Dreaming Death

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  As Mikael headed toward the mess, a pair of young women walked in the opposite direction, heading toward the main hallway to go downstairs to the residential levels. Judging by their sweat-dampened shirts and unbuttoned vests, they’d recently come up from the sparring floor on Six Down. Once sentries were off duty, full uniform wasn’t required inside the fortress. Unfortunately, the same wasn’t true for Mikael, since he lived in the palace above.

  One of the young women smiled at him and appraised him with heavy-lidded eyes, while the other tsked under her breath. Mikael smiled back at the first, who sidled closer and stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  Jannika was exactly the person he needed at the moment. They’d parted ways amicably enough, but she’d been avoiding him for months, likely because she’d dropped him for one of the men in the twenty-fives—Elisabet’s yeargroup. That relationship must have ended, though, if she’d stopped to make conversation with him.

  “Mikael, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” she observed, a winsome smile on her full lips.

  Her friend stopped a few feet away, one tapping foot signaling her impatience. Iselin, Mikael recalled, Jannika’s yearmate and closest friend. Iselin was one of the strong sensitives and thus inclined to dislike him, especially on the day after one of his dreams. He nodded politely to her and turned back to the woman before him. He looked down to meet her eyes—one of Jannika’s many attractions was that she was actually shorter than him.

  “Would you have time to chat this evening?” Mikael asked.

  Jannika was a weak sensitive and thus found him interesting. He was easy for her to sense. The sensitives with very little talent were always the ones who tolerated him best. “I’m heading to bed,” she told him, fingering the First trim on his sleeve. “But maybe tomorrow? I’ve got early duty on Three Above, so after that?”

  For the Six Families, the world was defined by where they were in the palace . . . or the fortress below it, often simply called Above and Below. Certainly, Mikael could wait until after Jannika’s duty shift to ask what he wanted about Kai. “I’ll see you then.”

  Jannika walked away with only one glance over her shoulder and rejoined her friend. Mikael watched her swaying hips as they headed on toward the main stairwell, thinking the day suddenly had much more promise. He doubted she wanted anything serious of him—certainly not a contract—but it was pleasant to be chased for a change.

  A low whistle sounded nearby, though, a sure sign he’d irritated someone. The Family was taught young to control their emotions, especially in the presence of children. Whistling served as a polite notice that someone’s feelings were running questionably high. Mikael heard it more frequently than most.

  He breathed in slowly. His reaction to Jannika probably hadn’t been inappropriate for the younger children seated across the commons to share. Well, he hoped not. Then again, it wouldn’t have been anything they hadn’t sensed before. By eight or nine, young sensitives had been exposed to almost every emotion that existed. It was more a matter of controlling the intensity and duration of that exposure. So Mikael concentrated on thinking nothing, feeling nothing.

  After a moment he opened his eyes and, ignoring the whispering voices in the commons, went to the mess counter to pick up lunch.

  • • •

  The infirmary on One Down was near the center of the fortress, so it took a few minutes for Mikael to reach it, as he carefully carried the mess tray along the featureless halls. It was a path he’d memorized long before. A few people spoke to him in passing, but most went by in silence, intent on their own business.

  One of the brightest areas in the fortress, the infirmary usually held a few patients, even on the slow days. As he entered with his tray in his hands, Mikael nodded to the infirmarian on duty, Jakob. Wearing informal blacks, Jakob sat next to one of the beds, working with a girl in brown trousers and a baggy sweater. He carefully wrapped the child’s ankle under the watchful eyes of one of her yeargroup’s sponsors. The sponsor glanced up, nodded once to Mikael, and turned back to his charge.

  Mikael walked through the main ward, carefully keeping his thoughts cheerful. Past the neat rows of empty beds, there were a series of narrow hallways where the infirmarians had their offices and rooms for private examinations. Even though she was Head Infirmarian, Deborah’s office was a small room with books and periodicals stacked on every horizontal surface. Three sturdy wooden chairs crowded about her battered desk, which, at the moment, would serve as an impromptu mess table as well. Mikael often took his meals in her office, worried that Deborah might forget to eat if he didn’t.

