The Queen of Dreams (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 6)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  William and Nasrine were talking about electromagnetics over a pot of steaming tea. He scurried to his feet, bowing upon seeing me.

  "Apologies, Lady Dashkova," he stuttered out.

  "Such displays are unnecessary, frowned upon even," I said. "My station is no different than yours."

  William seemed uncomfortable with the idea, returning to his tea as if he were suddenly carrying a heavy weight around his chest. Nasrine's features flickered with some emotion, but I didn't catch anything but their existence.

  "Katerina," said Nasrine, inclining her head.

  "Is the prototype in the hut?" I asked.

  "Morwen moved it over this morning," she said.

  As if summoned by the mention of her name, Morwen appeared from deeper in the hut. She barely acknowledged us, distracted by preparations or other thoughts.

  "It's not like Ben to dawdle," I said, checking my pocket watch.

  "He's not dawdling," said Morwen sharply, "he's retrieving the final member of our expedition."

  "Final member?" I asked. "I thought it would just be the three of us, well, five for the first part, but then we would return to Philadelphia so William and Nasrine could continue their research."

  "It's not my place to reveal Ben's secrets—"

  My argument died in my throat when the door whisked open. Ben looked like he'd taken a tumble down a hill. He had a rip in his sleeve and held a handkerchief to a cut on his chin.

  I almost didn't recognize the man that entered right after. While his olive skin and shock of white hair was painfully familiar, he had a face that stimulated nothing but confusion.

  It wasn't until I took a good look at his eyes—the eyes of a feral dog trapped by a group of hunters, eyes filled up with events too painful to remember, eyes tired of the act of seeing—that I realized who it might be. When I saw the rings on his fingers, I knew who it was, even if I didn't understand how.

  An anguished growl slipped from Santiago's lips as he menacingly stepped forward. Sorcery enveloped my fist in response.

  Chapter Seven

  The brief calm shattered like a rock through a window. Ben shouted something about passions and potions. William dove behind the hard-backed chair, kicking over the teapot. Nasrine stood her ground like a judge observing a duel.

  Sorcery burned against my skin in a dark purple flame. The wound from my adventures finding the Tree of Life were salted by magic, doubling the pain I might ordinarily endure. Rage radiated out from my hand and into my chest, funneled through the conduit of magic until I could see nothing but the hate in Santiago's gaze.

  I was a bonfire of sorcery, contained within a shell of flesh. Unleashing it would probably destroy this part of the hut and hurt or possibly kill the others, but I didn't care.

  Across the room from me, Santiago's sinewy arms hardened, and the tendons in his neck were like steel wires. Cloud-white hair fell into his eyes as he stepped forward to meet my challenge, unconcerned about the magic swirling around my fist.

  Someone grabbed my arm, and I nearly unleashed the power within. I realized it was Ben, looking terrified as he shook my arm, and the magic dissipated as I realized how close I'd come to killing him.

  "Kat! Kat!"

  I pulled away. Everyone's eyes were upon me, even Santiago's; he didn't look as menacing as I'd first imagined. Shame bubbled up through my chest until my eyes were glazed with it.

  "I'm fine. I'm fine," I said, even though I wasn't. I'd been prepared to lay waste to the room to satisfy my rage.

  "How is this possible?" I asked, motioning towards Santiago. "I thought he was here to kill us."

  My ill-spoken words wounded Santiago. William and Nasrine glanced to him, concern heavy on their brows. I regretted my outburst immediately, but it was too late. Santiago's hand fluttered to his chin. He was suddenly vulnerable.

  Besides Ben and Brassy, I was the only other one that knew what Santiago was capable of. The others knew nothing of him, except for Morwen, I realized as I saw her watch the exchange with amusement.

  "Kat," said Ben, admonishing me with his tone. "This isn't the time to speak of such things."

  "Then you should have warned me," I said, flinging my hand in his direction. I turned to Santiago. "My deepest apologies. I didn't...I was worried...no, I'm a fool."

