by Jessa Lucas
“I so second that,” I said, raising my teacup with the steeping tea bag, ignoring Sy’s eyes on me. He could admire my “Real Father the King” all he wanted; maybe it was a fair exchange for my memories of a terrible one.
“I am a class six Middle-Dreamer, studied under the Mage Marrick—”
I cut him off with a dramatic sigh. “Pretty boy to the max, come on, give me something dark and gritty, Juden of Dramon Dagma.”
“Oh, he can do dark,” Dash muttered. “You should have seen the nightmares he gave me for a week straight when I beat him at chess that first year.”
“You might not want to bring those up, pup,” Gilles laughed, “I don’t think the princess will be all too impressed with your fear of spiders.”
“They have eight legs!” Dash stood angrily while a furor of laughter filled the table.
I looked over at Jude with a smirk to find he was already smiling at me. Something inside me tingled. “So a Middle-Dreamer. What’s that mean?”
“Dramon Dagma is known for its rather—”
“—impressive obsession with—”
“—dark magic—”
“Stop it!” Jude batted his hand to stop the impulsive contributions. “Yes, dark magic, but more importantly we are known for our Dreamers-Trotters, people who train at crafting dreams. Most of us in Dramon Dagma are Low-Dreamers who work to sell our dreamscapes in small artisan shops, but there are a select elite who can craft whole worlds in their ‘scapes. Or nightmares far worse than billions of eight-legged bugs.” Jude nodded at Dash, who grimaced.
“And what are the Grimms, on a scale of one to totally evil?” I asked. The table fell silent and still, except for Sy who reached to shovel some eggs onto his toast.
“The Grimms are the only class twelve High-Dreamers. The greatest and deadliest the world can remember,” Jude answered simply.
I raised my eyebrows as I considered that the queen had been in cahoots with them. I wondered how I’d woken from my dream... and as my gaze linked with Jude’s, I knew just who I was going to ask about it.
“Jabari?” I said quietly.
Jabari nodded. “Jabarion. I come from the desserts of Rivelta.” That explained the rich tanned skin and cropped hair. “I was a healer for my people, nomads. Our direction came from the stars, which we read nightly and tracked across the sky. I moved to Lithron not long before the queen recruited me. The pace of life... the people. It was overwhelming at first. Harder to see the moon from the city than from the sands.”
“A quiet tower life suits him,” Sy smiled.
“In some ways, yes. I miss the skies,” he sighed. “But one day— one day we will be free.”
“How did you come to be the smartest among these cretins?” I asked, a tilt growing on my lips.
Jabari smirked. “I accept the compliment and am glad to hear it finally spoken aloud.” He bowed his head as if I’d bestowed him a great honor, looking up with a rascal’s grin when Dash and Jude scoffed. “When I arrived in Lithron,” he continued, “I knew nothing of politics or customs or proper city manners. Nothing of history or language beyond my own. I retreated most often to quiet places where I could learn.”
“It’s paid off,” I nodded. “Thanks for spearing me out of suffocation.”
“My pleasure.”
My eyes turned to Sy. “You know who I am,” was all he said as I looked at him expectantly.
“But do I? Do I really?”
“The things you do not know cannot be summed up at an introductory breakfast,” he said roughly, and his tone made it clear that that was all we were going to get. For some reason or another— official leader or not— Sy was who they listened to. His will somehow always prevailed.
“I don’t believe you’ve gone Saylora, and you are, after all, the guest of honor.” I smiled over at Jude, and then at all my watchmen… men with stories and lives they had left behind for me.
“So I’m about fifty years too late to this party, I think,” I said, “but cheers to making it at all. My name’s... well, actually I’m not even sure how to say my name— what was it, Sy?”
“Aryna Saylorabel Gathrul.”
“That.” I raised my teacup in his direction. “But you guys for some reason like to call me Saylora.”
“Hi, Saylora.”
