Hawthorn.
His eyes widened in shock. “You… you can see me?”
She kept her grip on him, only half-convinced this wasn’t a trick of some kind. “You’re kind of hard to ignore.”
She dropped her hands away from him, only to find them flung around his neck a second later when he launched himself forward and buried himself in her arms.
She let herself hold him and be held. Despite the distortion around them, he felt real, solid. His warmth crackled against her. Just for a minute, a fleeting second that wasn’t really theirs, something in the world made sense.
“You’re really here,” he breathed against her neck.
“So are you.”
He shook his head, drawing back. “Not quite.”
His face was far too close to hers. The memory of the kiss burned through her, and she dropped away completely, balling her hands into fists as if she didn’t trust the traitorous limbs to stay away from him.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
If Hawthorn was offended or confused as to why she’d suddenly dropped away from him, he didn’t show it. “I’m still asleep in the tower… or at least my body is. Don’t know whatthisis but no one can see me. Where are you?”
“The forest, I think,” she said, and bit her thumb. Hard.
Hawthorn’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to see if this is a dream.”
“Pinch yourself, you fool. There’s no need to cause actual damage—”
“Need to know when I wake up how real this is.”
Hawthorn pulled on a smile. “Do I frequently tumble through your dreams?”
“Nightmares, maybe.” She glanced up at him, an awkwardness that hadn’t existed for a long while brewing between them. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing. I found myself here almost immediately after the curse took effect. Saw Ladrien arrange me on the bed himself. Thought it was some part of the curse—some way to drive me into madness. No one here can see me, and I can’t seem to touch anything.” He reached out to rub the end of her braid, fingers lingering on the strands of brownish gold. “Apart from you, apparently.”
His hand trailed from her hair to the pendant resting against her chest. It throbbed underneath his touch, a dark pulse.
“Interesting,” he said under his breath. “Do you think… maybe…”
“You think they connect us?”
“The witch said that they would lead us back to each other…”
“They shouldn’t work like this.”
“Blood was involved in the bargain,” Hawthorn remarked.
“Anddreams,”said Juliana, with sudden realisation. She had no idea how magic worked, and sometimes even the wielders themselves seemed unprepared for the liveness of it—the way it bent the world to its will, a fickle and changing creature.
“Just checking…” Hawthorn said, playing with her braid again, “but you’re definitely not dead, right?”
“You think I’d choose this place to haunt?”
Hawthorn chuckled. “Yes, actually. I think you’re rather attached to it. But I also realise now that was a foolish question: death shall have no dominion over Juliana Ardencourt.”
Juliana wished she had the same confidence in her immortality as he did.