  As much as I wanted to blame it on Ben, I couldn't. I'd lost control. Something that hadn't happened in a while, and usually only at night when I was asleep. When Brassy had stayed with me, I'd made her keep her door locked. But after my training with Zentrii, the incidents were few and far between. I'd hoped I'd moved past that, but clearly I hadn't.

  Morwen made a noise. A laugh that started in the throat and erupted from the lips like a well-placed dart launched in my direction. The disdainful witch who'd belittled my presence on Gallasid had returned.

  "I told you—" she began, but Ben cut her off with a glare.

  "And I've heard you. Enough. We're in this together," said Ben. "We don't have time for petty squabbles."

  Petty squabbles. The vision of the snowy dead returned. The prophecy couldn't be avoided, only bent to my will, if I could find a way.

  Ben looked into my eyes, sensing my deep reflection, but not understanding.

  "We should be on our way," said Ben, giving Morwen a nod. "We've wasted enough time already. Come, Santiago, I know the way to our rooms. Morwen, can I have a word?"

  After they left, William started cleaning up the broken teapot.

  Nasrine joined me in the middle of the room. She took my hand, her calluses rough against my skin.

  "What was that about? How is your skin not burnt? It burned with a black flame," she said, peering at the intact flesh on my hand.

  I dislodged my hand from her grip, gently. I didn't enjoy the feeling of being examined.

  "It is what it is," I said, hoping that would satisfy her.

  But she seemed to be the type of person enticed by such mysteries. Only when she realized that I was uncomfortable did she pull away.

  "Should I be worried about Santiago?" she asked. "You seemed ready to do battle as soon as he entered the hut."

  "It was a misunderstanding," I said, realizing why Morwen and I had to get a fruit from the Tree of Life. It was to make a potion that could subdue his curse. He'd mentioned it was possible. But it didn't explain his presence on the journey, unless he could help us reach Russia faster.

  "By Adam's ribs, what is that?" exclaimed William from his knees on the carpet, broken teapot in his hands.

  We followed his gaze to find the scene beyond the windows changed. No longer did it display the brick houses and cobblestone streets of Philadelphia.

  The view lurched forward in a steady gait, the movement giving me vertigo when I realized I could see the hut's motion, but could not feel it. It showed us an alien landscape, a twisted rib of gray rock extending into the distance, surrounded by ochre dust storms. It felt as if we'd been miniaturized and we climbed through an ant's cavern on a stalactite of mud.

  "How can this be?" asked Nasrine by my side, her fingertips brushing my arm.

  "We travel through dead universes in Baba Yaga's hut," I said.

  Morwen clucked her tongue against her teeth. I hadn't realized she'd returned. "I never liked that name. Conjures images of an ugly old hag of a woman, embittered by the way society treated her until she lashed out with cheap tricks and insidious lies." She paused and popped a knuckle with her other hand. "And while you're not right, you're not completely wrong either. This isn't a dead universe. It was never alive. Stillborn. There are more of these than the live ones. We call these places the Between."

  "What sustains us?" asked William, his face a mixture of horror and awe.

  "The hut, my dear," said Morwen with a cocked smile. "And me. So you'd better be nice, or the next time you go through a doorway, you'll find yourself outside the hut with no way back."

  It might have been meant as a joke, but no one took it that way. Morwen made a noise o
f disgust and stomped out of the room. She wasn't as mercurial as Zentrii, but she was a close second.

  Nasrine's fingers were still touching my arm.

  "You should prepare your device. It's only supposed to be a journey of a few days, there and back. You'll be back in Philadelphia before you know it."

  They left and moments later, Ben returned, alone.

  "I'm sorry, Ben. I don't know what came over me," I said, massaging my palm. The pain hadn't gotten worse, but it seemed to radiate further down my wrist.

  His eyes creased at the corners. "I've never seen you in such a rage."

