Such a Daring Endeavor

by Cortney Pearson

  Warmth sears his veins. There’s so much he can never tell her. So much he could say here, in her dreams, that she’d never know the difference.

  “You’re up,” Ambry says.

  Talon glances around, fighting the instant and flowing awareness of her. Heat reaches to him, calling him nearer. She reaches for him, her eyes full of open, glittering anticipation.

  He can imagine what it will be like, to take her, hold her to him. To caress her skin with no worries, no limits, with not even the hint of an interruption. Her lips are full and inviting, and she blinks, devoting all of her attention to him.

  Can she tell how he feels? How she centers him on an axis where she is his trajectory?

  All at once the people fade away, and they’re standing in the empty warehouse. Paper, discarded cups, and other fragments scatter across the concrete floor. The vendors, even the couch they were sitting on is gone. The lights still flicker dimly, and unease streams around, muddying his senses.

  “We’re alone, Talon,” she says in that soft, sweet voice. “What are you afraid of?”

  He had a reason for coming here. Something important… and pressing.

  “Where is your brother?” Talon asks with effort. He forces his arms to his sides. He can’t lift them. He can’t give in.

  Ambry gives him that smile, the one that reminds him of a bright star, that gleams direct-center in her expressive eyes. The tingling is back—a sensation that tells him everything will be okay the minute he holds her. His throat tightens, and he retreats a single step.

  “Ambry, I’m serious. Tell me where Ren is.”

  Talon glances away, but she’s there, in every direction. Her gaze trails down his throat, to his chest, drinking in the sight of him clear down to his hands and back up again. That crescent-bud mouth crooks up at the corner, and her left eyebrow arches just slightly and lowers again.

  She tiptoes up ever so slightly, those gray eyes of hers playing with his, teasing. Light hits the flecks of gold in her hair, making it glisten. He grips her arms, holding her aloft.

  “I can’t,” he says, struggling to remember. Something was going wrong, a reason he came here, something urgent. His hands fold into fists. He tries stepping back, but his feet won’t move.

  “Ambry—we must wake. All of us.” The last statement dies off with a moan as her mouth finds its way to the hollow below his ear.

  “You’re only saying that,” she says in a mumble, her breath caressing his cheek, “because it’s what I wanted before. But Ren is fine. He’s with Gwynn.”

  She points behind her.

  “It’s only us now, Talon,” Ambry whispers, rubbing the hair at the back of his neck.

  A conversation floats in the back of his mind, but it’s not prominent enough to hold him back. He’s wavering the longer he’s here with her, a stone at the precipice. It’s a dream, he tells himself, irrationality dominating. If it’s a dream, why not give in?

  Ambry’s fingertips trail from his shoulders and down his arms to brush the skin at his wrists just below his gloves. The pools of her eyes string through his, and that push-pull urgency hazes over in place of this moment. He can’t remember what was so crucial. He doesn’t care to try any longer.

  She fills his arms, full softness and delicate angles and curves, and he holds her to him as tightly as he can. Her hair cascades over his skin. He tucks his nose into the crook of her neck and inhales, taking in her scent of black currant and vanilla. She fidgets in his arms in order to more securely wrap hers around him, driving him mad.

  “Ambry.” He moans her name as if trying to taste it, as if it’s the only word he ever wants to speak again. She plants small kisses along his cheek and up to his temple, and her hands lace into his hair.

  “Tell me you love me,” she says.

  He holds her tighter, never wanting, never able, to let go. Every word, every thought he’s had building up to this moment drizzles out in a careful confession, in a way he would never do in reality.

  “I love you. I love you as that fearless girl determined to rescue her brother. I love you finding your magic and shocking sense into that group of deserters. You’re like a metaphor, being one thing while meaning something else entirely, and yet being both things all at once. You’re both to me, Ambry, the description and the reality, both, everything, all. I loved you that night you demanded I kiss you. I love all those hidden parts about you, like a box of candy where each piece is a hidden flavor and I don’t want to share.”