  Deborah’s black uniform jacket hung from the back of her chair, the long-skirted formal one she wore when volunteering down at the City Hospital. She must have gone out first thing in the morning. She always returned from such endeavors exhausted, but Mikael knew it gave her a chance to keep in touch with physicians outside the fortress. Her jacket’s presence meant she was somewhere nearby, but there was no telling when she would get back to her office. Mikael checked his watch and, noting the time, started to eat. After consuming about half of the soup he’d brought for himself, he set down his bowl, fingered his right shoulder, and grimaced. His skin still felt tender.

  Deborah stepped into the office just then and caught the expression on his face. “Are you all right, dear?”

  “I’m fine, ma’am,” he lied. She wasn’t a sensitive, so she wouldn’t know.

  She settled across from him and uncovered the bowl of soup he’d brought for her. She wore her blond hair in a single braid, one of the advantages of being past the years of compulsory sentry duty: she didn’t have to wear her hair in the required pattern of braids any longer. One of the first things Mikael had done after completing his three years was cut off his hair. Since then he’d worn it in the short crop most Anvarrid men currently favored.

  “I was down at the City Hospital this morning and spoke with some of the doctors,” she told him, stopping to blow on a spoonful of soup. “None of them heard of any unusual deaths last night.”

  “It may be days before we hear anything,” Mikael said with a shrug. His relationship to the dreams often took weeks, or even months, to become clear. The worst of them he dreamed over and over, nightmares returning sporadically until he found the victim’s killer. Even a decade later, he still dreamed of his father’s death on occasion.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Tired, and I was short of breath earlier.” No harm in admitting that.

  She leaned back in her seat, head tilted as she gazed at him. At forty-four, she was old enough to be his mother, although just barely. “There’s more to it than that. What happened this time?”

  “In the dream? I don’t remember much.”

  “I didn’t mean in the dream, Mikael. What happened after? Elisabet said I needed to talk to you.”

  Elisabet wouldn’t have told Deborah about the blood that had seeped through his jacket. Instead she’d probably suggested that Deborah pry harder than usual to get information out of him. He couldn’t even resent Elisabet’s interference. She meant well by it. If Elisabet wanted to get him in trouble, she would have told Kai.

  But Mikael didn’t know what to tell Deborah. If Deborah knew the full extent of his dreams’ effects on his body, she would order him kept under her thumb at all times—for his own good. The idea of losing his freedom, though, worried him, and the potential effect on the fortress’ sensitives didn’t bear thinking on. “I just . . .”

  Deborah’s brows rose.

  “I had some blistering across my chest,” he finished weakly.

  “Why didn’t you come down here straightaway so I could look at it?” she asked. “Or Jakob if I hadn’t returned yet?”

  “It’s gone by now, anyway,” Mikael said dismissively, hoping she wouldn’t march him into the main infirmary and order him to take off his shirt. �
��When that happens, it’s usually gone within a few hours.”

  Deborah continued to gaze at him with a narrow line between her brows, so Mikael thought calming thoughts at her. Even though she wasn’t a sensitive, she might be influenced. As she wasn’t a child, it was merely rude, not forbidden. But someone out in the main infirmary whistled, making him regret his pushiness.

  “I think it might be wise,” she said, “to have you stay here the next time you feel a dream coming on.”

  In a fortress full of sensitives? He tamped down his doubtful reaction. They’d tried that a couple of times when he’d first come here four years past. The sensitives had not been happy. What Deborah didn’t know was that his dreams were much worse now. “I can’t do that, Deborah.”

  “If we keep you sedated, that should limit your broadcasting as effectively as alcohol.”

  Should. Mikael swallowed, fighting down the twinge of panic at the back of his mind. They’d discussed that a couple of years ago, but he hadn’t tried it because the system he had worked. Or it worked in terms of minimizing the exposure of the sensitives in the fortress to his dreams. The alcohol didn’t control his dreams in any way, though, nor did it mitigate the toll the deaths took on his body.