  "I promise you, I feared for my life, and yours. I thought Santiago had attacked you," I said.

  Ben chuckled absently. "The potion didn't take hold as quickly as I would have liked. We had a tussle on the way out, but he was able to control himself."

  "Can we trust him?" I asked.

  Ben lifted one shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "As long as the potion endures. We have enough for a couple of months. I hope we won't need that much."

  "A couple of months," I said, putting a hand to my chin. "Why do we need Santiago? It's quite a risk to bring him."

  A taut emotion passed across Ben's gaze, but he looked away to hide it. He faced the window. Outside, the hut passed through pillars of marbled rock.

  "The shield blocks more than just this realm—otherwise, it'd be trivial for Morwen to take us into Russia. If Nasrine's prototype can't get us in, then we'll need Santiago. He knows people in the hrevanti's realm that will allow us access to their great libraries in which we might find an answer," said Ben. "It is said that in the Library of Inverness they hold all the secrets of the multiverse, including maps that even Morwen has no knowledge of."

  "Can't we go from their realm into Russia?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Morwen says the only way through is to somehow defeat the shield, or travel around and through Veles' realm."

  "I see by your worried gaze that there is another way," I said.

  "Morwen asked me not to speak of it unless we had no choice," he said.

  "Ben, we have too many secrets between us already," I said.

  He winked. "I wasn't planning on honoring her wish. The third path is most dangerous, through the realm of dreams. The Queen of Dreams, who owns that realm, is an ally of Veles."

  A sharp in breath passed my teeth. "I've heard her name before, I think."

  A weight seemed to gather in Ben's chest. "This is all I know. I've tried to get more out of Morwen, but she's holding many things back, including why this path is so dangerous."

  "Maybe we won't need it," I said.

  "But in case we do, we should be prepared," said Ben. "I want you to pull it out of her."

  "Me?" I laughed. "She likes me less than she does her sisters."

  "That's not it," said Ben, shaking his head. "She fears you."

  "Fears me?"

  "She's warned me that you're too dangerous to bring along. Between the prophecies and your untested magic, she says you're like bringing open barrels of gunpowder to a fireworks display. When I pressed her for details, the only thing she brought up was that you released something that shouldn't have been released when you were battling Neva. Shouldn't have been able to release, I should say," he said.

  "Merde. The Star Eater. I'm getting a bad feeling about this journey," I said. "I feel like we're walking into a trap."

  "I think so as well," he said. "But knowing it's a trap can turn it to our advantage."

  "Or lead us to our deaths," I said.

  I pressed my palm against my lips, resisting the urge to bite them. The vision of snowy death haunted my thoughts. Something had happened, funneling all possible futures into that day in the snow.

  The prophecies no longer existed as words in my head, instead forming vast landscapes. Yet, like water falling into a valley, it all ran to one place. One unavoidable future.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked. His gray eyes wavered with worry.

  "No," I said, deciding to withhold the existence of the prophecy, for now. "It is nothing to worry about. I already made sure that it can't hurt us."

  The words were brittle on my tongue. Not a lie, but I felt I was missing something. His eyebrow went up in question, but he must have realized I had no intention of spilling my secrets.

  "Stay vigilant," he said, touching my arm. "And find out why the realm of dreams is so dangerous for us."

  "What are you going to be doing?" I asked.

  A sly smile rose to his lips. "Practicing my virtues, of course."

  Chapter Eight

  When a haunting tone wavered into the main room from an open door, I, Nasrine, and William were drawn to investigate. We'd been watching the strange landscape through the window. I had an idea of what I heard, but didn't want to spoil the surprise for the others, so I feigned curiosity and led them deeper into the hut.

  We found a large octagonal room, at least five meters wide, filled with instruments on the walls and tucked into corners. Cushioned benches went around the outside, in two levels, like a grandstand. The place had the air of an English theater.