  “Talon.” Her hands cradle the back of his head, knit into his hair. And tears glisten in her eyes. Tears bright and clear and alive, glossing over and trailing down her cheeks. Talon leans in and kisses the first one as it escapes, trailing down her cheek. And then his mouth finds hers, parts her lips and explores. The taste of that tear on his tongue amplifies, and Ambry lets out a little cry. He molds her to him, lifting her from the ground, cradling the tenderness of her jaw in his hands, tangling his fingers in her hair and clutching her smallness to his chest.

  He’s so caught up in the way they both seem to float, in the realness of her despite this make-believe existence, in her heart tapping against his through the thin fabric of their clothing, the smoothness and gentleness and yet flair of her that makes him dizzy. He’ll never let her go, never lose this strength that only she can bring to him, this precious thing that trusts herself to him. She gives herself to him in a way that says she depends on him, needs him. And his mouth conveys that need a thousand times without words.

  And while he knows that, he can’t help speaking them.

  “It’s never enough,” he says, spreading kisses in between each vowel, “and will never be enough, because I’ll always want you more. After every smile I’ll want one more, every touch I’ll want one more, every kiss makes me want one more kiss—I’d kiss you all day if I could.”

  She grins at this through the tears streaming down her cheeks. His thumbs scale up to her face now, wiping those tears. Clear tears, not blue. Just pure and simple and open, purging and redemptive and honest, like she is.

  Protectiveness builds in him the longer he takes in the sight of those tears. He’s a fighter, and he would fight for her. He would protect her, no matter what.

  No matter what.

  The image slams into him like the rush of a vehicle about to hit head-on. Ambry, lying on a cot, blood seeping from her lips. Her brother, trapped here in her mind, clenching in a strange unconsciousness.

  That’s why he’s here. To protect her.

  Boldly, he grips her and pushes her back at arm’s length. She smirks and reaches for him again, but he holds her at a distance. A look of hurt flashes across her face.

  She’s dreaming. I push her away in reality, and in her dreams. What must she think of me?

  “Where did you say Ren was?” he demands.

  “With Gwynn.”

  He whips around, glancing at the blackness surrounding them. Now not even Black Vault is visible. They might as well be floating. “Was she here? In your dream?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  Gwynn was here in Ambry’s dream. Was she a figment, or something more? “And Ren went…with her?”

  “Yes. What’s this about, Talon?”

  “Oh no.” Talon crushes her to him, his hand flying to the ring before anything else can go wrong.

  Talon jerks awake, rising to his feet and instantly taking the stance of safety ingrained in him since birth. Solomus is crouched over Ambry, who rises as well, blinking bits of dream out of her eyes. Ayso hovers over Ren, lifting his eyelids, but unlike his sister, he doesn’t wake.

  “What happened?” Talon asks.

  Ambry’s eyes lock with his, and pink climbs her cheeks. A shy smile spreads on her mouth, and it takes all the self control he has not to return it. Instead, he ignores the heat spearing through him and his attention turns to Ren who still lies clenched and strained on his cot.

  Ambry pushes herself up. Shock replaces the drowsy cont
entment on her face. “He hasn’t woken yet? Why hasn’t he woken?”

  “He wasn’t anywhere in there,” Talon says breathlessly.

  “If he was still in her mind, she wouldn’t have woken either,” says the wizard, frowning. “A person can’t wake with someone in their dreams.”

  Her eyes widen. “If he’s not in my dream, then where is he?”

  A sweep of silence follows.

  “Ambry—” Talon begins.

  But she coughs a few times, doubling over and dry heaving. He rushes to join her, rubbing a hand over her back.

  “Nausea is one of the side effects,” Ayso says. “At least it’s not worse.”

  “Not right now, anyway,” Ambry says weakly, brushing hair away from her face. “Ugh, I’m awake! Where is he, if he’s not in here?”

  Talon hurries through options in his mind when the door opens and Shasa enters.

  “I’m done waiting,” she says. “If you think you can…”

  Shasa trails off. Ren stiffens, his face mashed in pain. Ayso’s aggrieved expression travels from him to the shock all over Shasa’s.