  If she kept him here, Deborah would learn how close he came to dying each time he dreamed. He felt worse every time now. He recovered, of course, but he worried that one day soon he simply wouldn’t wake at all, too closely tied to the victim to escape his or her death.

  “Do you think the sensitives here are so weak that they can’t handle what you do with every dream?” she asked when he didn’t respond.

  “No, of course not,” he said quickly. “I simply don’t want to drag them into my dreams.”

  She gazed at him a moment longer. “While your current method of handling the issue does limit their exposure, it doesn’t help you understand your dreams in any way. If you weren’t intoxicated, it might be easier for you to recall facets of your dream.”

  He hadn’t done that intentionally in years. It left every emotion in his dream bare, and that would be horrible for the sensitives. “I don’t recall that it ever made a difference.”

  Deborah gazed at him, brow rumpled.

  She wanted the best for him, he knew. She was hunting for a way for him to both recall his dreams and not bother the sensitives. Mikael wasn’t certain the two could ever be balanced. No matter how hard Deborah fought to keep him here in Lucas Province, there were some among the elders of the Lucas Family who disapproved of his presence. So far, the elders had elected to let him stay, but he never took that for granted.

  “It might be months, anyway,” he tried. “Until the next dream, I mean.” The longest he’d gone without a dream was four months, just after he’d moved to Noikinos. He’d actually believed for a time that the dreams might never come back. It had been an appalling disappointment when the first one hit.

  “True.” Deborah picked up her spoon again.

  Mikael ate the remainder of his own meal, trying to decide how he could get himself out of this situation. If he couldn’t, things were going to be very unpleasant indeed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mikael rose and dressed earlier than normal the next morning, hoping to get to the office early and catch up on some of the paperwork he’d missed the morning before. He cheated and went down to the palace kitchens to grab a meal—lamb and egg hash this morning—rather than going down the grand stair to the mess in Below. Fortunately, the palace kitchen workers liked him and didn’t seem to mind.

  Mikael let himself into the office and went still, surprised to find Dahar and Kai already there, both standing on the far side of the office near Dahar’s desk. Dahar’s arms were crossed over his chest, and his jaw was clenched. Mikael couldn’t see Kai’s face from where he stood, but he had no doubt he’d walked in on another argument. Whatever they were saying to each other, they kept it low enough that Mikael couldn’t hear them.

  Elisabet waited near the door, rifle propped against her foot. Mikael glanced at her and raised his eyebrows, but she didn’t respond. He would swear she was unhappy about whatever Kai and Dahar were discussing, but her face seemed impassive, as always.

  “What is this about?” he asked her softly.

  She only shook her head.

  Kai abruptly walked away from his father, passed Mikael without speaking, opened the office door, and left, forcing Elisabet to gather her rifle and hurry after him. Dahar still stood by his desk, arms folded and one fist held against his lips—the same gesture Kai made when upset. His eyes were fixed on the windows across from him, but Mikael doubted he saw anything beyond them. “Is there anything I can help with, sir?”

  Dahar’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t get in the middle.”

  He was always in the middle with the Valarens.

  Mikael sat at his desk and began sorting through the paperwork left there. There were two new folders from Anna, the chief officer in the back rooms, both concerning the Hedraya issue. He kept his eyes on the papers in front of him, determined to plow through the files he’d not read the day before.

  “What do you have on your schedule today?” Dahar asked, surprising him. He’d approached while Mikael had his head down.

  Mikael drew out his schedule. Dahar could have picked it up and looked at it himself, but he preferred to be told. “I have a session with Eli at noon,” he said, “and I’m supposed to meet a friend at dinnertime.”

  Eli was his only swordsmanship student, a test from the elders to see whether he could be trusted to control his emotions around children, so Mikael did his best not to miss any appointments with the young man. If he did well with Eli, they might let him work a few more students into his schedule, although at this rate it would take years to earn the status of fight master.

  “Who?” Dahar asked.