  Ben stood at a table at one side, upon which sat a glass harmonica. His fingers danced across its surface, summoning ghostly sounds as the suspended glass bowls spun, powered by his pumping foot pedal.

  Ever the showman, Ben wore a fitted vest and a crimson-lined cape. He winked when I chuckled, not missing a note.

  Nasrine sat on a bench, hands placed in her lap, attentively listening. Her eyes widened and narrowed with the rise and fall of the notes.

  William, on the other hand, was wandering around the outside of the room, touching instruments as he went, occasionally glancing towards Ben to acknowledge the mournful song. The wealth of musical devices was imposing. There were fiddles, flutes, slit drums, lutes, a bronze gong, various shakers and gourds, horns, castanets, a bodhrán, bagpipes, guitars, sitars, and other items that must have come from other realms. I saw a lesser version of the strange star-burst flute that Morwen had given to the invisible creature at the Tree of Life. There had to be at least a thousand instruments in the room.

  When Ben finished, the three of us broke into applause, to which he gave us a bow with a flourish snapping the cloak for effect.

  Before anyone could ask him a question, the scratch of a bow across strings turned us like wind vanes. William stood on the top bench, fiddle tucked under his chin.

  When he pulled the bow back again, the sounds that erupted from the instrument stunned me into awe. With William's age, and interest in physics, I had not expected his talent. Fingers flew across the slender neck as William sawed on the strings, body bending and twisting with verve. He didn't just play the fiddle, he was the fiddle.

  When he completed his finger-dancing intro, I thought he was finished. Then he switched into an English country melody, one played at small villages during times of joy. It bounced and swayed as he tapped his foot. I'd heard songs like it when I lived in England with my friend Catherine Wilmot and could imagine paired dancers swirling across the stones.

  When he sang, his voice, though clear and true, contained a warble of time that belied his youthful face.

  "There were three ra'ens sat on a tree,

  Down a down, hey down, hey down,

  They were as black as black might be,

  With a down.

  The one of them said to his mate,

  Where shall we our breakfast take?

  With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

  "Down in yonder green field,

  Down, a down, hey down, hey down,

  There lies a knight slain 'neath his shield,

  With a down.

  His hounds they lie down at his feet,

  So well they do their master keep,

  With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

  "His hawks they fly so eagerly,

  Down a down, hey down, hey down,

  No other fowl dare come him night
,

  With a down.

  Down there comes a fallow doe

  As great with young as might she go

  With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

  "She lifted up his bloody head,

  Down a down, hey down, hey down,

  And kissed his wounds that were so red,

  With a down.

  She got him up upon her back,

  And carried him to earthen lake,

  With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down.

  "She buried him before the prime

  Down a down, hey down, hey down,

  She was dead herself ere e'en-song time,

  With a down.

  God send every gentleman,

  Such hawks, such hounds, and such a leman.

  With a down, derry, derry, derry down, down."

  As we applauded, William set the fiddle back in its cradle and hopped off the bench like the spry youth that he was.

  "Masterfully done," said Ben.

  William waggled his eyebrows. His head twitched nervously as he continued his circuit around the room, examining the other instruments.

  When eyes fell upon me, I held my hands up. "I'm a supporter of the arts but have no talent myself."

  "Not even a favorite song? Just a line or two?" asked Ben.

  "I have a favorite poem, if I must. It's Pushkin, if you've heard of him," I said, then gathered myself, recalling the words from my memory.

  "In centuries to come I shall be loved by the people

  For having awakened noble thought with my lyre,

  For having glorified freedom in my harsh age

  And called for mercy towards the fallen."

  The abruptness of the ending resulted in scattered applause, which I was glad ended quickly. In years past, upon Catherine's request, I wrote two plays. The first was a drama, The Marriage of Fabian, and the second, a comedy, Toissiokoff. While I'd seen hundreds of plays during my time at court, being responsible for the entertainment of so many was a burden I did not enjoy, and I refused future requests despite how well received the first two were met.