reclaim some semblance of dignity. “You merely … startled me.”
“My apologies. I’m not sure how I ended up here. Or why I appear to be in my riding gear,” he added, looking down at himself with a frown. “And if Iwereto leave, I don’t quite know how I’d accomplish that.”
“I don’t know either,” Mariselle admitted. “This hasn’t happened before.”
His gaze captured hers once more, and stars above, was it the enchanted twilight of her dreamscape that rendered his eyes so mesmerizing? She couldn’t look away.
The silence between them stretched, filled only by the gentle percussion of waves against the shore and the distant call of dream-birds that existed nowhere in the waking world. The stars above them seemed to pulse with each heartbeat.
“Did you create all of this?” he asked eventually, his gaze sweeping over the cottage, the shore, the endless twilight sky.
Relief washed over her as his attention shifted away, freeing her from that magnetic gaze and offering safer conversational ground. She drew a deep breath, salt air filling her lungs. “Yes. When I manifested, soon after I turned eighteen, my dreams became far more vivid. More real.” She turned slowly, surveying her creation. “I discovered I could control them, could fill them with anything I desired. That was when I realized I possess dream architect magic.”
She faced the cottage and began ascending the steps, her fingers trailing along the weathered railing. “This is my favorite dreamscape. I modeled it after a seaside cottage where my siblings and I stayed with my grandmother one summer in our youth—the year my parents chose to enjoy Bloomhaven and the Bloom Season unburdened by ‘tagalongs.’ Here, twilight never yields to darkness, the stars shine with impossible brilliance, the moon hangs larger in the sky, and everything feels … safe. I dance barefoot on the sand or wade into the water or simply sway for hours in the hanging chair, listening to the sound of the ocean.”
She forced herself to stop talking before she accidentally spilled her entire soul to him. That was the way it was with dream sharing, so she’d heard. Something about existing together within the realm of one’s deepest thoughts made truth flow like water between cupped hands. The intimacy of sharing one’s innermost self created a vulnerability both terrifying and exquisite.
“It’s beautiful,” Evryn said.
“Thank you.” She settled at the edge of the porch, bare feet resting on thetop step, knees drawn toward her chest and palms smoothing the fabric of her gown.
After a moment’s hesitation, Evryn climbed the steps and sat beside her. “So you can craft dream landscapes. You possess an ability relating to dream wards. You can induce sleep with a mere touch.” He leaned back on his hands. “What else can you do?”
“What makes you think I can do anything more than that?” she asked lightly.
“I’m starting to suspect there’s always more when it comes to you, Mariselle Brightcrest.”
She allowed herself a small smile as his words sent a pleasant shiver through her. “All right then. You’re correct. There is one other ability I’ve manifested. I can …” She hesitated, biting her lip, but the urge to share more of herself with him was overwhelming. She turned her head and met his gaze hesitantly. “I can hear dreams.”
“Hear dreams?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that?”
She reached down, her fingertips creating delicate swirls in the scattered sand that had found its way onto the wooden porch. “At night, when all is still and quiet, I hear the dreams of those sleeping nearby like overlapping whispers. It was so dreadfully overwhelming when the ability first manifested. I keep a dream-chime above my bed now. My parents believe it’s merely one of those silly charms that’s meant to induce pleasant melodies in dreams, but I managed to enchant it with a ward that keeps most of the whispers at bay.”