  “Eli,” Mikael repeated. “Of the sixteens.”

  “I meant for dinner,” Dahar said, sounding vexed.

  That was one of the advantages of being a member of the Royal House—no one expected Dahar to control his emotions, even though he’d been trained by the Family. Mikael opened his mouth to answer Dahar’s question, only to stop himself before he blurted out Jannika’s name.

  When Mikael had first come to Lucas Province as a nineteen, Dahar had come up with the strange idea that Mikael should marry his daughter Sera. The girl had been a thirteen or fourteen then, and quite obnoxious. No agreement had been signed, but Dahar still had the idea in his head that Mikael should be betrothed to his daughter.

  “Just a friend,” Mikael managed. “I’m trying to get some information. And after that I’m going down into the city to meet with one of the writers.”

  “Hunting your dead body?” Dahar said dryly.

  Mikael didn’t think for a moment that Dahar had missed that he’d not answered the first question. “He’s got a friend in the police.”

  “You’re duplicating Cerradine’s efforts, then,” Dahar said.

  That wasn’t strictly true. Cerradine was looking for a corpse, while Mikael was only looking for a name. “I’ll be off duty, sir.”

  Dahar sighed and strode off, back to his end of the office. Mikael resumed reading, imagining Dahar’s glare on his back. When he glanced in that direction, Dahar stood at the windows, staring moodily outside. Mikael forced his attention to stay on the papers before him.

  A crash came from the other side of the room. Mikael jumped to his feet, hand reaching for a pistol he didn’t have.

  Just Dahar, he realized a panicked second later.

  The fine porcelain tea set that had been sitting on a tray on Dahar’s desk now lay shattered against the far wall. Dahar strode the length of the office, opened the door, and slammed it on the way out.

  What was that about? Mikael felt reasonably sure that it wasn’t his evasive answer that had triggered it. T
his had to be about Kai and whatever they had been arguing about so quietly before Mikael had arrived. Poor timing on Kai’s part. Dahar was never at his best first thing in the morning, before his tea.

  And Kai had been avoiding his father. Kai had other commitments. They all did. There was a schedule on Kai’s desk that showed his teaching duties, his required sessions with the king, and his time to work on his own yeargroup’s schedules and issues. That was why Dahar needed two aides—Kai simply had too many other duties.

  Mikael suspected if he asked Kai, he would probably have to listen to a long-winded answer that made perfect sense. Whether it was true or not was another thing altogether.

  Sighing, Mikael crossed to the other end of the room, turned over the wooden tray, and began picking up the broken bits of the tea set. It wasn’t as if they let maids into the Daujom’s offices to clean, not without an appointment. And since he was alone now, that left no doubt whose job it was.

  • • •

  Shironne woke that morning relieved that she’d had an uninterrupted night’s sleep. A message from the colonel told her that they hadn’t yet found the body from her dream, so she took her time over breakfast and getting dressed before asking Messine to escort her to Army Square.

  Messine helped her down from the family’s old coach, and then their driver drove back home so that her mother could take Perrin for a fitting for a new outfit. One of the army’s drivers could take them back home later. “So just working in Kassannan’s office today?” Messine asked.

  She was at her best, her most useful, when she had a body or the site of a crime to examine. Although Captain Kassannan and his orderlies came up with much of the same information she did, she always found more. But they had actual crimes to work on only infrequently. She sometimes had to remind herself that was a good thing. “Yes. Unless they’ve found that body in the interim.”

  She’d begun working for the army three years ago. Her maid’s lover had been murdered, and the woman had poured out her distress while braiding Shironne’s hair. Shironne had sat befuddled, recognizing in the woman’s tale snippets of the nightmare she’d suffered a few nights before. Until that discussion, she’d tried to forget the dream. But after that, she rashly promised her maid she would help find out who’d killed the man, a sergeant in the army. Fortunately, her mother had supported her in her desire to find some way to do so. Without her husband’s permission, she’d taken Shironne to Colonel Cerradine’s office, and he had actually listened to her, despite how far-fetched her story seemed.