“I just call myself Saylor. I’m the official princess of this tower, welcome. I hope you are enjoying your long stay. When I’m not sleeping, I like to set things on fire, and toy with men’s minds. I’m also available for the next two weeks to play damsel in distress. If you see any heroic men pass by, make sure to let them know there’s a position I’m looking to fill.”
Chuckles all around. Maybe I could fit in here after all. Jude’s foot nicked mine under the table, and I tilted my ankle against his.
“So Gilles has the bow and arrow,” I said, swallowing thickly at Jude’s touch. “Surely the rest of you are proficient in weaponry?”
They went around and said where their capabilities lay: Jabari with the spear, Sy with the sword, Jude with knives and Dash—
“My teeth.”
“I would very much like to see that,” I said, trying to keep the slight moan from my voice.
“What is your weapon, Princess?”
“If it’s obvious, it’s not a very good weapon,” I grinned.
“Oh,” Gilles frowned, “I didn’t have the impression you were aiming for subtlety.”
“Haha, Gilles, hahaaa.” He smirked at me, proud of himself. “Well,” I stood, brushing all the excess crumbs off my skirt, “this was a lovely breakfast. I expect magic or one of you kind men will be doing the dishes. I have some business to attend to. Come on, Charming.”
I nodded at Jude, who held up a hand to himself as if to say, “wait, me?” The men began hooting and laughing.
“Does that make me Dash-ing?” Dash managed through a fit of laughter.
“Tell us, in your expert siren opinion, which of us it the most handsome?” Gilles asked.
“Don’t you mean which of you would be my first victim?” I raised my eyebrows. Oh, it definitely would’ve been Dash the wolfman. He was looking more delicious by the minute, on account of “my teeth.”
I snapped back to Jude as he stood.
“Later kids,” I saluted on my way out, riding on the wave of their distracted laughter.
Chapter 5
The Princess and the Oath-Breaker
“Charming, huh?” Jude asked as he walked beside me. He was like a new center of gravity for me. I kept slanting my path into him, our bodies drawn together.
“So charming I’m beginning to think it’s an act.”
“Well, not charming enough to save you should you be in distress, apparently,” he grinned.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, if I’m in distress, nothing will stand in my way.”
“How did you know about the Grimms?” he asked.
“The Reflection showed me.”
“The Reflection... showed you?”
I shrugged. “Yeah with, like, magic.”
“What else did she show you?”
I shrugged again. “Exposition. Backstory, whatever. Anyway… Dramon Dagma, huh?”
“Look, we are not all bad despite what your impression may be.”
“The Queen, Evil Grimm Brother #1, Evil Grimm Brother #2...” I began counting on my fingers.
“I mean, there’s me? Do I count for anything?”
I halted and turned to him, looking him up and down. “To be determined.”
Jude smiled. God, he needed to get those stupid, perfect teeth out of my face. It was way too temping to lunge at him.
“You could be the traitor,” I said seriously, raising my eyebrows.
“I would never betray you. Never, Saylora.” For what it was worth, when I looked into his eyes I believed him. “So your father in the deep sleep was terrible.”
“Yep,” I said, leaving it at that. I could see the questions spinning behind
Jude’s eyes, but whether he sensed I didn’t feel like answering them or he realized they probably didn’t matter, I couldn’t tell. “I want to see the mines where my father was imprisoned.”
Jude cocked his head at me curiously. “I’m not sure it is safe.”
“Do you guys go down there?”
“Not much. We did quite a bit more exploring when we were more motivated to find a way out.”
“Show me where it is,” I said, stretching out my hand for him to take. “Honestly, if you don’t take me, I’ll escort myself there anyway.”
“Well, that won’t do. You’ll get lost down below.”
As soon as his fingers closed around mine, something electric happened. I tried to stifle the feeling, hoping Jude didn’t feel it too. I wasn’t so sure how long a siren could last in a tower full of fit and attractive men without going buck wild. Apparently, their immunity to my sexual whims had little effect on the appearance of them to me. Which was, quite obviously, a problem if I had any intention of keeping it in my pants.