  “You're awake?” Though the question is for me, Shasa pushes past Talon to get to Ren. She brushes aside the hair on his forehead as if checking for a fever. Then her hands travel down to cradle his cheeks, plucking up his eyelids and checking along his throat.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asks, her voice growing more feverish. She twists at the waist to glare at the others. “What’s wrong?”

  “We don’t know,” Ambry says, pushing away from Talon. “Did he get to Gwynn’s dreams somehow?”

  “I don’t see how he could have,” says Talon. “I didn’t see either of them in there. You told me he left with Gwynn.”

  “I did?”

  Does she not remember what happened between them? He meant what he said in there, how he wanted to keep discovering aspects of her, over and over again.

  Shasa’s eyes narrow and Talon swallows. Then again, maybe it’s best Ambry doesn’t remember more.

  “Tell us what you dreamed of, Miss Csille,” says Solomus, a finger at his temple as though adjusting a pair of glasses. Ayso trudges forward, eager to hear as well. “Talon, what happened? Did you see Ren in there?”

  “Wait—Talon went into her dreams too?” Shasa asks.

  Shasa looks straight at him in dismay. Angels. It’s hot in here. Ambry dips her head down, and Talon prays his voice remains level.

  “Ambry was—”

  “I was dreaming of Black Vault,” she says. “Ren found Gwynn there…”

  “But when I came in I couldn’t find either of them,” he says. Ambry catches his gaze. His tone grows explanatory.

  “Neither of you saw them?” Solomus asks.

  Ambry coughs several times, hunching over her legs. Talon kneels to her side, rubbing her back again. “I dreamed I was the bouncer at Black Vault,” she says once the coughing fit ends. “Ren found me, and when he looked at me,” her eyes slide to Talon’s, “it was like we connected.”

  Talon remembers that well enough. It was like he slowly lost himself the minute he was around her.

  “And then Ren disappeared with Gwynn. And Talon—that was really you, wasn’t it?”

  His muscles tense as he attempts to keep his composure. He isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing.

  Shasa begins to shake Ren by the shoulders. “We have to wake him up. How did you get Ambry to wake up?”

  “I pulled her out with me,” Talon says, handing the ring back to Solomus.

  “Then why didn’t you get Ren out too?”

  “Because,” says Ambry vacantly. Her slim fingers tap the sides of her head, and she brushes along the dried blood at the corner of her lips. “Ren’s not in my dreams anymore. He’s in hers.”

  Talon pauses for a moment while the words sink in. “Ren, in Gwynn’s dream. But how?” How did she know? How was she there too?

  “The minute I saw Ambry it was like I lost control over myself and gave in readily to what she wanted,” Talon says, still kneeling beside her cot. “The dreamer controls the events. If he’s in Gwynn’s dreams, there isn’t much of a chance for him. The only reason I got out was Solomus’s ring. Ren doesn’t have anything like that.”

  “Curse you,” Shasa says, practically growling at the wizard. “Why didn’t you think of this sooner? Where is Jomeini, maybe she can help me. Jo!” she calls as though the other girl is in the next room.

  “You mean she isn’t with you?” Solomus asks.

  Ayso peers out the door, her silver braid swinging. Then she returns to the supply table, hands fumbling among the small jars.

  “The extra potion I compiled is gone too,” she says.

  “What does that mean?” Shasa demands.

  Talon tips his head to the side, surprised at Shasa’s adamant interest. He suspected a friendship was brewing between Shasa and Ambry’s brother, but he never thought it went as deeply as this.

  Ayso stares at the jars. “It means whoever drank it could’ve found Ambry’s dream along with Ren.”

  “You mean Jomeini?” Shasa asks. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t betray us like that.”

  Worry gathers on Solomus’s face. For a moment the same expression travels along the group of them, passing from face to face.

  Talon offers a hand to Shasa. “Come here. Sit down, we can think of something.”

  “Wait,” Ambry says. Her feet buckle beneath her, but she pushes herself up and pulls the teardrop out from her shirt.

