She heard Evryn call her name, felt his arms around her, and then nothing at all as the dream realm claimed her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Mariselle!”
Evryn lunged forward, catching her as she crumpled, her body suddenly boneless in his arms. Fear stole his breath, turned his blood to ice. “Mariselle?” His voice emerged as a ragged whisper. “Wake up. Please wake up.”
But her face remained slack, her breathing slow.
Panic surged through him, cold and paralyzing. She had pushed herself too far, poured too much of her magic into the dream core. He’d seen the signs, had tried to make her stop, but she had been so desperate, so determined?—
He gathered her closer and stepped around the sofa. The cottage’s small bedroom lay just beyond the main sitting area, a space he’d barely glimpsed during their many sessions here. He shouldered the door open, revealing a modest chamber with a single bed draped in faded linens, a nightstand, and a simple wardrobe. All perfectly preserved exactly as the rest of the cottage had been.
He placed Mariselle gently on the bed, careful to position her head on the pillow. Her blue hair was stark and vivid against the pallor of her skin.
“Please,” he whispered, his fingers finding the pulse at her throat. Itfluttered beneath his touch, present, but unsteady. “Please wake up. Please wake up.”
But she didn’t stir.
This was more than ordinary exhaustion. He knew it with a certainty that hollowed him out. This was the kind of exhaustion brought on by extreme magic use. What he didn’t know was the true extent of how bad it was. Had she pushed herself too far? Was she forever trapped now in the dream realm, the way her grandfather had been?
The thought filled him with such paralyzing fear that for several moments he could barely breathe. He forced himself to suck in a gasp of breath as he lurched away from the bedside. He tugged at his hair, his breath ragged, words tumbling from his lips in an endless succession ofnoandpleaseandsomebody help her.
But this was utterly useless. Of course nobody would help her if all Evryn did was stand at her bedside and plead for it. He had to send for someone. But who? And how?
He was in the kitchen before his mind could form a coherent plan, frantically searching for a dusk sprite or a kitchen pixie—any magical creature that might carry a message. But Windsong Cottage, long abandoned until their recent project, housed no such helpful beings.
He could go himself, of course. Cobalt’s wings would carry him through the night faster than any carriage. But he couldn’t leave Mariselle alone. What if something happened to her while he?—
“Mari?” A familiar voice, female and concerned, called from somewhere in the main room. “Mariselle, are you there?”
Evryn’s head snapped up, relief flooding through him so intensely his knees nearly buckled. “Petunia!”
He rushed back into the main room, expecting to see Mariselle’s cousin at the door. But it was closed, the entrance standing empty, the cottage silent save for?—
“Hello? Mari, are you there?”
The voice seemed to come, oddly enough, from the large table Evryn so often worked at. Atop its polished surface lay a small silver hand mirror he hadn’t previously noticed, its surface rippling like disturbed water. Evryn approached cautiously, then nearly sagged with relief as Petunia’s face appeared in the glass.
He had never seen the mirror before, but this was clearly how Mariselle and her cousin communicated. “Rowanwood?” Petunia’s eyes widened in surprise as Evryn picked up the mirror and peered into it. “Where’s Mariselle?”
“She’s—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “She’s unconscious. I don’t know what happened. She was working on the dream core, and I think she used too much magic. She seemed exhausted and then she simply … collapsed. I can’t wake her.”
Petunia’s expression shifted from confusion to alarm. “How long has she been like this?”
“I—I don’t know.” He began pacing again, the mirror held up before him. “Ten minutes? Twenty? It feels like hours.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do. She needs help. Someone who understands dream magic, or—or overuse of magic or—something!”
“Um, okay, I …” It was disquieting to see the normally unshakeable Petunia so uncertain and flustered. Something about it added to Evryn’s heightened sense of panic. “Our grandmother!” she said suddenly. “I’ll send word at once. Or—should I go myself?” She dragged a hand over her face. “I can find a way to—No, a kitchen pixie would be better. They’re incredibly speedy when properly motivated.”
“Yes, okay, thank you.”
Petunia’s face swung out of view before Evryn could say another word, and the mirror went momentarily dark before revealing a glossy surface and his own haggard reflection. He placed it on the table and hurriedly returned to Mariselle’s side.
Lady Nirella was a good suggestion, he told himself. She would undoubtedly have tried every possible solution to bring Mariselle’s grandfather back after he fell into his dream state. She would know something that could help.
What he triednotto think of was the fact that she lived on the far side of Bloomhaven.
Evryn dragged the room’s only chair to the bedside. He took Mariselle’s hand in his—her hand that bore shimmering silver patterns and no bruising—and traced his thumb over her knuckles. “Please wake up,” he whispered again. “I love you. I need you. The world would be a darker place without your bold laugh and your determined spirit and your gloriously vivid imagination.” He clenched his jaw and blinked back tears. “Please. Just wake up.”