Jude led me to an obscure door near the back exit of the tower, where tall stained glass windows taunted us with a view of a courtyard out back. The little door opened and led to a walled-in staircase.
Down, down, down my toes danced as I tried to keep up with Jude’s nimble feet, and after we’d gone down several levels, the walls broadened to reveal a rudimentary little room carved out of dirt. A mouth of darkness opened into the far wall, its wide lips an arch bound up by long planks of wood. Sconces on either side of us glittered with flames.
“How’re those already lit?” I asked.
“The masters of this tower were fairly well versed in magic. They ruled over the mine workers, mostly slaves and miscreants whom they abhorred and trusted very little. The masters feared being sucked down into the mines in the dead of night by those they enslaved, so they made sure there was always light.”
“How do you know that?”
“Jabari told me. He read it somewhere. Come.” Jude pulled a torch down from the wall and lead me into the entrance. “Apparently there was no worse fate than getting lost down here.”
Well, that’ll give a gal some pause.
“I know the way through here. We won’t go too deep, but there is something I want to show you. I had not thought of it in ages.”
I reached for Jude’s hand a little too desperately as I stepped into the darkness. “So I wanted to talk to you about the whole Dream-Trotter thing,” I said, clinging to him and not too happy about the dignity it cost me.
“What about it?”
“I just had... like, a million questions about how it works. Since, you know, I was stuck in a pretty nasty dream myself.”
“Of course.” Jude tightened his grip between my fingers. Despite the cool air of the mines, my hands were starting to feel a little clammy.
“Why dreams?” I asked. “How do you even do it? Are there, like, rules?”
He laughed. It was a kind of affectionate sound that made me crinkle my nose. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had laughed at me in good spirits, in a way that said he was fond of me.
Jude held the torch up, shining the flame around in the darkness as we surveyed the tunnels burrowing through the medley of dirt, rock, and red clay.
“Let me see if I can answer those one by one.”
“And then I’ll have some more,” I promised.
“I will answer as many questions as you need answering.” Jude looked back at me, and I felt like I lost a second of my life caught in the commitment of that gaze before he turned his attention back to navigating our path.
“Dream-Trotters believe in another realm that exists simultaneously with this one. It is the realm of the interior, that place of experience and longing, of wickedness and greatness, that lives inside each of us at every moment of every day. We hold that this realm speaks as much truth about our being as the world our actions manifest in. You asked why dreams, and that’s because dreams are where we are most vulnerable to the interior realm. Which brings me to your second question.”
Jude’s grip tightened on my hand as he helped me step over a particularly large pile of rocks. “Dreams are shaped around revelation. These can be revelations of love, of fears, of anxieties— each Dream-Trotter usually has a specialty. We mold experiences based on a person’s life that allows their vulnerable subconscious to answer in sleep. A dream can only conceal or reveal; it cannot create fact. Thus while we use magic, the solutions people find through our ‘scapes— those are not magic.”
I sighed heavily. “And meanwhile, you have the Grimms.”
“Yes, and then you have them,” Jude nodded, his contempt apparent, “which I believe answers your final question. Of course there are rules of decency in place, but a rule that is made is a rule that is broken.”
“What you did to Dash have anything to do with broken rules…?”
“I admit the nightmares I gave Dash were against my oaths, though he had truly not been playing a fair game for months.”
“So you’re an oath-breaker,” I said, sliding my eyes to him. Jude threw his arm around my shoulders in an almost pal-like way.
“Only in the least dire of situations and in the spirit of fun, Saylora.”
I just shook my head, my eyes trained on my feet to make sure I wasn’t going to face plant in front of the handsome man with his arm around me. “So what can’t you make happen in dreams?”
Jude exhaled thoughtfully. “Well, historically Dream-Trotters have had a harder time reining in certain forms in dreams, like the godspawn— though they haven’t proved to be much of an issue this century. It also takes something very dark and very powerful to alter inalienable truth. In the deep sleep, you were a siren?”