  “Ambry—” Solomus warns.

  “This is my fault. I’m the one who convinced him to do this. I’m the one who’s got to get him out.”

  Shasa takes the opening Talon gave her and sits beside him. Ambry’s feet slip, and she collapses beside Ren. She clasps the cot’s metal edges.

  “There must be some other way,” says Solomus, speaking the uncertainty festering in Talon. “You’re still dealing with the drug’s side effects. You can’t possibly have the strength to do this right now, child.”

  Ambry rests her elbows beside Ren. “I have to try,” she says, holding the crystal to the skin at his throat.

  Ren’s panic gets the better of him. He pounds the walls in the glass room, but only windows greet him. No doors. He can still see Black Vault through the glass panes curving down over every side of him. Gatekeepers prowling, vendors he recognizes selling their wares, a hazy version of Ambry in Talon’s arms.

  “Vreck you, Gwynn,” he cries. Rage bottles and builds. Gwynndol Hawkes. It has to be her—why else would he have transferred here when she blew that smoke in his face? He’s felt so many things for her in the past few months. Love, lust, worry, fear. But a new emotion creeps in, harboring near his sternum. If it wasn’t for her he never would have stayed behind when Black Vault left Cadehtraen. He never would have been raided, been subjected to see her fall for another man.

  “I’d never be stuck in a glass house in my sister’s mind,” he says aloud, hammering his fists on the glass. Every window shatters on impact, in a firework of crushed crystals, bursts reflecting light from their fragments and tinkling down like music at his feet.

  “You’d never have gotten those tears if it hadn’t been for me,” Ren spits, continuing to talk to Gwynn as though she’s here. “You may not remember how things were. You begged me—pleaded for help. You wrote me every day, Gwynn. Several times, in fact! I have the proof right here! This is not you.”

  “You and Ambry keep telling me that,” says a sharp voice behind him, “but you don’t know me. You don’t know what’s in my head, what I truly desire, what I’ve always desired.”

  Ren’s shoulders stiffen, and when he turns, she’s there, sitting cross-legged in a chair, the windows in tact once more.

  “I didn’t know you could do this,” Gwynn says, her hands on the armrests. “Come into my dreams. Or bring me into yours.” She glances through the glass where an image of Black Vault appears across the glass. Gwynn
smoking, surrounded by people cheering her on appears. “You really can’t let that night go, can you?”

  Ren blinks, his thoughts surging with confusion. Does Gwynn think that was his dream? He doesn’t feel the need to clarify that it was in fact, Ambry’s dream he was in.

  “I smoked reveweed in your dream, Ren, and now you’re here in mine. Ironic, isn’t it? Now the question is, what to do with you now that you’re here.”

  He’s in Gwynn’s dream now? How did that happen? “Give us the tears, Gwynn,” says Ren, deciding to get right to the point. He’s certain he touched the center of Ambry’s thoughts and worries when he looked into her eyes. There’s nothing saying he can’t do that here too.

  “You belong with us, not Tyrus.”

  “I know why you’re here,” she says without turning to face him. “She told me. But it will do you no good.”

  Gwynn turns and smiles at him, a barbed smile that punctures directly into his chest. He remembers the first time he saw her true smile that night, the night Gwynn got Ambry to sneak out with her. He was struck then too, struck by the way she seemed to glow even in the darkness, the light around her bright eyes, the innocence and delicacy she seemed to embody.

  “Gwynn,” he says, stepping toward her.

  “There’s no going back for me,” Gwynn says as if bored. She rises, her eyeline hits his chin, and she lifts her purpled left hand. “Don’t you see?”

  “What did those tears do to you?” Ren asks. While it’s one of his main objectives here, and the answer could prove to be vital to their cause, the twinge gnawing in his chest is his alone, a panging to know what took her from him.

  Gwynn smiles again. This time the innocence is tainted in a way he can’t quite place. “I also know you think I’ll think I’m just dreaming that you’re here. And that I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  Suddenly shackles surround his hands, binding them together in front of him. Gwynn raises an eyebrow.