“For sure.”
“Likely because it is such a part of who you saw yourself as, at least at the time that you fell into the dream.”
“That, or the queen wanted it that way just to make sure I knew how fucked up I am,” I shook my head. “So... you think the Grimms meant to hide something from me? Something important?”
“I’m sure they were hiding many things and redirecting all attention to your fears in the meantime. Some truths are obvious in the dream, like your powers— they manifest in the story of the ‘scape. And others are deeply buried and are a lot harder to drudge up. Your sleep was so deep that I can only imagine the Grimms did a thorough job.”
Class twelve High-Dreamers— thorough indeed. Thorough enough that I’d very likely become a different person because of their handiwork.
“So…” I reasoned, “it’s possible that buried somewhere in my dream was something that could get us out of here.”
Jude shrugged. “Helpful or not, unburying that sort of information at this point… I think it would be near impossible to find whatever you were looking for.”
“Why?”
“You were in that dream for decades, Saylora, you likely dreamt the same thing dozens of times.”
“Wait, what?” My feet halted abruptly but Jude kept moving, his hand pulling me along until mine loosened and fell away.
“Some dreams work in a loop,” Jude said, as if everyone knew this. He stopped to look back at me, his expression affected by the shock I’m sure was plain in mine. “A dream that went on for forty-nine years… there is no way you could remember all the layers of it just by trying,” he said quietly.
He reached a gentle hand to my arm, but I was too upset even for the thought of his comfort to distract me.
To hear that my life on Earth, false though it was, had been an incomplete one, that the horrors of it had been replicated over and over again in my head for nearly five decades...
“If I’ve been dreaming the same thing for fifty years... how could I not realize…?!”
It took everything in me to keep the tears of rage from my eyes. I swallowed the bile that hung at the back of my throat, roiled in my stomach.
“The more you dreamt it the realer it be
came,” he said softly, brushing a thumb across my sleeve, “cementing itself into your idea of reality. I imagine as you relived it, your mind pressed against the limits of it, expanding each iteration with your own experiences, fears, and thoughts. Every Dream-Trotter has a method... like painters. Some paint in more abstract strokes, and some are precise, with more attention given to detail. The Grimms… well, there is one of each.”
It hadn’t been enough for the queen that I might wake with no memory of who I was in the Five Realms, that I’d be held captive with strangers and accountable for all our lives. It hadn’t even been enough to trap me in a fake reality horrific and brutal enough to haunt any human for ten lifetimes.
No— none of that had been enough punishment to her. So she’d subjected me to the terror over and over again, just to make sure that I was meticulously and thoroughly broken. It was the final blow, this epiphany of how greatly I’d unknowingly suffered at their hands. Of how weak it made me, and how powerful they had been.
A tear slipped. I knew emotion wasn’t weakness, but it felt like it was, and I wasn’t interested in looking or feeling any weaker.
Girl who burned, girl who ran, girl who clawed her way to rebirth. Even as I recited my mantra to myself, I couldn’t help but hear the words lose all conviction.
“Saylora,” Jude smeared the tear away, “you escaped it. You got out. You never have to relive it again.”
Except, I did.
He clutched my hand again and we continued to drive darkness from the tunnels with our advancing light.
“Can you put me in a sleep, back into the Grimms’ dreamscape?” I heard the sick desperation in my voice and I hated myself for it. Jude looked at me, worry etched into the lines of his frown. “Why would you want that?”
I swallowed. “I have to figure it out so we can get out— I have to figure out what they were trying to hide.”
Maybe, hidden in between the layers of lies was that feeling of familiarity I had with Jude and sometimes the others. Maybe, I had loved before and breaking the curse was a matter of remembering instead of rebuilding.
But as I stared off into the black hemming in our footsteps, I realized something terrifying: I also didn’t want to forget. The pain, the heartache... any of it. I was like an entangled fly crying out to the spider, like an addict in recovery curious again to test my limits.